One Year In: What Independent Filmmaking Actually Taught Me

There's a version of this post where I list all the projects I completed, name every client I worked with, and wrap it up with a tidy bow about how far I've come. But that's not really what this past year has felt like. So instead, let me tell you what I actually learned.

When I started out as an independent filmmaker and content creator, I had some gear, I had the passion, and I had a rough idea of the kind of work that I wanted to create. What I didn't have was a realistic picture of what doing this alone would look like. No production company behind me. No team to fall back on. Just me, my camera, and a growing list of things I didn't know yet.

The work teaches you what no class can.

I've shot narrative short films where the whole shoot fell apart and we improvised on the fly. I've done documentary work where I showed up expecting one story and left with something completely different, and arguably better. I've photographed sports at a pace that doesn't forgive hesitation. Every single one of those situations pushed me in ways that sitting in a classroom or watching tutorials never could.

The lesson? You learn by doing, and more specifically, you learn by doing things that make you uncomfortable. The shots I'm most proud of this year weren't the ones I planned perfectly. They were the ones where something went sideways but I figured it out anyway.

Being independent doesn't mean being alone.

From the start, I knew this path would involve other people.  Other creatives, collaborators, people whose work and vision I'd get to be part of and learn from. And that's been one of the best parts of this journey. Some of the best moments from this year came from collaborating with other filmmakers, artists, athletes, and community organizers.  People who brought their vision and trusted me to help bring it to life. That trust and those connections are something I don't take lightly.

Independence means owning your creative decisions. It doesn't mean closing yourself off from other people's energy and ideas. If anything, the connections I've made this year have shaped my work more than any piece of equipment I've bought.

The gap between your taste and your output is real, and that's okay.

Ira Glass, the creator of This American Life, once talked about something he called "the gap." The idea is simple: when you start out as a creative, your taste is already developed. You know what good work looks like. But your hands, your eye, your instincts, they're all still catching up. There were moments this year where I watched back footage and felt that gap sharply. It's uncomfortable. But it’s also exactly where growth lives.

I'm not where I want to be yet. I don't think I'm supposed to be. But I'm closer than I was twelve months ago, and I can actually see the distance I've traveled, which is something I couldn't say at the start.

What I'd tell myself at the beginning.

Start before you're ready. Say yes to projects that scare you a little. Don't wait for perfect conditions — the perfect conditions are a myth. And stop comparing your beginning to someone else's middle.

One to two years in, I'm still figuring a lot of things out. But I'm doing it with a body of work behind me, real relationships built through creative collaboration, and a clearer sense of what kind of storyteller I want to be. That's not nothing. That's actually a lot.