Live Music vs. Filmmaking: A Creative Identity Crisis
Well, isn’t that just like me, starting a project with all the enthusiasm in the world, only to watch it get pushed to the back burner while life gets in the way.
Not that I’m complaining about how life turned out last year. I accomplished more than I set out to do, and somehow also less, yet I still feel an immense sense of success. As with most creative endeavors, you begin with a vision. You make a plan, give it some structure, bring it to life—only to watch it grow, change, and take on a life of its own, giving the project an entirely new meaning. Much of 2025 felt like that for me.
Helping to save baby sea turtles in Cozumel, Mexico
After rockin’ the barricade at over 75 shows last year, I can confidently say there is nothing in the world that makes me happier than being immersed in live music. I’ve always tried to convince myself that the thing that brings me the most joy is storytelling and filmmaking, and don’t get me wrong, I am and always will be a storyteller at heart, but I no longer believe it has to be my entire identity. That belief was fueled by the voice of the “American Dream” in the back of my head: I went to college to be a filmmaker, so that is what I must do! ::shakes fist in the air:: That was the dream I had for myself at 16, the path I chose, and if I abandon it… then who am I?
Photo Credit: @simplythetinydragon
There are two very distinct feelings I experience when I’m crafting a story versus throwing devil horns in a crowd. At their core, both allow for self-expression and unexpected moments of clarity and inspiration. They both give me the ability to travel backward and forward through time. When I sit down to write an outline, a pilot, a blog post, whatever it may be, it always draws from past experiences and future hopes and dreams. But when I reach the end of a draft or export my latest edit, while there is joy, pride, and accomplishment, I never quite feel like the truest version of myself, fully present and expressing myself.
The stories I tell feel more like representations of different versions of myself: the person I was, the person I want to be, the person who was too afraid to try, or who believed they weren’t good enough. But maybe that’s exactly what storytelling is, and should be. Just another form of self-expression, sometimes dressed in costume, sometimes looking a little rough around the edges, or dressed to the nines in a ballgown and tiara.
Right now, I’m sitting at my computer “dressed up” as the Bandaide I truly am, wearing one of my hundreds of band T-shirts. But this Sunday, when I see My Chemical Romance at Estadio Nacional in Lima, Peru, I’ll just show up dressed as myself.
