Chapter 4: The Trap of Preciousness

Preciousness is a silent killer. It sneaks in when you’re not looking, whispers in your ear, and suddenly, your simple, executable idea becomes a convoluted mess. It’s the difference between making something real and getting lost in the weeds of “what if” and “wouldn’t it be cool if.” It’s the death of creativity, and if you’re not careful, it’ll take you down with it.

Picture this: you’ve got an idea. It’s raw, it’s simple, and it’s doable. Like the time I thought, “Let’s make a film about a mother. Just one mom, doing her thing—being a wife, raising her kids, running her household. No frills, no script, just the real stuff.” It’s a straightforward, powerful concept that could be executed in a few days. But here’s the problem: the second you share that idea, it gets chewed up and spit out by the Committee of Preciousness.

“Why not follow five different mothers from different cities? One in New York, one in LA, a mother in Africa... wouldn’t that be more dynamic?” Next thing you know, what was a tight, focused film about one woman’s life becomes a bloated, overambitious nightmare of logistics. Suddenly, you’re talking about budgets, permits, multi-location shoots, and distribution deals. Your film goes from being a simple, impactful story that you could make tomorrow to something that’s two years away from even getting started. Why? Because people got precious.

Here’s the truth: being precious doesn’t make your work better—it makes it slow, bloated, and often impossible to finish. I’ve seen it my whole career. A great idea gets hijacked by people who think adding more makes it more valuable. But in the end, they’re just adding barriers. And those barriers keep you from creating anything at all.

I never had the luxury of being precious. I didn’t have the time, money, or resources to wait around and workshop an idea to death. I had to make a living. When I started out, I wasn’t pursuing some high-minded artistic dream; I was just trying to pay rent. I had to make stuff, turn it around, and move on. If I got a small budget for a music video, I didn’t sit around waiting for the perfect conditions—I made it work. I combined budgets, shot multiple videos in one weekend, and kept the machine running. Preciousness wasn’t an option; finishing was.

But here’s the thing: that hustle, that relentless drive to finish, is what made me better. It forced me to work with what I had, get creative with my resources, and make decisions on the fly. And those decisions, those rough, unpolished moments, taught me more than any meeting ever could. I learned by doing, by failing, and by refusing to let preciousness slow me down.

So here’s my challenge to you: stop being precious. Stop letting every idea get bogged down by overthinking. If you’ve got a project in your head, get it out into the world. Shoot it, write it, create it—whatever it takes to get it done. And if it’s not perfect, who cares? Perfect is the enemy of finished. The world doesn’t need another perfect idea that never sees the light of day. It needs what you have to offer, flaws and all.

 Don’t let preciousness kill your momentum. Don’t let it turn your bold, raw, honest work into a never-ending project that never gets made. Keep it simple. Keep it real. And most importantly, keep it moving.