No Plan B

Last year taught me a lot about momentum.
This year is teaching me about patience.

A few years ago now, maybe three or four, I was given a proper step up on a job after some pretty tough months. I started operating more seriously, almost by accident. I didn’t expect it to happen like that, and if I’m honest, I didn’t really trust it at first. It felt too easy, and I’ve never been someone who expects things to come easily.

What still blows my mind is that I met my now wife on that job. Something I’m forever grateful for and still slightly in disbelief about.

At the time I was still actively looking for focus pulling work. I didn’t really believe I was just going to become an operator. I assumed I’d drift back, or that the opportunity would quietly disappear. But the people around me, colleagues and friends, saw something I couldn’t. They saw how much I wanted it and how hard I was willing to work, and they backed me. That belief meant everything.

Naturally there was an impact. Less focus pulling work came in and I felt that shift financially. But I managed. I bounced between focus and operating jobs, kept things steady, and was able to help support my wife while she was still freelancing before moving into full-time work in camera rental. It felt like progress. Not fast, not glamorous, but real.

Then the industry shifted. Hard.

Like a lot of people, and honestly many worse off than me, the realities of freelance life started to hit. Financial pressure. Mental health wobbling. That quiet background fear creeping back in. But right in the middle of that uncertainty, something happened.

I was given the opportunity to DOP episodes for LA Productions’ new strand of Play for Today. It was something I’d been waiting for without really knowing if it would ever come. I’d done enough second unit work, impressed the right people, and suddenly found myself in an interview I wasn’t expecting. Then I got the call.

We had six days per episode. No room to overthink anything. There were issues, because there always are, and moments where I had to think on my feet and adapt quickly. But we didn’t miss anything. We completed the schedule. And the sense of pride I felt walking away from that job was something else entirely.

For the first time in a long time, I genuinely believed in myself.

Sue Johnston in Play for Today: Big Winners

Jessica Plumber in Play for Today: Special Measures

I’d already taken on a low budget feature in the winter of 2024 and then Play for Today in the summer of 2025, so things were starting to look up. I went on to work on Odd Squad on B camera and was able to pick up second unit work and cover days on main unit too. Some of that came with a little help from family connections, which I’m grateful for, even if it never quite feels the same as learning and earning it entirely on your own merit. That’s something I’ve always been honest about, especially with my wife.

But I’ve also learned that in this industry you have to take opportunities when they come. You have to back yourself, ignore the outside noise, and focus on what you want within reason. Sometimes saying yes is the hardest part.

Then we fast forward to 2026.

After an incredible honeymoon over Christmas, January hit hard. Post-honeymoon blues mixed with industry reality. For the first time in a while, I didn’t have a single day of work all month. That familiar worry came back quickly.

People say, “It’s only January,” and they’re not wrong. But anyone in this industry knows it’s not unusual to go through long barren spells unless you’re one of the lucky few who are constantly booked.

I haven’t brought in any income yet this year, but I haven’t stood still either. I’ve pushed my website, sought representation, reached out to old and new contacts, met people for coffee, beers, and catch-ups. I’ve tried to put the graft in while also allowing myself to rest, reconnect, and recharge.

Still, there’s only so much piano playing at home, emailing, cleaning, job searching, and watching the bank balance before one of two things happens. I either work, or I have to work.

One option is the industry I’ve worked so hard to build a career in. The other is something else entirely. And that second option is the scariest part of all.

The truth is, I’ve never had a plan B. I’ve never allowed myself one. Because the moment I do, it becomes an exit. A quiet permission to stop believing. And I don’t want that.

This industry can be cruel and it can be kind. It can give and it can take. But despite everything, I’m still here. Still moving forward, even if right now that movement feels more like crawling than running.

Baby steps still count.

It has to work.
So I keep going.