Of course, the wiser part of me knows this is a recipe for disaster (or at least disappointment). But sometimes the id screams like a toddler being forcibly removed from the toy aisle and the hubris of me insisting on doing things my way prevails.

But in saner moments, I realize that I simply need to catch the dreams and ideas that come to me, give ‘em some love, take a few action steps…and then release the trajectory of their manifestation to God.

My best friend recently gave me one of the most beautifully thoughtful gifts I’ve ever received: a very cool replica of an old school drive-in theater speaker. Her note said:

“To remind you that you are a screenwriter and filmmaker. Regardless of the fact that it may not look like what you thought it would.”

I was touched not only by her belief in my work, but how spot-on she was about the fact that our desires don’t always come to us in neat little packages designed by our imaginations.

Ever since I fell in love with screenwriting in college, I pictured that my films would one day end up with one of the big studios.  (Granted, this was when dinosaurs roamed the earth, and before everything was available on YouTube…but I digress…). My producing partner Curt Apduhan and I tried for years to get into the Hollywood club. Curt is an Emmy award-winning cinematographer, who has worked with a lot of famous people who are well-entrenched in the studio system. But even with his personal and professional connections, we always seemed to get thisclose with one of our scripts, and then…crickets.

Finally, we decided that it was time to stop wasting time courting approval and just make a movie on our own. Even if it wasn’t a full-length feature backed by millions of dollars and starring a household name, it was still tangible proof that we knew how to write and produce something screen-worthy.

So, we shot our first short film, “Anniversary” with an amazing cast of three in a friend’s home (whose living room was miraculously transformed by our set designer into a hotel suite). We were on a shoestring budget, but everyone involved gave so generously of their time and talent that we ended up with a beautiful film that was very well-received at several festivals in the U.K.

We may still make it to Hollywood one day. Or maybe not. But I will never forget the thought that came to me as I stood on set for the first time and watched the actors say my words:

“I don’t know if I could be any happier if this were being played out on a giant soundstage or a glamorous location. I love filmmaking, period. I just want to be in the game.”

And as of this writing, I still am. Another short film produced and screened at festivals last year, and one more in the works that will be expanded to a feature. At least that’s the plan.

(I know, I know…cue the “we plan, God laughs” jokes.)

But I’ve done my best to catch and cultivate the dreams that come to me. Now begins the continual process of prying my fingers off of the steering wheel.

Time to let the Divine do the driving.

But while all of the above events may be true, they’re still excuses. And if I championed them, I’d be creating an absurd rationale for why I’m not doing the one thing that makes me feel the most alive: putting words on a page.

So, why do we go silent on our life’s passions?

Sometimes it’s for a good reason, like the need for genuine introspection. Taking a brief step back from what we love so we can see it with fresh eyes and return to it with renewed zeal.

But all too often, that short break turns into a self-sabotaging sabbatical. Excuses are reframed as “reasons” why we can’t get back in the game.

It’s been too long.

I’m out of practice.

I’ve lost momentum.

I don’t even know where to start.

Those toxic rationales enable us to politely excuse ourselves from doing what feeds our souls in favor of the things that – while perhaps necessary – feed only our practical routines.

We all have to take care of business. And because we’re good, responsible grownups, we buckle down. The work gets done, the groceries get bought and the bills get paid. All the boxes checked.

Except the one that didn’t even make the list: the dormant desire that is never truly silent.

But it is stealthy.

You’ll think you’ve successfully buried – or simply forgotten – it. That is, until it chooses any number of ways to slyly remind you of its existence:

You see a book you could have easily written.

A canvas you could’ve painted circles around.

A dish you could’ve cooked WAY better than that stupid, screaming TV chef.

And the only difference between you and those artists and creators is that when life got noisy, they didn’t lie back quietly and allow it to drown out what they loved.

They turned up their own volume, ignored the cacophony of “shoulds” and “have-tos” and pushed their passions to the forefront.

You can do the same. So can I.

And once we do, we’ll find that our dreams are very forgiving.

Just like a close friend who slides off our radar, all it takes is one moment to reach out and reestablish that connection to our God-given desires. To remember why the love was there in the first place. And to forget how long we’ve been apart.

Let’s break the silence. It’s time.