after I’d made a couple anthologies but couldn’t get any traction as a director or writer in my own right, I struggled with what job I could get that wouldn’t eat up all my time and suck my will to live (working in development or acquisitions or distribution like I had before).

I couldn’t seem to get hired as an independent producer, despite seeing people who used to come to me for producing advice getting bigger and better gigs in that arena (all dudes, hired by other dudes, anecdotally) and also knew that would become all- consuming as well.

Being the only female producer on a number of anthologies where I also (anecdotally of course) was the only one not guaranteed any work or credit on the further franchise entries, and also the only one not given backend, I didn’t really have passive income to fall back on.

I had a shitty car so I couldn’t do lift or Uber or deliveries. I hadn’t waitressed or bartended in years. But I had always had a love of physics and astronomy, even when I almost didn’t graduate highschool from skipping half of each week, I’d still pop in for my physics class.

I figured maybe I could do some sort of low level admin for the science museum or Griffith Observatory or even JPL. At this point I’d auctioned off 10 years worth of Mondo posters and film merch, and was fixing up the RV from my part of XX, just in case I lost my apartment.

All of this was super stressful but also freeing. I had the luxury of moving more into directing because I’d recently paid off my student loan debt, which outside of monthly bills was the yoke that kept me tied to a steady paycheck executive track.

Sidenote, anyone who can do those 24-hr-a-day availability mentally exhausting high stress jobs and still write that script or make that short film or pursue any creative endeavor is a fucking boss and superhuman and should be studied by science.

The only job that I applied for that got back to me was Griffith Observatory. They were hiring docents to walk around and answer your burning astronomical questions and give talks about the various scientific exhibits.

I hate being in front of a camera but love public speaking so figured hey why not, and went in for an interview. In a back office library I was quizzed - literally - on my astronomy and basic physics knowledge, with an actual paper exam I was left alone to complete.

That fight or flight panic dream of getting to class and there’s a test you didn’t prepare for? Just as bad IRL as you’d imagine. I think they were more impressed that I’d spent time at places like CERN and Chaco Canyon and the VLA at the NRAO and Planetary Society conventions.

Having had a film exec job that had taken me all over the world for a couple years, I’d taken advantage of the travel to go to observatories and science centers all around the globe whenever I had the chance.

So it turns out I didn’t completely bomb the test after all (thanks Mr. Picklo, 12th grade physics teacher, for instilling that lifelong interest in science to a confused punk kid with a chip on their shoulder stuck in a rural pre-internet highschool football hellscape!)

After the test they put the answer booklet down and asked one last question that sticks with me to this day, popping into my head at random times, usually when I need its reminder most. “What’s your favorite science fiction book”?

I wasn’t prepared for this test either. I stammered through the the category of sci fi they fall under (YA? hard? Speculative? Bleeding into fantasy yet still maintaining a solid scientific basis?) and what period of life they were my “favorite” during. It was a hard question.

They stopped me and said I got the job. I was curious of course and they explained that the last question was the most important one. They explained that the answer didn’t matter, what mattered was that you had one.

If you read science fiction, you have a love of science and more importantly an enthusiasm for the possibilities that science posits either now or for the future. And what they were looking for wasn’t necessarily the amount of scientific knowledge you had one day one to pass on.

They wanted people to pass on that enthusiasm for science to others so they’d continue to seek their own knowledge. It’s an idea I return to often, especially when I get frustrated about career setbacks or the endless day-to-day grind of trying to be legitimized in this industry.

I’m not saying blind enthusiasm trumps experience or knowledge, ignorance shouldn’t always be a barrier to entry either. By definition a lack of knowledge doesn’t mean a lack of competence, and ignorance is a fixable problem.

I’d rather see opportunities earned through enthusiasm and willingness to learn than the opposite. It’s not a new idea. Yet how many times have you heard the story of a specific type of person being hired ‘on a hunch’ or ‘I got a good feeling about him’.

I’ve seen experience be trumped by enthusiasm in practice for some (anecdotally, take a guess) and enthusiasm seen as ‘desperate’ or ‘overeager’ for others (anecdotally, do I even need to say it anymore) It chips away at that enthusiasm, piece by piece. It’s a helpless feeling.

To experience, in my own past, and to see, all around this industry. So I think about what support means. I don’t have jobs to offer, I don’t really have opportunities to present. I’m in the same lifeboat, most of the time. Most of us are.

But encouraging that enthusiasm? Sharing that with someone you see having a hard time with the grind? I can do that. You can do that. I’m still here due to a few key words of encouragement during a few key times. Validation. Being seen, being heard, it seems so small a thing.

I think about the two jobs I’ve had that brought me the most contentment a lot these days. One was in that observatory, surrounded by retired teachers and engineers and rocket science students and lovers of sci-fi. The other was at an independent theater chain.

I didn’t go to film school. I got my film education at that minimum wage job selling tickets and cleaning the floors of an arthouse theater, watching people watch movies from behind the screen.

Watching movies with the other employees while they argued the merits of film theory like my science colleagues argued sci-fi.

Anyway, I don’t really have a point with all this rambling. I miss these communities of enthusiasm. I miss film festivals. I miss that feeling of belonging. Our industry can be a lonely endeavor. Tell someone who needs to hear it they’re not alone.