Quick house keeping: I’m currently in pre-production on my next film—a feature sports documentary. Below are excerpts from my production journal. If you want a sense of the kind of films I make, check out Stoker Machine. If you’d like to listen to this newsletter, instead of read, I’ve recorded a voiceover with sound design as well. The play button is above.
Production Journal #101
Date: Feb 26, 2025
This particular Saturday morning in Los Angeles is chilly, but the sun is shining. A cackle of black crows sits on the power lines, cawing outside my window. It is the type of morning where you step into the light, and warmth wraps around you. Step into the shade, and the cold settles in. A perfect morning to walk to the local café and draw.
I like to start my mornings this way—I call it planting seeds. It’s my way of priming my mind for the work ahead, either by creating something or immersing myself in someone else’s creativity.
I’ve learned that where attention goes, energy flows. If I have a day full of storyboarding, I’ll start by flipping through comics or studying Hayao Miyazaki’s Castle in the Sky storyboards. If I’m editing, I’ll watch a sports documentary. If I need to establish art direction, I’ll dive into design books or old ‘70s and ‘80s Playboy magazines.
You get the picture.
Before heading out to the local café, I grabbed an old leather-bound sketchbook from my shelf, its spine cracked from years of use. I was looking for blank pages. But as I flipped through, something caught my eye—something I didn’t expect.
Near the back, tucked between half-finished sketches and faded ink, was an entry I didn’t remember writing. My handwriting. The words—familiar, yet distant.
I flipped to the date. 2019.
Strange butterflies erupted in my stomach.
I knew this entry mattered before I even read a word. I decided it was best to ingest that with coffee, so I tucked it in my backpack and bolted out the door.
I settled into my chair at the café with coffee (no sugar or cream), and let my eyes scan the page. What I found blew my mind wide open.
2019 was a year of uncertainty. I was searching for work, navigating deep personal change, and wrestling with big questions about my life and the people in it. At 35, I was beginning to redefine my values—learning to ask for help and seeking guidance.
I spent a lot of time reading Jordan Peterson, Tony Robbins, and Brené Brown—great mentors, even though we never met. Their words helped me see my own life more clearly.
I remember that time well. My process then, as it is now, was to meditate for twenty minutes each evening before journaling. I believe that when the body reaches a deep state of relaxation, we access things our intellect can't when it's actively "trying." This relaxed state helps with creation—or channeling, as I call it—tapping into ideas floating around the universe. Sometimes, those ideas become artwork and stories. Other times, they reveal our deepest wisdom.
I didn’t realize it then, but I was planting seeds by writing down my intentions on how I wanted to design my life.
I took another sip of coffee. The open page in front of me was a list from that night in 2019—a map of where my inner compass was guiding me next.
Love surfing.
Love storytelling through movie making.
Love animation.
Love human interest stories.
Love helping others.
Be in service to others through creativity.
Be curious.
I stared at the words, almost tearing up. This list was written one year before I committed to making Stoker Machine—the film that would tie all of these passions together.
If your curious and want to hear a more in depth story about the making of Stoker Machine, check out my TED talk, “What Makes You Stoked?”.
Now, six years later, I’m living in L.A, working on a documentary that fuses animation and surfing, telling a human interest story—partnered with one of the biggest and best brands in the world.
I can’t believe it. That list of intentions, scribbled in ink years ago, had become my reality. Had a past version of me unknowingly sketched the future I’m now living? Or was my destiny already set? We can never know.
I do know the 35-year-old me—who I barely recognize now—would be proud. And that realization makes me wonder: What will the next six years bring?
Finding this journal entry teaches me a simple but profound truth: Planting intentional seeds, creates our own reality. We plant them. We water them. We stay open. Trust that life is happening for us, not to us. Then, one day, we wake up in a lush garden, surrounded by the fruits of our past intentions.
I close the sketchbook and step back outside onto the busy streets of L.A. The morning, still crisp. A flutter of crows flap their wings. Cawing. Shadows pass overhead flickering warm sunlight on my face.
Now, it’s time to get back to work and dive into research on the genre I’m working in—sports documentary.
What seeds are you planting for your future self? Please leave in the comments below.
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