I’m not sure exactly when it happened, but somewhere along the way, I started shrinking from the spotlight.
Maybe it was when I began dating a singer and poured all my creative energy into making her the star.
Maybe it was when I got my first job as an assistant film editor—16 hours a day locked in a dark room, cutting someone else’s story.
I remember one February morning in that editing suite on Madison Avenue.
25 degrees outside. No windows.
Just me and a screen full of sun-drenched footage shot in Los Angeles.
And I thought:
“Why am I here… while they’re there?”
In my twenties, I told people I wanted to be a film director.
It sounded artistic. Less vain than saying I wanted to be an actor.
But if I’m being honest, I did want to be an actor.
Not solely for the fame—but for the chance to do something noteworthy.
To be the hero, both inside and outside the story.
Toning down the boldness of my dream was just fear.
Fear of owning that I didn’t want to support the spotlight—I wanted to stand in it.
We’re told to dream big, but stay grounded.
To take risks, but have a backup plan.
To be confident… but stay humble.
Where has that gotten you?
I eventually moved to LA and got a “real job” as a software engineer.
I went on dates where women were relieved to find out I wasn’t an actor.
I took pride in that—for a while.
In a city full of aspiring actors, it made me feel unique—like I had chosen a smarter, more grounded path.
But deep down, I wanted to create something unforgettable. To be the one people talked about. To lead. To inspire. To go for it.
And over time, I took notice of something: Every once in a while, someone behind the scenes would step forward.
- Kanye West produced for legends—until he realized he belonged on the track, not just behind the boards.
- Larry David let Jerry be the face of Seinfeld—until Curb made him an unfiltered cultural icon, proving he didn’t need a straight man to shine.
- Issa Rae refused to be recast in her own story—and redefined what was possible for Black women in film: to write, star, and lead on their own terms.
These weren’t people chasing fame.
They were already winning.
Until one day, they realized they had something bigger to say—and no one else could say it but them.
Maybe you’ve been playing the supporting role in your own life.
Maybe you’ve been downplaying your ideas.
Maybe you’ve been the one helping everyone else shine.
The truth is: You don’t need permission to step forward.
You just need the courage to stop hiding.
And no one is going to give that to you.
You have to take it for yourself.
I’m putting myself out there these days.
Making videos. Sharing my story. Selling my work.
And honestly—it still feels a little cringe sometimes.
But it also feels like freedom.
Because this is what it means to lead:
To step forward. To stop waiting.
To say out loud: I’m in pursuit of greatness.
Timothée Chalamet said in his recent acceptance speech:
“I know people don’t usually talk like that, but I want to be one of the greats.”
So do I. I’m done pretending otherwise.
I’m building something for people like us.
People with stories to tell and ideas that won’t stay quiet.
People who are tired of the sidelines and ready to create, lead, and be known for their work.
I call it The Rising Independence.
Because we’re not here to dabble.
We’re here to make work that matters—boldly, unapologetically, and on our own terms.
If you feel like there’s more in you—more you want to express, create, or become—then come with me.
You’ve waited long enough.
Step up.
Be seen.
Take the mic.
And don’t hand it back.
If this spoke to you, hit reply or share it with someone else who’s been hiding in the wings.
Let’s build this stage together.
Visit 5starCreator.com for more info.
