I'm back on the East Coast for the rest of the week and then I'm jetting back to the Beehive State to move into my new place before school starts. I've been running on empty for a while, so it's been beautiful to come home and have my biggest responsibility be not forgetting to take advantage of the pool in the backyard.

I've been shooting in a 16x9 ratio over on my instagram lately because I'm a cinematographer at heart and I needed something a little more cinematic than a square, just for now.

This is a photograph of lady liberty as seen from the Staten Island Ferry. Riding from Manhattan to Staten Island as the sun set was breathtaking.

The fact that The Man From U.N.C.L.E. isn't doing well at the box office is breaking my little heart because I think it is witty and charming and stylish and that the soundtrack is fabulous. Promise me you'll go see it.

Bye

One of many essays about film school: read the rest here

Let's talk about second acts. Seems to be an appropriate topic for the second essay.

This past January I was sitting in a class and one of my professors was giving a group of students feedback on an edit of a 30 second commercial they were trying to finish. He wanted them to spend more time on the rising action of the story arc.

"Most meaningful is the balance before we know what's going to happen."
—Jeff Parkin, on second acts

I loved that thought so much—its applications are so multiple. Yes, in this context it was describing the editing choices of a 30 second TV spot, but second acts are a part of life. We're going to have a lot of second acts in our lives, because we sure do spend most of our time not knowing the answers to our questions, not being able to quell our fears, and dwelling amidst our doubts. If you look at the big picture, our entire time here on Earth is one giant second act. My freshman year I remember talking with a friend about some sort of General Conference talk regarding God's approach to giving answers—He gives answers, delays answers, and sometimes withholds answers from us when we're asking for them. I don't really remember our conversation but I do remember laughing/crying/lying on the floor in a moment of comical but valid self pity that "God seems pretty obsessed with withholding answers from me lately."

It's true. God does withhold answers from us. Occasionally. Occasionally it may feel more often than "occasionally". And sometimes it gets easier and sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes you still don't know and sometimes you have to accept you're not going to find out until the next life. But I loved that idea about second acts.

Sometimes remembering that 'not knowing' is 'meaningful' is helpful, and sometimes if someone told me that I would want to throw a brick at them—It's not like this perspective makes all your worries disappear in a split second. They're still there. You're just looking at them a little differently. A little less aggressively. A little more lightheartedly. Maybe an endearing eye roll here or there. Because in the end, those annoying little [big] questions are adding more meaning to your life.

If there's something that I try to remember regularly, it's that the second act is where the magic happens.

The other day I was making a little list of all the big picture things that the last six months of being in film school has taught me and it ended up being not such a little list. Maybe it has to do with the fact that I'm obsessed with the film program, maybe it has to do with the fact that I truly believe that everything is a metaphor, maybe it's because I'm really big on documenting things (or I'm trying be better about it, anyway). Maybe it's a combination of all those things.