I got a show on TV and my life didn't change.

Finding contentment and making content in a world of discontent

Ira Glass was being interviewed about his radio show, This American Life. I scrambled to get a pen and write down his response to one question in particular. He was asked about story structure and answered in this simple, but profound way: “…the fact is, a lot of great stories hinge on people being wrong. In fact, we’ve talked as a staff about how the crypto-theme of every one of our shows is: ‘I thought it would work out this way, but then it worked out that way.’

I thought it would work out this way, but then it worked out that way.

After hearing him say this, I began to notice the structure everywhere. It’s how jokes work. It’s why we’re moved by certain pieces of music. It’s in the TikTok videos of someone confidently walking into a glass door. Surprises, stalls, and stops are where we discover reasons to laugh or cry or be baffled. We thought it would go one way, but it went another. This is woven throughout the stories we tell each other and the lives we live.

There are many things I assumed would happen once getting a show on television. Surely, there’d be fame and fortune. That would be great. Best of all, though, there would finally be an end to this nagging not-enoughness that’d plagued my inner life for so long.

I thought TV worked this way, but it does not.

One of my first jobs was running cameras and editing for a local television news show. Much of my childhood had been spent as a dedicated viewer of the five channels we could pick up with our antenna. Now, I’d be working for one of them. This smalltown Tennessee boy had made it!

I learned *a lot* in my very brief time working in local news. Mostly— I learned the kinds of stories I did not want to tell. A typical newsday was one where folks thought things would go one way, but ended up going another way and… well, usually, it was tragic or controversial. Cue: me. I’d be required to show up in their space with a camera and document one of the worst days in their lives. I’ve seen people do this well and respect those who can, but it was not for me.

For my next adventure, I ended up in front of the camera! My big break. I was the host of a no-budget talk show! For real. Here is a photo of me with a guest and her dog. Take special notice of the duct tape on the microphone.

While so many of my other friends were in grad school or beginning to build towards healthy retirement funds, I was doing this. Filmed in a coffee shop as drinks continued to be served, you could hear the furious roar of bean grinders and espresso machines in every episode. Meanwhile, I’d be at a desk attempting to mirror the late-night hosts I’d seen on television for years. By dressing the part, I thought the confidence, charm, and quick-wit of hosts I’d admired on TV would descend upon me. This did not happen.

When the show ended, so did my desire to be on camera. I was deeply embarrassed. It felt like a failure (and a public one at that). Loved ones would remind me the show was not a public failure as it’d really just been seen by only dozens of people. This did not help.

I began focusing on writing and working behind the camera. It was a safe way to hide, while also responding to the strange creative spark swirling inside of me. Fast-forward and you can see me wearing a variety of hats and serving in countless ill-fitting roles. I made short videos, long-form videos, commercials, documentaries, and hours upon hours of whatever else was asked of me. I thought I’d do that for the rest of my career, but then I made Kid President.

With Kid President, I made something for the simple joy of just making something. It used a desk similar to the one on my failed talk show, but embraced the duct tape and cardboard. Here was finally an outlet for creatively expressing hope and joy, years after I’d first longed for it while working in the newsroom. This project became an avenue for everything I’d been learning about stories and sharing them. Best of all, I got to do so alongside my young brother-in-law.

This led to many television projects. I went on to work behind-the-scenes at networks creating programming for children. I wrote and wrote. Pitched projects. Sold projects. Wrote more projects. Along the way, I met amazing people who are wildly talented and care deeply about kids. I learned so much about writing and production. Mostly, though? I learned television is hard. Very hard.

There were creators who shared with me some of the best things I’d ever read. For various reasons, though, these shows did not make it through the system. In fact, more common than shows making it to air are the unproduced ones. It’s something I’d learn firsthand moving from project to project. Nearly two years were spent on something I was passionate about and very proud of, but it just *went away*. Evaporated. One of my writing mentors with years of experience sought to console me by letting me know he’d had 15 projects experience that same fate before his first series made it. This did not encourage me.

So, when the Magnolia Network reached out to me about a TV show? I thought it was a wonderful idea, but a wonderful idea that would never actually happen.

Well. Fast-forward. It happened!

We filmed at the end of last summer. It was a team of some of the most talented, wise, and compassionate people I’ve ever gotten to work with. I loved it all. The being in front of camera thing? Well, it did open up a lot of old insecurities. It was a needed nudge, though. I was stretched and challenged in some very healing ways.

What was supposed to just be a pilot quickly moved into production and then miraculously made it to air as a special presentation. The Kindness Project is scrappy and just a tiny taste of what I really want to do with this idea, but it exists.

Yesterday, my friend Branden sent me this:

Search my name and it also brings up…. Ocean’s Eleven.

There’s so much I do not know. Will we make more episodes? Will all the mergers and streaming shifts impact this? Will I get to work with these wonderful humans again? I have hopes, sure, but no clue. In television, as in life itself, the Roberto Assagioli quote rings ever true: “There is no certainty; there is only adventure.”

Here’s something I do know: I have one episode of a television show now streaming on Max. The same streaming service that brought you Succession, Game of Thrones, and The White Lotus now also has me, an awkward man-child, in a show about kindness. What a time to be alive.

There’s a brilliant moment from the 2016 Golden Globes where Jim Carrey takes the stage to present an award. He is introduced as ‘two-time Golden Globe winner Jim Carrey’. As he approaches the microphone he says:

“I am two-time Golden Globe winner, Jim Carrey. You know, when I go to sleep at night, I'm not just a guy going to sleep: I'm two-time Golden Globe winner Jim Carrey. . . ”

It’s funny, but then he takes things a step further:

“And when I dream, I don't just dream any old dream. No, sir … I dream about being three-time Golden Globe-winning actor Jim Carrey. Because then I would be enough.”

Oh. That cuts deep. It speaks to something I’ve felt over and over in life: When I get through junior high—then life will be good. When I get a car — then I’ll be free. When I get a TV show — then I’ll be somebody. When I have massive viral success — then I’ll be enough. I’ll have made it. I’ll be me. I’ll have done it.

Am I enough yet?

Throughout the last year, there’s a Robert Lax poem that I’ve held close:

the point is not
what are you 
doing

but what are 
you being

i’m being

can anyone in
the world be

as well as 
you can?

Years ago, I was a kid hosting a show in a bagel shop.

I had dreams of what it might feel like to finally make it on TV … to finally be someone. Feels so different than what I’d imagined. I do not have lots of money (in fact, I’m looking for work). I do, though, feel a confidence and joy now I didn’t have back then… and it’s not because of a TV show. It’s thanks to a journey. My identity is not wrapped in what I accomplish, but who I am. I will not mistake my goals or roles for my soul.

I thought it would go one way, but it went an entirely different way.

I’m Brad. It’s enough.

I’m glad you’re here. You’re enough.

Three things:

1. The Kindness Project is now streaming on Max! You can download a version of the cat poster seen in the TV special here.

2. STORYTIME in Nashville! Join us Saturday, May 27, 2023 - 10:30 am at Parnassus Books for a special visit to The Fantastic Bureau of Imagination, book signing, and fun surprises. More info here.

3. Thank you for supporting my work! You can become a paid subscriber to The Enthusiast, order from my online shop, or hire me to speak. Also, it’s a huge help when you share this email with a friend or on social media. SO grateful for all of you!