You're Using the Wrong Scoreboard

I've watched people get opportunities I thought they hadn't earned.

I've watched people receive praise for work they barely did.

I've watched people get the exact thing I had spent years chasing.

And I'll admit it.

That used to eat at me.

Because somewhere along the way, most of us were taught a very comforting equation:

Work hard + become good = success.

Except that's not how life works.

Sometimes the hardest-working person loses.

Sometimes the best screenplay doesn't get made.

Sometimes the most talented filmmaker doesn't get the opportunity.

Luck matters.

Timing matters.

Relationships matter.

And if you're an artist, that's a difficult thing to accept.

Because it means you can do everything right...

and still lose.

The Fruits Aren't Reliable

There's a famous idea in the Bhagavad Gita:

You have a right to your work. You don't have a right to the fruits of it.

I used to think that simply meant:

Enjoy the journey.

Now I think it's saying something harder.

Stop using the fruits as your scoreboard.

Did the movie get into the festival?

Did the video get views?

Did the book sell?

Did you get the job?

Did anyone notice?

Those things matter. I'm not going to pretend they don't.

We want careers.

We want our work to reach people.

We need to make money.

The problem begins when those outcomes become the way we decide whether what we're doing has value.

Because the fruits aren't entirely yours to control.

What Spielberg Could Do

Think about Steven Spielberg making Jaws.

The mechanical shark famously didn't work the way it was supposed to.

So Spielberg adapted.

If he couldn't show the shark, he'd suggest it.

A point of view beneath the water.

A yellow barrel.

John Williams' music.

Absence became suspense.

We look back now and see the blockbuster, the money, the career.

But those are the fruits.

The more interesting thing is what Spielberg was capable of doing when the plan fell apart.

He could solve the problem.

And that's something nobody could give him.

It had to be earned.

Which makes me wonder if sometimes we're envious of the wrong thing.

Maybe what we really want isn't somebody else's success.

Maybe we want their ability.

That's good news.

Because you may never get their career.

But you can get better.

Change the Question

So I've started thinking about success differently.

At the end of the day, instead of asking:

Did this succeed?

Ask:

Did I give this everything I had?

Did I prepare?

Did I push beyond the easy solution?

Did I stay when it became difficult?

Did I become better?

Those answers belong to you.

The festival doesn't decide them.

The algorithm doesn't decide them.

Hollywood doesn't decide them.

You do.

And you know when the answer is honest.

The Other Thing You're Directing

This is becoming central to what I mean by The Director Within.

You're always directing two things.

There's the outcome you're trying to create.

And there's the person who's trying to create it.

You have far less control over the first than we'd like to admit.

But the second?

That's where the real work is.

Maybe the deepest reward of pursuing something difficult isn't eventually getting the thing you wanted.

Maybe it's becoming someone capable of doing things you couldn't do before.

So pursue the career.

Submit to the festival.

Try to sell the book.

Want the audience.

Want the success.

There's nothing wrong with any of that.

Just don't let those things become the only scoreboard.

Because you can do extraordinary work and lose.

And you can do mediocre work and win.

But when the day is over, there's one question nobody else gets to answer for you:

Did I give this everything I had?

If the answer is yes, that's yours.

No award can manufacture it.

No rejection can erase it.

No one can take it.

The fruits can be faked.

The satisfaction never can.

Don't just direct your movies.

Direct your life.