If you’re a filmmaker currently between jobs, I get it. I’ve been there more times than I can count. That quiet, often restless, in-between space. Waiting for something to land. Wondering if you’re still relevant. Refreshing inboxes. Losing momentum. It’s a hard place to sit in.

What’s kept me going in those moments hasn’t been the hustle. It’s been personal projects. The ones no one asked for. The ones no one paid for. The ones that reminded me why I started doing this in the first place.

My most recent documentary didn’t come from a client or a grant. It started with a feeling. A deeply personal story that lived within me. One I couldn’t stop thinking about. I didn’t have permission or a plan. Just trust in the idea. We filmed it with three people. No fancy equipment. Just a love for filmmaking, storytelling, and human connection. 

The project that led to that film was even smaller. Just me and one friend filming a family friend’s story just 30 minutes from my house. 

Over the years, I’ve been able to recognize personal projects as seeds. At first, they don’t look like much; just a feeling, a hunch, an idea you can’t shake. But when you nurture them with time and attention, they tend to grow roots in unexpected places. Sometimes they blossom into opportunities. Sometimes they don’t. But they always grow you.

For a long time, I focused on chasing the kind of success I thought I was supposed to want. More gigs, more clients, more credibility. And some of that came. But the more I chased it, the less I felt connected to myself.

Eventually, I started asking a different kind of question. What do I actually care about? What feels unfinished in me? What am I trying to make sense of?

Those questions led me to a carefarm in Arizona, where people go to process traumatic loss. I spent nine days there listening, documenting, and keeping an open mind and heart. I came home with a hard drive full of footage. But more importantly, I came home with a different sense of clarity.

I’ve started to believe that these personal projects, especially the small ones, are more than creative practice. They’re a form of remembering. Of reconnecting. Of staying in the work, even when the work is not knocking.

They’ve also quietly shaped my career and my life. When I look back, most of the opportunities that mattered didn’t come from cold emails or polished reels. They came from someone seeing something I made for no reason other than it felt necessary.

Selah, the documentary we shot in Arizona, is still in post. We’re crowdfunding to finish it. If you’re curious, the trailer and campaign are here: