I've spent the last decade telling other people's stories.

 

Brand films, documentaries, content that was designed to sell something. And I was good at it. But somewhere along the way I realized the stories that mattered most weren't the ones being told.

 

A few years ago I made a documentary about my wife's grandmother. She's deaf. Her whole family can hear. She grew up in California in a world that wasn't built for her — and she built a beautiful life anyway. We sat down together, I asked her questions, and she told me things her own grandchildren had never heard.

 

When we watched it back, we cried.

 

Not because she was gone... she's still with us. But because we never knew what she had been through. 

 

That film changed everything for me. It made me realise that every family has a story like that. A grandmother, a grandfather, a parent whose life is extraordinary in ways nobody has ever stopped to ask about. And most of those stories are quietly disappearing.

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That's why I walked away from my secure job. To pursue telling stories that otherwise wouldn't be remembered. To sit down with the people you love before it's too late, ask the questions nobody thinks to ask, and turn the answers into something your family will watch for generations. This is the work I was always meant to do.