The Creative Bug

"You were right," I texted Chris - former manager, now turned confidant.

Immediately he called. "I'm fine," I tell him.

"Well I just had to make sure."

That's the thing about Chris. He's straightforward. I met him in the summer of 2017 when I was interning in a newsroom. He worked in the Creative Services department. I needed to borrow camera equipment and was told to go find him. So, I wandered away from the newsroom - finding the old staircase in Studio B, taking one step after the other to the next level.

When I knocked on his door the first thing I noticed were the Emmys' sitting on his shelf. Easily I could guess he had at least 12. The office was kept dark, with a lamp and computer screens giving off light. Behind that computer screen was a middle aged man with black framed glasses, blonde spikey hair, wearing a button down. A guitar tattoo was peaking out from his rolled-up sleeves. He was editing a video - and was laser focused on it. He's the type of person that will give 100% laser focus on one thing. A very intimidating factor when that one thing is you.

I knocked on his door and asked to borrow the camera equipment. From there, I gained a mentor. At first he was very hesitant to teach me anything, but day after day I bothered him. For three summers. I was a newsroom intern but he was my #1 mentor. At the end of those three summers, when it was time for me to leave and enter the workforce, he told me not to go to a newsroom. He said I had a "creative bug" in me that needed to get out.

I've never forgotten those words, because they rang true. But, I did try ignoring them. When I applied for news reporting jobs, he was the person I used as a reference. When I got my first gig as a TV News Reporter, he was the first person I called.

And now, after doing what I thought I loved, he is the first person I call. Or rather, he called me. Because he doesn't do anything half-assed.

"I don't want to do this anymore," I say. At that point I've spent the last 12 days working nonstop, getting paid $14 an hour at 40 hours a week when I easily work 60 or 65. Car, rent, phone, insurance, make-up, coffee, gas whittled down my budget. I usually only had $40 for groceries a week. It was worth it at first when I felt I was making a difference. Writing, researching, reporting. Even got a few investigative stories under my name. But slowly, every hard story I pitched got put to the back burner. That's because there's not enough reporters to fill a show. The one-day turn around pushes for content didn't give anyone time to report enterprise stories.

The bug that drove me to this industry is now infecting me. Pushing me to my limit, giving me a feverish drive to do something more creative.

"Take the leap. Leave," he says. "You'll be fine, kid. You're young."

"You really think I should?" I always doubted myself but he never did.

"Listen, you sound miserable. You can always come back to another newsroom, but once you lose your sanity it's gone," he says.

I knew what he was saying was right, and I figured it's about time I start to listen.

"Okay," I say. "Well, I got to go but I'll let you know what happens next."

"You're too hard on yourself. Stop trying to prove yourself to other people, and stop trying to show your own self up. Get out of your own way," he adds.

"I know, I know. I'll talk to you later."

Between Chris and I, we never had deep conversations. It was always about art and the skills of videography. How to use music to add emotion. How to set up lighting for a good shot. I went out with a camera and shot a story and he critiqued it. We didn't talk much about life, but we didn't need to in order to be bonded. We both know the world needs beauty, and we both love giving a show.

Chris always pushed me to follow my heart. He doesn't care for awards. I know he's had regrets with his own life path, giving hints at a music career he couldn't pursue. I think that haunts him t, and for some reason he's chosen me to be the kid he doesn't want to see that same mistake. I'm pretty sure when he was my age he was in the army. A move made more out of desperation for stability than an actual call for him.

Usually I would feel pressure with a mentor as successful as Chris. To impress him with every single piece of my work and make him proud. But, I believe if I did that, he would see right through it. He would rather me fail while doing something creatively and unique over doing everything "technically" beautiful but bland and commercialized in a produced piece. I don't know if that's the artist in him calling out to the artist in me, but without him I wouldn't have the confidence to find a higher calling.

Here, at the tail end of that job looking for the next steps in my life, I hope to make Chris proud.