no time

No Apologies. No Safety Nets. No Waiting.

Acting isn’t about playing it safe. It’s about stepping into the fire, knowing you might get burned—and doing it anyway.

I’ve been in this industry long enough to know that waiting gets you nowhere. You can pour everything into a role, leave it all on the table in an audition, and still hear nothing but radio silence. I’ve lived that. I’ve spent months, even years, caught in that limbo—wondering if the right call will ever come. But I don’t believe in waiting for permission. If the doors don’t open, I break through the walls.

I cut my teeth in theater, where there’s no second take, no safety net—just you, the stage, and the moment. Every night, you step under the lights knowing that if you fall, you fall hard, with nowhere to hide. That’s where I learned to commit fully, to trust the fire, to bring something raw and real every single time. Because that’s the only way to keep it alive—to make the tenth show feel like the first, to step into the same scene night after night and make it brand new, like it’s happening for the very first time.

But in film, you don’t always get that chance. You wait for someone else to decide if you’re “right” for a role, if your look, your energy, your essence fit into their box. And I don’t fit in a box.

So I took matters into my own hands. I didn’t just act—I created. Produced two projects that weren’t just roles, they were statements. Parallel Partners And Bounty Hunters— high-stakes, emotionally brutal shorts that put me right in the kind of stories I thrive in. These weren’t just passion projects; they were proof that I don’t need permission to do the kind of work I’m meant to do.

And then life sent me a wake-up call I couldn’t ignore. Last year, I lost a bud—someone I’d known for years—suddenly, without warning. Too young, too soon. Today, As I write this, a song we used to blast together randomly came on my playlist. Instantly, I was back there—air guitaring with him like we used to, both of us rocking out to the same riff, laughing, and watching him light up the room with that infectious energy. And then, just like that, the weight hit me: time isn’t promised. None of us know how much we have.

But here’s the thing—when it truly hits you, it’s not just sobering, it’s fuel. It’s a reason to stop waiting, to stop hesitating, to create, to build, to leave something behind that matters. We don’t get to choose how long we’re here, but we do get to choose what we do with the time we have. And that choice? That’s everything.

You can sit by the phone, waiting for the spark that may never come. You can play it safe, stay in your lane, hope the fire catches on its own. Or—you can strike the match yourself.

Me? I’ve never been one to wait in the dark.

If you’re looking for something polished, predictable, and neatly packaged—I’m probably not your guy. But if you want storytelling that hits like a live wire—raw, unfiltered, and impossible to ignore—then we should talk.

Because safe performances fade. The right ones? They burn their way in and never let go.