Being a creative is hard. There are no guarantees, and work is unpredictable. In most fields, you commit to a position or path, work hard, and climb up the proverbial ladder. It’s linear and mostly predictable.
The arts are not.
There are highs and lows, countless rejections, zig-zag career paths, side hustles, and a whole lot of instability. It’s exhausting. But we do it. We do it because we have to.
We have to because there’s something inside us that needs to create—an insatiable longing to connect with others through art. A desire to entertain or make people think. A wound we’re trying to heal, a feeling we’re trying to capture, a goal we need to reach. A way to feel seen and to allow others to be seen.
We all just want to be seen.
So, we work our a$$es off in pursuit of all these things. In pursuit of our dreams. Then one day—usually when you least expect it—they actually come true. Success happens.
Then what?
If you are living in the belief that success will cure your pain, when the treatment comes and doesn't work, it can lead to hopelessness. A depression can accompany the realization that what you've spent most of your life chasing hasn't fixed your insecurities and vulnerabilities. More likely, with the stakes and consequences now higher, it has only amplified the pressure. And we are never taught how to handle this epic disappointment.
- The Creative Act: A Way of Being by Rick Rubin
For me, “success” came after 13 years of hustling. Relentless hustle—because I felt behind. While I consider myself a multi-passionate creative, my first artistic love is acting. I’ve always loved it, even as a kid.
Television was life. I grew up during the glory days of network sitcoms: The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, The Cosby Show, Diff’rent Strokes, The Facts of Life, Saved by the Bell, Family Matters, Growing Pains, Martin, Sister, Sister, Girlfriends, A Different World—I could go on and on. I LOVE TV. These characters were my people. I wanted to know them, be them. But despite this obsession at such a young age, I didn’t seriously pursue a career in acting until I was thirty.
Why? Because first-generation guilt is real.
I was lucky to have a supportive mom who never pushed me toward anything I didn’t want to do, but still—something in me felt guilty about not getting a “real job.”
So, I did.
Right out of college, I worked in news—first at ABC as a desk assistant, then at MTV as a production assistant. Then I became a producer at MTV. Eventually, after realizing that my acting itch wasn’t going anywhere, I moved to L.A. to become an actor.
The first few years were a bust. I waited tables, booked some commercials, but mostly, I partied. I was 26 going on 27, and as a born-and-raised New Yorker who had never lived anywhere else, L.A. felt like a playground. A new adventure. A whole new world of people and possibilities.
But at 30, with the weight of “aging out” of roles pressing down on me, I started taking this sh*t seriously. I enrolled in every acting class I could: audition classes, improv, Meisner—I was determined to get good at this and make it happen.
And while I had some success along the way—more commercials, a co-star role here and there—the big win came 13 years later.
In 2021, I booked a series regular role on the NBC comedy Grand Crew. I was added to the cast and stayed for the two seasons the show ran. It was a dream job. THE dream job. An all-Black cast with a Black showrunner and a beautifully diverse crew—on network television. A show reminiscent of the ones I grew up watching.
I was on cloud nine.
Until the excitement wore off.
I was still incredibly grateful and loved the work, but it became painfully clear that a dream job wasn’t going to fix the pain I still had inside. Pain I thought would disappear if I just booked a big gig. Or had more money. Or proved I could do this.
There will never be enough jobs, money, or validation to make me happy. My happiness has to come from within. And when this realization hit, I was overcome with sadness.
But that sadness eventually shifted.
Through therapy and self-reflection, I realized that Grand Crew was more than just a career win. More than financial security. It was a revelation.
It forced me to ask myself: What do I really want for my life and career?
I still love acting. And honestly, I think I’ll pursue it forever. But I’ve become extremely conscious of what makes me happy about it and what doesn’t. For me, it’s about the art of it—the connection, the storytelling.
I want to make art that allows people to feel seen.
That’s why I now explore so many different avenues of storytelling. I’m more focused than ever on my writing career, and I’ve recently started working in the visual arts through collage and illustration.
Storytelling through the arts is what makes me happy.
And, of course, money helps. Money makes life easier—there’s no denying that. And I hope to God I get to work as a series regular again because, damn, that money is good!
But financial or career success isn’t the most important thing to me, and as a Type A overachiever, I have to remind myself of that constantly.
When I’m feeling down about not booking a role or watching my bank account dwindle, I try to remember these things:
I am loved.
I am healthy.
I am living in my truth.
I am blessed.
And… I got this.
Deep breath.
Art is beautiful and totally worth it.