Roller Coasters and Dippin’ Dots

I woke up at 3:00 AM this morning, breathless, dreaming about roller coasters and Dippin’ Dots.

Every summer, my boys and I make our thrill-seeking pilgrimage to Dollywood, the most magical place on earth, where we scream our lungs out and eat expensive, lousy food. (Ok, the BBQ ain’t bad.)

One year, however, it rained. And by rained, I mean the sky tore open and icy drops pelted our skin. The whole place emptied, but we took shelter at a snack bar and waited it out.

That kind of rain comes on hard, stays a while, but eventually gets up and leaves like someone who’s just paid their check. So when the weather finally cleared, Dollywood opened the rides, and we had the whole place to ourselves.

We rode the Wild Eagle and Thunderhead at least four times in a row, the Tennessee Tornado and Lightning Rod a couple times, and Mystery Mine once. (Don’t really love the Mystery Mine.)

We were ecstatic, high on adrenaline, hardcore coastering — our endorphins had redlined and didn’t come down before we were on another ride.

But the eventual crash was brutal. And the only way to survive was to murder mountains of Dippin’ Dots. Which felt good for about 30 minutes, and then that comedown pulled us under and wouldn’t let go.

Friends, so far, this is what making an independent film is like. The last couple of weeks have been full of highs like I’ve never known, but the lows threaten to take hold unless I catch my breath.

Thankfully, when you need it, a little magic happens. You get a kind comment, a supportive text, a glowing review, or even a video like this one from Christian Calloway.

Earlier this week, I sent an email that said, “Buckle up, it’s gonna be a wild ride.” That’s proving true, but it’s worth it.