A note: This essay started as the opener for my October newsletter. I’ve been thinking about it ever since and this is where those thoughts went.
I spent the first half of 2026 stuck in a metaphorical cave. I wanted to focus on my writing, taking steps to get my next feature made, submitting to labs, grants, and fellowships. This is an incredibly isolating experience because all of it is done alone.
Apart from the numerous rejections and the occasional acceptance, there aren’t many substantive external markers that tell you if you are moving forward or standing still. The experience tends to be a very interior one. And with everything going on in the world as it comes to the environment and politics, sometimes that experience feels like driving through a fog. There’s a reflex to turn on the high beams in the hopes that you can make sense of the path ahead, but all that will do is blind you and others on the road. Instead you’re left with your instincts. And even if that is rooted in what you love sometimes, for me at least, it doesn’t always feel like enough on its own.
I’ve had many a night, sober and not-so-sober, talking with friends about what instinct actually is. I’m still not entirely sure but I think it is the intangible, subconscious result of everything we’ve lived. It’s the perpetual internalization of our life experiences in totality. A composting of experiences and different versions of ourselves which, so long as we keep living and experiencing, refines itself.
Having the courage to follow it, though, is a different story. For a long stretch of this year, the fog was so thick I couldn’t hear my instincts above the fear of driving off the road, even when opportunities presented themselves.
The other thing about being in a fog is that it is exhausting. The lure of taking a safe, well-lit path is strong. In those moments, inevitably, it was someone in my community who provided the push to stay the course. Something I can’t always give myself.
This was exactly the case for my submission to Luna Lab and for Gotham Week. Both times, I was hesitant to submit because it meant gathering up the energy to put applications together and throwing it into the void. Both times, friends told me to apply. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have had the experiences September gave me: pitching at Rideback Rise and all the meetings and doors Gotham opened up.
I admit that luck has a lot to do with these things, but I think that there are different types of luck and lately I’ve been asking myself what kind I actually have. Yours and mine aren’t the same. I don’t think they are supposed to be. I also don’t think the point of our journey in this world is to string together lucky breaks. Instead, I think it’s about putting ourselves in an emotional and physical position to receive the luck that’s already ours.
Some people have luck in persistence, by continuing to show up after everyone else has stopped. For others, theirs lives in risk, by making the bet most of us wouldn’t take. In my case, my luck lives in the engagement with my community.
When I look back, nearly every door that has opened for me has come through a random connection made possible by someone who believed in me. It didn’t come purely from merit (although I like to think the merit is there), it wasn’t strategy or credentials that opened those doors. I should also point out that these connections aren’t from “names” in the industry. They are usually friends in the same trenches driving through the same kind of fog I am.
For me, my luck requires that I be in community. The feeling of isolation is the trigger my instinct needs in order to remind me that I have strayed too far away from my people. I must engage, and engagement is a two-way process. I want to be very clear about this part because “engagement” is not the same as “taking.” I’ll write more on what engagement looks like for me in another post, but briefly, it means reaching out, being vulnerable, giving feedback, collaborating and most importantly being present to listen.
To be in community is nurturing. Nurturing is communal. This process elevates all of us.
I’m grateful for all the people who have been my lucky rabbits who flash in and out of the darkness to tell me to apply, to lead me to the right room at the right time. The mentors who said the thing I needed to hear even though neither of us knew I needed to hear it.
I’m also equally grateful to the version of myself who listened to them despite the ambiguity.