Listen,
When I was in HS, I had the dream of writing. Not specifically for film--that came later--but of telling great stories about people suffering some of the same adverse circumstances I was, and overcoming them. I grew up with an utterly destroyed Vietnam veteran who never knew any way but violence and destruction as a means of expression. Growing up, all I ever heard was how I wasn't good enough, how I'd never be anything, and how I was just a worthless, dirty little faggot (called so, I would later learn, because my father was, himself, bisexual--and hated that about himself). So when it came time for me to go to a college, a few things happened. First, I had to finish HS with a GED because we moved around so often that finally a new school wouldn't accept me because I'd turned 18 between moves. Second, I so believed the idea that I couldn't go to a college and learn my dream that I instead settled for a trade school, where I learned computer science, networking, operating systems, etc. When I realized I could finish a certification in just a few months, and go get a great paying job, I leapt at the chance and didn't look back.
And for years, that was okay. I worked, I made good money, I climbed corporate ladders. I have little negative to say about the corporate experience; mine was mostly good, and the majority of people I worked with, ranging from peons to executives and everyone in between, were good people who wanted to earn an honest living. I met very few rat bastards along the way, despite the rumor that all corporations are soulless, evil boxes of doom.
But what I never found was *happiness*. There was always a sense that something was missing, that a part of me was left unfulfilled. I wrote in my spare time, and little by little...people loved my stories. I'm still a little mystified as to WHY they do, but...those I've shared with people, they go on and on about. So a few years ago, I was in an accident. A guy texting slammed into me from behind; he was driving 70MPH, I was at a dead stop with my foot on the break after narrowly avoiding a 12 car pileup. Laying there in the hospital, multiple disks in my spine damaged from the impact, strapped to a board, cervical collar around my neck, unable to move, it hit me: I have so much left to do and say, so many stories, so many things I want to say to people who grew up like I did, to convey to them that you *do* deserve a better life and you *can* achieve it. If I could have moved, then, I would have racked horribly, but instead I just silently sobbed, tucked into the back corner of the emergency room, tears streaming down my face as I went into shock and grew slowly ice cold, until my friend, my emergency contact, showed up and made the nurse put a warm blanket on me.
When I was well enough to get around again, I knew it was time for a change. I quit my $104,000 a year job, pulled out what money I'd saved (which was surprisingly little) and enrolled at the local community college. In the 4 years since, I've taken enough classes to finish 4 AA's, and I've done so in part because I lack confidence in my writing, so I've taken everything I think will improve my writing: philosophy, psychology, art, literature from around the world and as far back as Gilgamesh. And while I still lack the hubris to stand up and say "I fuckin' rock this shit!", I will say this: I'm a fairly decent writer, and I have lived enough to accumulate valuable experiences that can inform great stories--the kind of stories I believe can inspire people.
Now, I'm pursuing my dream of getting into a film school. It's scary as hell, and even now in my later 30's I'm still not 100% confident of my own abilities, but I DO think I can do this, and I'm taking the fact that my writing samples have now gotten me interviews at the UCLA school of film twice in a row as a sign that, at the very least, I'm a half decent writer.
The long story short here is just this: if your dream is to work in film, to tell stories you believe in about characters you love, don't let anything get in your way, especially not the idea of just making a living. Having a big, steady paycheck is nice, but at a certain point you need more than that. If you're a driven storyteller, no amount of financial success will be enough to make you happy if you aren't doing what you love. Believe me, I've been the guy who found financial success doing good work in a good field for a long time, but because it isn't my real passion, I've never found happiness in it.
Pursue Happiness. You deserve better than to wind up with anything less than your dream.
