On Purpose!
Most people work their whole lives trying not to make a mistake.
I made one on purpose.
I quit a stable 9–5 to chase a childhood dream. Y’know? The kind you’re supposed to outgrow. The kind people smile at politely and quietly, well sometimes loudly, hope you abandon for something more “realistic.”
And granted, maybe it was a mistake, on paper.
But…
It was also the most intentional decision I’ve ever made.
The world is very good at giving instructions. What to study. What job to take. When to settle. How to build a life that looks correct from the outside.
I tried that version. It worked. It paid. It made sense.
And then I chose a different script.
Not because it was safe. Not because it was logical. But because I wanted to fully live inside my own decisions, not just manage the consequences of someone else’s expectations. That choice came with trade offs. Uncertainty. Raised eyebrows. Very real fear. Tear soaked pillows. Very, very real bills.
But it also came with something rare: perspective.
Working in film taught me things no office ever could.
How to read a room in seconds.
How to notice the detail everyone else misses.
How to collaborate under pressure without ego.
How to speak up when timing matters.
How to read when a room needs listening, not noise.
How to communicate clearly when emotions are high, time is short, and stakes feel personal.
You learn quickly when tens to hundreds of people are depending on you to get it right.
You learn that tone matters.
That silence is communication.
That confidence is built, not declared.
That the smallest details shape the entire story.
Funny enough, that’s also communications.
I didn’t lose myself in that detour. I refined myself.
I came back sharper. More observant. More grounded. Less afraid of choosing differently. More aware of how humans actually behave when the script changes.
And I should say this too:
I love acting. And I love communications.
Both can exist in the same person, at the same time, without canceling each other out. One doesn’t make the other less serious. One doesn’t dilute the discipline of the other. If anything, they sharpen it.
Storytelling lives in both. So does timing. So does empathy. So does the ability to read people, hold attention, collaborate under pressure, and communicate with intention. Choosing a creative path at one point in my life did not erase my training, my standards, or my ability to do rigorous, thoughtful work in my field.
It added to it.
And if people in general ever decide I’m not the right fit because my experience doesn’t follow the “expected” sequence, the expected job, the expected company, the expected timeline, I get it. Linear paths are comforting. But I also hope they take a risk someday. Nothing dramatic. Just one small, inconvenient, very legal yet slightly ill-advised leap into something unfamiliar.
Because safe paths teach you how to function. The risky ones teach you how to decide.
Like quitting the safe thing.
And on that note…
Until next time,
The Other Script
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