Kimberlee K.

About three years ago, I flew to Nashville to be a writer on the 100 pages movie. And about two weeks ago, I flew back to Nashville to be on the set of that movie being made.

And while it’s impossible to really describe everything that has happened in between, one constant, for me at least, has been fear.

I was scared to submit the application, thinking they might open it and laugh at my audacity to even be considered.

I was scared to fly to Nashville and meet 100 (& some) strangers.

I was scared to write my page and hear people’s reactions to it. And I was scared to fly back to Nashville for the table read of the finished script.

I’ve been scared through most of the zoom meetings, even though I don’t have to do any of the talking. And I was scared to accept the open invitation to go on set and see the movie being filmed.

Fear is a constant feeling for me. An attempted friend, I think, but mostly a foe.

But every step of this process, this project, has made pushing through the fear worth it. It has made stepping (at times catapulting) out of my comfort zone worth it.

And being on set, in a room full of people moving this way and that, planning this dream and that, speaking in the creative languages of music and cameras and movies and books and writing and learning and trying—all of which inspire plans to collaborate, to make and do something that’s never been done before—was so special.

And even if I didn’t know the language of a movie set, I felt at home in the rhythm of the united effort to create. To make something good.

Even as I stood silently behind a wall, trying not to breathe because of my proximity to the boom mic, I felt inspired, not only being a part of this, but to someday be a part of something else—and then something else and something else and something else.

As I sat at a table with fellow writers and extras, giggling and telling stories and playing Globle, I felt inspired, not only to have more days like this, but to write about them, to tell stories about people who decide make something together in a world that’s determined to tear them apart.

I haven’t often found writing or being creative to be lonely. In fact, I often feel cozy tucked into my own brain, organizing all the rooms where I keep all the stories and feelings I want to share. But being in a real room, on a project with people who feel similarly, and who all have talents that, when combined, make impossible projects possible, made me feel less lonely than ever.

I’m encouraged by the creativity that is being born every day, by the risks being taken and the perseverance being found to simply make art exist. It inspires a courage in me I’ve always wanted, and a drive to make, make, make.

I’m so grateful for those that push past the fear, and I’m learning that most everything good exists on the other side of it. So may we all dig our heels in and push, the world will be better for it.