Making It Happen

I was fifteen, sixteen, and seventeen years old and I found myself standing in living rooms and backyards with a handful of friends, holding cameras that barely worked, trying to make films that felt real. There were no trailers, no call sheets, no guarantees that what we were making would work at all. Just curiosity, late nights, half-formed ideas, and the shared belief that if we kept telling stories together, we would figure it out. Looking back now, those early short films did far more than teach me how to act. They taught me how to listen, how to collaborate, and how to grow in ways no class ever could.

Grant McKenzie, Danny Irizarry, and Adrian VanStee

After wrapping a round of pickups on one of the first short films I ever made with my buddies Grant Mckenzie and Adrian VanStee, I was reminded why that process matters so much. There were only a handful of us working on the project and our only budget was the Doritos I picked up from the Seven Eleven for us to snack on that morning. We were just trying to tell a story as well as we could. But our limitations turned out to be some of our greatest teachers.

One of the first things that became clear was how little a “professional” label actually matters when it comes to making something good. A short film doesn't suddenly become meaningful because the director has a certain title or age. What matters is clarity of vision, commitment, and care. If someone watched this film without context... well, they'd probably still know it was directed by a teenager because - I mean - of course it was. But the film festivals we submitted to would still see a story that works. That realization alone is incredibly freeing. It removes the invisible permission barrier that stops so many people from creating.

Another lesson came from switching roles. In the past, I often found myself acting as a producer or leading creative voice on projects. This time, I stepped into directing more fully and watched my friends take on responsibilities they had never held before. Seeing someone else interpret a vision you started is both humbling and educational. It forces you to articulate what you actually care about and to trust other people to bring their own instincts to the work.

Putting yourself in different positions does something powerful. It builds appreciation. When you direct, you understand why directors need actors to be prepared and flexible. When you edit, you understand why continuity matters. When you produce, you understand how many invisible decisions are happening around you. Every role you try makes you easier to work with when you return to acting.

What struck me most was how little manpower it actually took to make something worthwhile. We had about five people total. Two of them had no film experience at all. Two had only ever messed around with cameras here and there. And one person had more experience, but nowhere near what I have now. And still, the project worked. That alone should encourage anyone who feels stuck waiting for the perfect opportunity. You do not need a massive team. You need willing people and a shared goal.

When everyone has to step in and do a little bit of everything, you learn fast. You learn how to solve problems. You learn how to communicate. You learn how to adapt when something does not go as planned. And you learn how much respect the process deserves. Those lessons translate directly to professional sets later on.

For actors especially, making short films with friends removes the pressure of perfection. It creates space to fail safely, to experiment, to discover what works and what does not. It also builds something just as important as skill. It builds community. Many of the people I learned with early on are still the people I trust creatively today.

Things To Note:

Some of the reflections in this blog aren’t mine alone. Grant and Adrian’s insights, shared during those early days of making films together, stuck with me. Their thoughts on collaboration, creativity, and persistence shaped how I approach storytelling today. It’s truly a shared journey of discovery, and I’m grateful for how their perspectives pushed me to grow.

I just rewatched that over-ambitious little short film again after about a decade , and while it’s far from perfect, it sparked something in me again. Despite its flaws, I saw the beginnings of who I was becoming, moments of genuine creativity and storytelling that set me apart. It reminded me that even back then, I had something real, and now it motivates me to chase that same drive with fresh passion.

So if there is one takeaway, it's this: don't wait for permission! Do not wait for a perfect script, a perfect budget, or a perfect team. Gather the people around you and make something. It will teach you more about acting, storytelling, and collaboration than you expect. And years from now, when you look back at where you started, you will realize it's just practice. It's the foundation and the motivation to keep going.