Hey, everyone. I’m Adam J. Spencer, a screenwriter, novelist, and visual artist from Virginia’s Blue Ridge Mountains. I’m taking a break from my Stage 32 moderator duties for the rest of this month, but I wanted to stop in for Introduce Yourself Weekend.
For a long time, I carried a quiet bargain: I will endure this because one day it will become worth it.
I asked the future to redeem the past. The achievement I hoped for was supposed to explain the sacrifice. We are ever fond of making invoices for existence.
I find myself somewhere different now.
I’m standing somewhere before the ending, with no guarantee that the thing I’ve wanted will arrive in the form I imagined, and realizing that the years themselves were not empty space between me and the prize.
They became my life.
They formed me. Introduced me to people I would not otherwise have known. Forced capacities out of me that might have remained dormant.
They hurt me, certainly.
But they also gave me things that cannot be taken away by whatever happens next.
That is why gratitude and longing can coexist.
It doesn’t mean the sacrifices were secretly pleasant, or that disappointment no longer hurts. It means the horizon I seek no longer possesses the sole authority to decide whether the road I walk matters.
Fear, despair, and doubt still mark portions of this path. I’m learning that they don’t have to govern the whole journey.
I have begun to love something that is still unfinished.
There is a kind of freedom in that. A freedom that no longer says, When I arrive, then I’ll know this was worth it.
I’m in the middle of it, crying and laughing and wiping my nose like a magnificently undignified pilgrim, and saying:
It was worthwhile that I came at all.
My heart is full.
The outcome remains unknown. But for this moment, I’m no longer asking the future for permission to be grateful for what has already been given.
As you introduce yourselves this weekend, I’d love to hear: what has your creative life given you that you would keep, whatever happens next?
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Adam J. Spencer this is beautifully written and such an important perspective, especially in an industry where we're constantly chasing the next milestone. After all these years at Stage 32, one of the things I value most is the people I've met and the relationships that have come from building something together. Those are the things that stay with you regardless of the outcome. Thank you for sharing this and for everything you continue to bring to our community. Enjoy your well-deserved break from moderating!
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What a wonderful view on things! We never really stop to look at the positives we gain - no matter where in the industry - and what our creations bring us.
If anything, my creative life has given me confidence. Not in my work, but in myself. No matter what I face now, I can tell myself, "I can do this!"
What would you say has been the most enjoyable experience gained so far?
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My friend, Adam J. Spencer, if there's one thing I've learning and actually, still learning, is that nothing is ever wasted. Beauty from ashes brother. We'll both look at days like these and see the value, what they taught us and more importantly, what they saved us from. Onward, soldier. I've got your six.
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So beautifully said, Adam. I love the perspective that you have on being "somewhere before the ending," looking back at what got you there, and coming to peace with the fact that you may not be where a younger you was hoping to be, but the present you can say that was the point -- to live life, have experiences, and be where we are right now and it not mean anything other than we have lived; and that really means everything.
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That's a great way to look at it and it's great that you can do that.
I've never quite reached that stage. The "whatever" has never occurred to me - which can be good (I keep working until the thing happens) or bad (I keep working until the thing happens even if it doesn't happen).
I love creating. That, in and of itself, is a reward. So the answer, I guess would be my creative life has given me the ability to create (not a very creative answer, I know!)
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Adam J. Spencer Adam, it takes lucidity of the highest quality (a bitter kind!) and courage to find and affirm the freedom to love something imperfect, a reality made of sediment, hope, chance, and unpredictability – something that has yet to find its final form...
What would I keep from everything my creative self has given me so far? Another form of freedom: the ability to laugh at myself, to take myself seriously neither in success nor when nosediving. It's a form of therapy that, in my case, keeps the spirit away from both utopias and depressive chasms…
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Ah Adam J. Spencer those cursed hows. I think the entertainment industry is a microcosm of life. We focus on the destination and have no idea "how" we are going to get there. There are a lot of detours and stops along the way. I still struggle with letting go and just letting it be. I am so happy for you.
To answer your question, what I would keep that my creative life has given me, whatever happens next? My time in Arizona, is coming to an end. In a way, I can say that careerwise it did not turn out like I had hoped, or envisioned when I moved here in 2014. I cannot, however, view it as a wasted pitstop. I found this platform and all the people on it. I also found a local creative community because of Stage 32 and that led to some new experiences. This platform and RB in particular, let me see myself as more than just an actor. The beauty of this site is, all the people on it will be with me whereever I go. So I guess if all I got out my 12 years in AZ, is the lasting friendships I have built, and renewed motivation to continue my acting career, the pitstop is worth it. I hope you'll come visit me in ABQ. I love you, my friend. Remember me when you are big time screenwriter. :)
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Amanda Toney, thank you. That means a great deal, especially coming from someone who has spent so many years helping other people find their place in this community.
I think that’s something we sometimes overlook. Behind every project, every introduction, every small victory, there are people making room for one another. Often without knowing what those relationships will eventually mean.
And years later, those are the things we remember.
I’m grateful for the friendships I’ve found here, and for the people, yourself included, who helped make them possible. Thank you for being part of my journey.
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Mark Anderson, I love that distinction you’ve made. Confidence in yourself rather than simply confidence in your work. I suspect that’s a much more durable thing to carry through life.
As for my most enjoyable experience, I think it’s been watching something I once carried entirely alone become meaningful to someone else.
There’s a peculiar joy in creating a world, filling it with people and their troubles, and then discovering that someone you’ve never met has walked into it and found something of their own.
But beyond the work itself, it’s the relationships. The unexpected friendships, the conversations that wander well beyond the business of storytelling, and the people who become part of your life simply because you dared to share something you’d made.
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Leonardo Ramirez, my brother, I think there’s something important in the distinction between what was lost and what was wasted. I’m not sure every difficult thing was necessary. Some experiences leave marks we’d rather not carry, and we needn’t pretend otherwise. But those years don’t get to have the final word about what our lives become. Sometimes the beauty isn’t that the ashes were necessary. It’s that something living managed to grow afterward. I’m grateful you’re walking this road with me, my friend. And you know I’ve got your six, too.
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Delenn Kerkhof, you’ve understood something that took me rather a long time to recognize. I don’t think our younger selves were wrong to hope for the lives they imagined. Those hopes carried us forward. But I also don’t want the person I’ve become to spend his life apologizing for not arriving precisely where that younger fellow expected. There’s been a whole life in between. People I’ve loved, places I’ve known, things I’ve made and lost. Perhaps they don’t require some grand explanation to have mattered. We were here. We lived. There’s something wonderfully liberating about allowing that to be enough.
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Lori Williams, I wouldn’t discount that answer for a moment. The ability to create is remarkable, even if we sometimes forget how extraordinary it is. And I don’t think you’ve failed to reach some particular stage of acceptance. Believe me, I still want things. Quite badly, some days! The ambition hasn’t disappeared, nor has the occasional disappointment. I’m simply trying to make room for gratitude alongside the wanting, without requiring one to cancel the other. And perhaps that’s the lovely thing about creating. Whatever the outcome, we can sit down tomorrow and make something that didn’t exist yesterday. That’s no small gift, my friend.
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Valentin Stanga, you have a wonderful way of finding the difficult little hinge within an idea. And I think you’re right. It does take a kind of bitter lucidity to see our lives clearly, without pretense, especially when they haven’t conformed to what we once imagined. It’s difficult, but perhaps necessary. And when we manage it, there’s freedom in allowing something unfinished to be worthy of love anyway. Because truthfully, our lives are unfinished, too. Just like our careers. We’re still becoming. We’re not done yet. There’s humility in recognizing that, and perhaps it’s as important as any other part of this journey. Which brings me to your point about laughter. Perhaps being able to laugh at ourselves is one of the ways we practice that humility. It allows us to hold our ambitions with a little less severity, to put them in perspective rather than become their hostages. A rather undignified arrangement for something I supposedly love doing! Perhaps the trick is to care deeply about the work, to remain committed to making it the best it can be, without confusing its fortunes with our own worth. It’s a pleasure to meet you, my friend.
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Suzanne Bronson, oh my Suzanne, twelve years is a substantial piece of a life, my friend. I wouldn’t call that a pitstop, even if the road has taken you somewhere unexpected. And I hope you allow yourself to feel the disappointment of what didn’t happen, too. Gratitude doesn’t require us to pretend we haven’t lost something. But the friendships, the people who helped you see yourself differently, and the experiences that widened your understanding of what you might become aren’t consolation prizes. They’re part of the life you lived, and they’re going with you. As for remembering you when I’m some big-time screenwriter, I’m afraid you’re stuck with me long before that happens, and probably long afterward, should the universe cooperate. I love you too, my friend. And I very much hope there’s an Albuquerque visit somewhere along this road. ❤️
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Adam J. Spencer I absolutely agree!
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"what has your creative life given you that you would keep, whatever happens next?"
The ability to channel the maelstrom in my mind out and onto a page.
Soothes better than aspirin, pleases better than a beer.
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Hi Adam,
Thank you for sharing this beautiful reflection. Your words about learning to love something that is still unfinished really resonated with me.
My creative journey has taught me resilience, patience, and the courage to keep believing in a story even when I can't yet see where it will lead. It has also reminded me that the journey isn't only about reaching a destination, but about who we become along the way.
I'm learning to appreciate the process, keep growing, and trust that the work itself has value, even while the outcome remains uncertain.
Thank you for the reminder that we don't have to wait until we arrive to appreciate the journey. Wishing you continued inspiration in everything you create.
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Adam J. Spencer my friend, it means so much that you stopped in for IYW even while you're taking time for yourself. This post is beautiful. "We are ever fond of making invoices for existence" is going to stay with me for a long time, and I love the image of you as a magnificently undignified pilgrim. Honestly, aren't we all?
To answer your question, my creative career has had plenty of ups and downs, but it gave me the confidence to know that I'm very good at what I do, and that it's okay to know that and say it out loud. That's something I'll keep, whatever happens next. That, and the friends I made that will be my friends for life.
Thank you for everything you pour into the Writers' Room and Transmedia Lounges, and into this community as a whole. Your thoughtfulness and heart make such a difference, and we're lucky to have you. Enjoy the rest of your break. We'll be so happy to have you back in November!
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Hello, Adam J. Spencer! This is a wonderful and deeply relatable post. Creativity can bring so much meaning and richness to life, and the journey is absolutely worth valuing in itself. Thank you for sharing this.
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Umm... Quack quack, I'm keeping you. Get comfy with it. Stuck like Chuck. Adam J. Spencer
But if you mean what have I learned that's staying with me? That creativity doesn't see borders or boundaries. That a story written here can resonate thousands of miles away with incredible power. That something from my mind can cross distance and spark something in someone else. That was way harder just 20 years ago.