I don’t do things that I hate, whether it's rewatching shows or eating pickles. I will go out of my way to ensure I never encounter things I don't like. However, there is one thing for which I’ve begrudgingly forsaken my hatred of redoing things. One project where I have to hear my voice over and over again. Where I have to keep listening, editing, and refining. It's my child, after all. My podcast. I started The Artists’ Path Podcast on a hot summer’s day, in the middle of the public library, sitting at a computer next to some kids playing Roblox. I wanted the chance to interview and interact with artists from all sorts of professions. This way, I could see their path to success in order to educate myself and others on the possible ways to shape ours. The arts (specifically animation) showed me many different worlds, stories, and people. I wanted to do the same for others. But after hours of scrolling and reading and researching, I learned one thing about a successful career in the arts - that isn’t possible. Well, according to Reddit, Twitter, and every reel warning about becoming a “starving artist.” It was hopeless, and my plan wouldn’t work no matter what I did. How could I even try to pursue animation if I didn't have a path to follow? I wouldn't take those steps. I would shift the paradigm by doing something unexpected and creating my own path. The internet and career fairs had only done so much for me. I needed more advice, more information, more of everything. Then I took a small step, a short, quick email: “Good morning, Mr. Hicks! I’m Anya Ottiende and felt really inspired by you at the recent career fair. I would love the chance to talk further about your gaming company…” and then another one. “Good morning, Mx. Kelley…” and more. Despite how ridiculous I felt sending an email to these established authors and award-winning game makers, they responded with excitement, willing to talk to me about their careers as artists. This new influx of information helped me realize the gap in arts information for myself and others. I saw this gap in the faces of family members as they (badly) feigned support for my pursuit of the arts, or that others thought there were only two accepted career paths for immigrants. I wanted to help others have the information they needed – which I had – to confidently take that leap into the arts. So I started my podcast. This is when I discovered not only the true joy of learning for myself, but also teaching others. This project is where I’ve been able to talk to so many people with twists and turns in their path and help others create theirs. Moving past my hate for constant repetition and redoing, I learned something new with each episode. How to upload to Spotify. How to network. How to bypass the library computer’s restrictions on my editing app. Each hiccup was a learning adventure. Redoing something suddenly became a part of my everyday life. The growth, just from repeating the same task, has broken down my invisible barriers. Now I know that it is possible to have surprise and repetition co-exist. Now, I can redo, “re”-invent, anything because I know how life-changing it can become.

I don’t do things that I hate, whether it's rewatching shows or eating pickles. I will go out of my way to ensure I never encounter things I don't like. However, there is one thing for which I’ve begrudgingly forsaken my hatred of redoing things. One project where I have to hear my voice over and over again. Where I have to keep listening, editing, and refining. It's my child, after all. My podcast. I started The Artists’ Path Podcast on a hot summer’s day, in the middle of the public library, sitting at a computer next to some kids playing Roblox. I wanted the chance to interview and interact with artists from all sorts of professions. This way, I could see their path to success in order to educate myself and others on the possible ways to shape ours. The arts (specifically animation) showed me many different worlds, stories, and people. I wanted to do the same for others. But after hours of scrolling and reading and researching, I learned one thing about a successful career in the arts - that isn’t possible. Well, according to Reddit, Twitter, and every reel warning about becoming a “starving artist.” It was hopeless, and my plan wouldn’t work no matter what I did. How could I even try to pursue animation if I didn't have a path to follow? I wouldn't take those steps. I would shift the paradigm by doing something unexpected and creating my own path. The internet and career fairs had only done so much for me. I needed more advice, more information, more of everything. Then I took a small step, a short, quick email: “Good morning, Mr. Hicks! I’m Anya Ottiende and felt really inspired by you at the recent career fair. I would love the chance to talk further about your gaming company…” and then another one. “Good morning, Mx. Kelley…” and more. Despite how ridiculous I felt sending an email to these established authors and award-winning game makers, they responded with excitement, willing to talk to me about their careers as artists. This new influx of information helped me realize the gap in arts information for myself and others. I saw this gap in the faces of family members as they (badly) feigned support for my pursuit of the arts, or that others thought there were only two accepted career paths for immigrants. I wanted to help others have the information they needed – which I had – to confidently take that leap into the arts. So I started my podcast. This is when I discovered not only the true joy of learning for myself, but also teaching others. This project is where I’ve been able to talk to so many people with twists and turns in their path and help others create theirs. Moving past my hate for constant repetition and redoing, I learned something new with each episode. How to upload to Spotify. How to network. How to bypass the library computer’s restrictions on my editing app. Each hiccup was a learning adventure. Redoing something suddenly became a part of my everyday life. I had to forgo my fear of rejection every time I sent an email or started asking questions for an interview. I learned to swallow my embarrassment and push through email after email, even when there was no response. The growth, just from repeating the same task, has broken down my invisible barriers. Now I know that it is possible to have surprise and repetition co-exist. Now, I can redo, “re”-invent, anything because I know how life-changing it can become.