Why I Quit Film School

I was consumed by the idea of film school. Once the thought of getting my MFA in writing for television took hold while reading Shonda Rhimes’ Year of Yes, I could think of nothing else. I had exactly no idea how to write a script, didn’t even really like to watch movies, sticking mostly to TV shows, but I could tell a story and there were too many signs – and people – telling me I should write for television. 

The last six months of 2019 were spent reading books and screenplays and listening to podcasts to learn how to write the scripts I needed to submit with my applications. I fumbled through, figured it out, wrote personal statements, solicited recommendations. I paid fees and recorded videos and requested transcripts and made sure I had all the boxes checked. 

And then I waited. 

Two months passed before I got word of an interview for first one program and then another. Another month passed. I started obsessively checking the USC Film School portal, my top choice at the time, for an admissions decision. 

In the early morning hours of a February Friday morning, it came. 

I was in. 

I got into USC Film School, a feat some – namely Shonda Rhimes – say is harder than getting into Harvard Law. Within a couple of weeks, the same week North Carolina shut down for COVID, I had two more acceptance letters, one from AFI, the other from Chapman. I hadn’t heard from LMU, but I didn’t much care – I had USC. I paid my deposit the morning it was due and that evening, as I exited the gym, I got an email to interview with LMU. 

Something to know about me? I like achievement. I like reward. Even though I had gotten into my top choice and committed to my spot, I had to know – could I make it four for four? Could I get into all of the top 10 film schools I’d applied to? 

Spoiler alert: I did. 

The girl with no idea what she was doing got into all four programs. I didn’t realize what a feat that was until I got to Los Angeles and started to meet people, learn their journey into the entertainment world. I can admit that I thought it boded well for me and my future in the industry. And even though I’d accepted my spot at USC, LMU piqued my curiosity with their program that equipped students to be a showrunner, exactly what I wanted to be. I spent a lot of time on calls with professors and students from both programs and on a Friday afternoon – there’s something about Fridays in my world – I trusted my gut, withdrew from USC, and enrolled at LMU. 

I loved my first year of film school. Loved it. I loved my classes, getting to know my classmates (even if we were on Zoom), learning about story and how to break it, about characters, world building, production. I was sad when the first year was over, ecstatic when the second year of the three year program started – and in person at that! 

A month into the spring semester of my second year, I started to dread my classes. At the heart of it, I still enjoyed writing, telling stories. Yet as the days went by and I got deeper into the world of television, the idea of Hollywood lost its shine. Our professors brought in guest speakers that would tell us all about their incredible careers and how they got where they were, but I found myself reading between the lines – most of them didn’t have much of a personal or family life. They proudly said they missed school functions for pitch meetings, maybe made it home for bedtime, but had to stay up until the wee hours reading scripts, reviewing budgets, writing pages. There was a push to do more, more, more, to do whatever you had to do to get your foot in the door. 

Whatever you had to do.  

It didn’t sit right with me. 

I want a big career, but I also want a family, a home. I want to be present, available. 

And if we’re being frank, I didn’t want to “start over.” I’ve worked hard in my career and the prospect of having to go from a senior role to answering phones for someone in hopes it might get my foot in the door made me ill. I wanted to write – I still want to write – but my goal has always been to publish books with the hope that those books will be optioned for a movie or television show. I didn’t have time to work on my manuscript and it was the only piece of writing I truly wanted to focus on after finishing my pilot. 

I hated production.  

Hated it. 

I was good at it. I was REALLY good at it. My brain is one big spreadsheet and all the organizing and scheduling and logistics of production made sense to me. I’m a natural leader (what my third grade teacher told my parents were “bossy tendencies”) and I could rally the troops. I could navigate that world, make it happen. And I hated it. It was boring and awful and hours upon hours spent in Movie Magic making shooting schedules and budgets are hours of my life I’ll never get back. 

Then there was the whole ‘Move to Nashville’ whisper during my New Year’s journaling session… 

I wrestled with my decision to withdraw from film school. A large part of me wanted to finish on principle. I’d invested two years and a lot of time and money. I should see it through, I told myself. People expected me to see it through. And wouldn’t an MFA look great on my resume? 

But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t let myself invest yet another year in a program that I no longer enjoyed, pursing a career I no longer wanted. I couldn’t stay in Los Angeles for another year. I felt called to Nashville, and Nashville was where I needed to be. I knew that in my very bones. I knew that I needed to be obedient to that call, withdraw from school, and move across the country for the second time in less than two years. 

I wondered how I would feel when the fall semester began and my classmates headed back for one final year, set to work on their thesis projects, many of which I had read drafts of and given feedback on. I wondered if I would regret it, if I would wish I was with them, bringing my script about witches in Savannah to life. I really loved that script, after all, and God willing, I hope to one day do something with it. 

I didn’t miss it. 

I don’t miss it. 

One of my friends told me I didn’t quit or even withdraw from film school, but that I chose another direction. I love that sentiment – I chose another direction. 

I chose the direction that was right for me. 

I don’t think we do that enough – choose what’s right for us. We stick out programs, jobs, relationships, whatever, because we feel like we’re supposed to. We think we’ll rock someone’s opinion of us or choose wrong or disrupt the boat or whatever else we can dream up to keep us from following our gut, from taking the risk of doing something new or different or what people may deem irrational. We think we made a promise or a vow or an investment and we’re obligated to see it through. 

I think we also wonder if we’ll mess up what God has for us if we make a life-altering decision. Because what if we choose wrong? What if the choice we make upends life even more instead of smoothing things out? 

Good news! 

We can’t mess up what God has for us. 

I’ve wondered in quiet moments why He sent me to Los Angeles. Why did He need me there? Same with Chapel Hill, really. Why did He lead me to open a barre studio there, knowing full well it would fail within the year? I may never truly know, but I’m starting to think it was because He wanted me here, in Nashville. Why is TBD, but there is no mistake – I’m supposed to be right here, in middle Tennessee, not in Los Angeles, slogging through film school. 

What would happen if you chose what’s right for you, even if it feels entirely insane? 

What if you let yourself find out? 

Film school was a blessing that then became a lesson – and that lesson? It’s also a blessing. 

Listen to your heart. Choose another direction. 

See what happens.