On letting momentum carry you

Is the way that you approach creating art—whether that’s filmmaking or writing—different from how you approached sport and running?

It’s more similar than different. In both, there’s a need to show up every day. And that can mean mentally—[to be] in your space, with the people around you, not expecting every day to be amazing. It’s normal not to feel the same every day. What’s similar is the preparation. You have your clothes you wear, you have your practice time, you have what your body feels. But an athletic mindset is understanding that while some days the yield might not be as high, the effort is the same.

I’m curious how you maintain consistency with artistic practice. As an athlete, if I were having a rough day, I could just tell myself to push through and do repetitions, and still feel like I made progress. But art feels harder to measure progress.

I think the arts operate a little differently. In running, you have one goal, your North Star. But in the arts, I’m usually balancing a bunch of projects at once. So sometimes I can shift from one project to another in a given time period.

The way I’ve been describing the difference to my friends is that in sports, I learned how to deal with failure. But in trying to become an artist, I’m learning how to deal with rejection. They’re two vastly different forms of loss.

“Losing” is a term that’s more athletic than it is artistic. But we should think about taking everything way less personally. In sports, if you lose, there’s some stuff in your control, but there’s some that isn’t. I think of all rejection as feedback, and feedback is just information you get to choose what to do with. In the arts, it can feel more personal—but it doesn’t have to, because there’s so much timing and momentum involved. It’s actually way less personal.

Do you find that type of subjectivity liberating or overwhelming?

I used to find it really difficult. With running, I felt like I could control my destiny. But now I want to spend my days making things that feel energetic and harmonious. My perspective has changed because I’ve embraced the elements of my universe I cannot control. What doors open, what doors close, what sort of wind exists in my sails.

For artists, it’s important to have multiple projects you’re working on, figuring out how to always be making art and not trying to control what will actualize or when. Otherwise, you’re kind of helpless. Are you doing it to get the outward-facing result, or because you love it? There’s a level of maturity here where people have to ask themselves, “What is my why? And can I still move toward that purpose without the certainty of things being certain?”

Do you feel like your source of faith is the same whether you’re an artist or an athlete? How do you call yourself an artist with certainty?

It’s never felt important to me that I call myself an artist or an athlete. I am, because I’m doing these things, but I don’t do it to identify as that. Labels help some people orient themselves, but they don’t matter to me at all. For a lot of people, I think they matter too much.

It does get confusing when titles matter to the point of getting in the way. I think it’s sometimes just insecurity or having impostor syndrome, when it comes to claiming certain identities.

In my 20s, I was doing stuff in the arts because I was interested… But now I’ve earned enough experience to become really capable of contributing. Now I feel called to specific things that are the intersection of me having a point of view and the world presenting an opportunity.

The book I’m currently adapting into a movie is called What Made Maddy Run, a heartbreaking true story about a girl at Penn who committed suicide her freshman year. I feel uniquely equipped to write that movie because it’s the intersection of my athletic experience, mental health background, and directing skills. The more I do, the more I grow. And the more I feel that the projects I’m taking on as an artist are the ones I feel called to do, and not just interested [in doing].

So it may have started as an interest, but now it’s become almost a spiritual calling?

I just feel called to specific things. I can’t do everything I feel called to do—like, I feel like I could break the Greek marathon record, but that’s a lot of time and energy I may or may not put in. I’m not saying I’m doing everything I feel called to do, but I’m definitely trying not to do things I don’t feel called to do. If I’m not called to do it, it might mean that somebody else can do it better. And they should.

Are there times when you feel called to do several different things, and you’re not sure which is the thing you should be doing? What do you do to overcome choice paralysis?

That’s the hard part. I feel called to do so many things right now. But I’ve learned that I have a strong internal compass about what’s best for me to be doing at any given moment. I used to be an A+ type of student. Like, I’d try to email everyone back the same day. But now I’m actively trying to be a B student in some aspects of my life. It doesn’t mean I’m giving up. I’m just acknowledging what I can manage, which actually allows me to take on more. It doesn’t mean I’m not trying my best with the art itself. But I went through a huge separation. I own a house, I have three cats, and I had a huge surgery last year because I smashed my collarbone. I’ve got a lot going on that has nothing to do with art or sports. But that’s life. And I love life. I want to live a big life. So an email might take two days, but allowing myself to be a B student in certain parts of my life gives me space to not be perfect every day. There are immovable timelines, of course. But where there’s flexibility, I try to have integrity in doing what is worth giving my best to, where the work matters the most.

One of the metaphors you’ve used in the past is that being an athlete is like being a pencil and we’re constantly learning how to sharpen ourselves. But that idea lends itself to perfection. Do you still think of yourself as a pencil? Or are you more like a crayon now?

I’m much more crayon-like. With broader and thicker strokes. But also, when you’re getting ready for a TV pitch, you need to become super dialed in and sharp. So it just depends on the timing. There was a time and a place for ultra-sharpness for me, and maybe there’ll be a time and place for that again. But right now, most of my running relies on me finishing the races, and doing it by being at B-level fit, not A+ sharp.

Do you feel like that’s true generally with your art? Like it’s more about being flexible and having the endurance to finish a project rather than about being perfect?

It depends on what stage you’re at. I also have better teammates now. I can send producers or editors my book, and they know we’ll sharpen it when the time comes. They need me to send them something, not wait for perfection.

How did you find your team?

I used to make everything with my ex. When we separated—which was the right thing to do—I was scared to do it on my own because it meant finding a million other teammates instead of one. But now I have really cool teammates. I found them through common interests, a lot at the intersection of art and sport. A lot of the projects I’m doing now have some sort of athletic twist to them. You should be where your feet are.

I feel like my mind is never where my feet are. I was trying to write a couple of weeks ago, but growing up with social media, I feel like my mind is perpetually everywhere all at once.

Well, first, make sure your basics are taken care of. If you have a need that’s more important than your art, then your mind is going to go there. That could mean seeing a therapist, cleaning your room, or sleeping. It’s understandable that your mind is wandering if you haven’t taken care of the basics, which are unique to every person. Your basics are different from mine. How can you expect yourself to have any kind of meditative, deeper thoughts if your surface-level energy is fucked? Then give yourself space to create, and be disciplined about your environment. I have a writing playlist that puts me in the right headspace. But if my house is messy, I have to clean it. That might take a Saturday, but then I’ll write on Sunday. I can’t write with clutter around me.

That’s so real.

Sometimes you have a deadline, and the clutter’s kind of romantic. When there’s a deadline, I can do anything anywhere as long as the deadline’s real. I have to believe in the intensity, though.

I also need stakes in order for goals to feel legitimate. I can’t just set a deadline for myself… For an artist struggling in their own head, how would you advise?

Find and be open with people. I’ll message people on Instagram and then get coffee with them if they’re up for it. And sometimes they are, sometimes they’re not, and we see if there’s any energy or friendship there. It takes time. And it’s also vulnerable, because if you come up in sports and then you want to go into the arts, you have to find those communities. It’s like you’re in elementary school again. At least that’s how I felt.

But what’s maybe even more important than that is honesty. People should just be honest. If you have a need and you’re honest about it and you mean well, people aren’t going to hate you. People are so afraid of everything. If you’re honest and everyone’s honest, then the truth is good. Which goes back to rejection. If the truth is that a [TV] show shouldn’t sell right now because of the market, then that’s just the truth right now. It doesn’t mean you’re bad. It’s just the truth of the whole picture.

But people take the truth very personally, you know? Myself included.

Yeah, but the truth is good. It’s an expediter. It’s not wasting your life, and it doesn’t mean it’s the truth forever. Things change. I had a show that didn’t sell several years ago, because there was another show that was in the same kind of world. Then, years later, the producer called and was like, “We want to turn this into a movie now.” So this wonderful project I spent so long on has new energy in a different way because of time and circumstance.

That’s so full circle.

Yeah, but it doesn’t always happen that way. As an artist and an athlete, you have to opt into the mystery of life. There’s a mystery to when things will time out in your favor. There’s a mystery to when things will come full circle. The sooner you can accept and not get so offended by that mystery, the more delightful life gets. Because the mystery so often works in your favor.

As an athlete, I want to be in control of everything. I want to know the plot at all times.

Control what you can, but delight in what you can’t! I used to think the arts were like running—if I didn’t take every step, things wouldn’t move forward. But now I think it’s more like biking. Just be pedaling, and things will move on their own. You don’t have to take every single step every day. You can coast, which doesn’t mean you’re not doing anything. It just means you’ve put something into the world, and are waiting for it to come back. You still have to pedal, but you also have to be optimistic, patient, and see where your momentum takes you. It’s helped me feel a lot calmer when I’m not taking certain steps every day, or when I’m just waiting, or trusting, or looking at my days. Are your days still allowing you to live in an interesting way? Because that’s ultimately what I hope for everyone: that for the most part, you have good days.