When you're 25 years old, you have a secret (or not so secret) theory of what you might become, and where, and how. It's a naive theory, no doubt, but it has all the seductive power of the self-made myth. Your suspicions about yourself brim over, begging to be confirmed--and you have no evidence that they won't
be confirmed. All you've got is a long swath of time and desire to imagine and seek out opportunities to be tested.
When you're 35 years old, things have changed. You've already tabled most of your spare time as a bargaining chip to try to negotiate your way into a serious relationship as well as something resembling a career. And it was worth it. Because you just aren't so interested anymore in spending much time thinking about the Theory of You. You tell yourself that you can't afford to navel-gaze, but that's not it. The hypothesis itself has changed. It's been falsified, at least in part, by your relentlessly unhypothetical life. And you don't necessarily feel all that good about it.
Well you should, because a 25-year-old's idea of who they will be is boldly, enthusiastically wrong. They will fire themselves off with great speed and intensity and it will all look very cool, but they won't have a clue what they're aiming at. Collateral damage abounds in those years, and friendly fire is a real problem. But you've
been through this hail of random bullets and you're
still standing. And in the future, you will choose your targets more carefully.
But what if there were an opportunity for you to have it both ways? To combine the benefits of experience with the urgency of innocence? I think there might just be such an opportunity in the 48-hour Toronto Film Challenge, and I invite you to join the 'die hard' team of creatives we're assembling for the attempt if you're still interested after reading how and why we're doing it.