I almost gave up before I even really started

Reflections on my first time directing

What do I want next from my career?

It’s a question I’ve grappled with a lot this year. My happiest memories as a product manager were those where I brought teams together to do something bigger than us—something we really believed in. Screenwriting fulfilled some of that itch, but I really missed utilizing my collaboration and leadership skills in filmmaking. When I brought this up to Medha, my mentor, she encouraged me to look into directing.

At first, I was apprehensive. Don’t you need to go to film school to become a director? But with her encouragement, I looked into it and had this strange intuition that maybe this is something I could do. That’s why one of my big goals this year is to shoot and direct “After Moonrise,” a short film I wrote in The Rickshaw Foundation’s Writer’s Room.

To set myself up for success with this project, I DIY’ed my own directing MFA—complete with many books, online courses, acting class, and filmmaking class. One event involved participating as a director in “Fast Play Frenzy,” a festival where we wrote, rehearsed, and performed a new 10-minute play in 48 hours.

It would also be my first time directing—the ultimate test of whether I was meant for this thing.

The kickoff

Leading up to the play frenzy kickoff, I felt incredibly insecure and nervous. I had completed several assignments for my short film class (like this one), but it didn’t feel good enough. This fear especially came true when the day of the festival, a friend gave me critical (but real) feedback on my work. It made me further doubt myself, and whether it was worth continuing forward. For a minute, I considered dropping out of the festival, but my desire to keep my word won out.

During the kickoff, when I met with my team (two actors and one writer), it felt like all my worst fears were coming true. They all had more experience than me, and I struggled to find ways to make meaningful contributions. The alarm bells in my head started going off. This is a bad idea. You don’t know what you’re doing.

I ignored them and focused on connecting with my actors. I asked them about their process and what I could do to help them. I suggested improv exercises to build connection. Some worked, and others didn’t, but I did my best to stay present.

The full team! (on game day)

Onwards to rehearsal

The next day, we started rehearsals, and I was determined to do better. Based on my product experience and directing knowledge, I firmly believed we needed to focus on understanding and exploring. On the subway ride, I developed a rough rehearsal structure and presented it to the team upon arrival, who readily agreed.

We started breaking down the script, and I was in my element. After all, I’m a writer, and doing script analysis is one of my favorite activities. But I struggled to find my groove when we shifted to rehearsing the scenes. How do I make space for their thoughts and feedback without leaving them in a lurch? How do I balance giving direction with inviting their thoughts?

During breaks, I had one-on-one conversations with each actor, honestly sharing my concerns and seeking feedback. Their response surprised me: while they appreciated my collaborative approach, they wanted me to embrace my vision more confidently. “I don’t know if the choices I’m making work, and I need you to tell me because I can’t watch myself,” one of the actors explained.

Something about what the actor said stuck in my head. I realized I was holding back too much because I feared being wrong. But making a choice (even if incorrect) is infinitely better than not making any choice. I took this feedback as a sign, permission even, to lean into my vision rather than being shy about it.

When rehearsal resumed, I focused on listening to my intuition—the quiet whisper that I had ignored most of the session. That little movement the actor did- that was perfect! The actors need to let the scene breathe. Sometimes, the actors disagreed with my notes. Strangely, this didn’t throw me off. Instead, I saw this as an opportunity to work together to get on the same page (or figure out a better solution), which we always did.

When I came home after ten hours of rehearsals, I didn’t feel exhausted. Instead, I felt alive, as if I had just drank a shot of espresso. I loved my team’s passion, energy, and excitement, and how much progress we had made in such little time. It felt like being transported back in time to my happiest days as a PM.

Game day.

On the day of the performance, I felt incredibly zen. While other directors were nervous, I had full trust in my team and the process.

When I watched my team on stage, tears streamed down my face. I felt like a proud stage parent, beaming with pride to see how far the actors had come in their performance and exploration of these characters. It truly felt like we had made something more than the sum of our individual parts, which felt like a worthwhile accomplishment in itself. Every time the audience laughed, gasped, or exclaimed, I felt a twinge of pride. We made these people feel something.

I absolutely fucking loved it.

Taking a well-deserved bow with one of my actors

The aftermath

The next day, after the euphoria and adrenaline of the performance wore off, my fear kicked in. I started to think about everything I hadn’t done right, and doubt crept up again. Am I good enough to pursue this path? Can I learn everything I need to know to be good? Is it realistic to pursue this path, especially if I want to start a family soon?

I realize that the only thing I don’t like about directing is my self-doubt. I don’t like that I’m not good at some aspects of directing. However, as one of my teammates reminded me, not every director is good at everything. Some focus on the camera work/visual language, while others lean heavily on their relationship with actors. It’s a complex set of technical, people, and storytelling skills, and I don’t have to be great at it all to do a good job.

I’m so grateful that I listened to my instincts and didn’t drop out of the festival. I learned such an incredible amount: both in terms of things not to do, but more importantly, how rewarding directing feels. The joy and pride I feel when I have a completed piece of work, whether a play or a film, feels indescribable. The high (almost) makes all the pain feels worth it, and motivates me to keep going.

Does this mean I want to become a professional director? Before the festival, I was probably a 50-50. But now, with some experience under my belt, I do feel like I want to give this writing-directing thing a real shot. I love the idea of writing banger scripts and forming a team to bring them to life. I want to watch how my team takes a kernel of a vision and brings it to life—bigger than anything I could have envisioned.

I don’t know what this means for my career or job, which can feel incredibly scary. As I’ve mentioned before, I’m not good at handling uncertainty. But I like to remind myself: I’ve already made it further than 2023 me could have ever imagined, Plus, I have exciting projects on my plate, like directing my short film “After Moonrise.”

The only way out is through the doing.

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