The First Muscle of Independence

The First Muscle of Independence

Looking back, the risk I took that morning wasn't actually that big.

I wasn't jumping out of a plane.

I wasn't backpacking through a foreign country.

I was walking from a security gate to a soundstage.

But at 19, it felt enormous.

The risk was mostly happening inside my head.

What if I get lost?

What if I do something wrong?

What if I forget something?

What if I can't figure it out?

That was the beginning of a new muscle.

Independence.

And like any muscle, it was weak at first.

But I used it.

And then I used it again.

And again.

By the end of that first week, I had become a regular day player on So Random!

I was working two or three times a week and making $600–$800 a day.

Meanwhile, Thursday through Sunday, I was still working my cashier/waitress job at a pizza spot in Manhattan Beach.

My manager was incredibly supportive and was absolutely fascinated that someone working at her pizza spot was also working on a television show.

She lived for the set gossip.

I never told her what I was making on set.

Not because I was ashamed of the pizza job.

Actually, I understood something even then:

Different experiences teach you different things.

At the pizza spot, I was learning how to solve problems, juggle multiple tasks, deal with customers and work under pressure.

On set, I was learning a completely different kind of independence.

How to enter a room where I knew nobody.

How to ask questions.

How to introduce myself.

How to find my place.

How to make connections.

How to observe before jumping in.

And I discovered something else about myself.

When I'm doing something on my own, I need a little time to get comfortable.

I like arriving early.

Not because I'm obsessed with punctuality.

Because I like having time to get the lay of the land.

I want to know where I am.

Where I'm supposed to go.

Who is around.

What's happening.

And I like meeting the other early birds.

I tend to vibe with people who respect other people's time.

I also learned that I like establishing at least one genuine connection before things really get moving.

An anchor.

Someone I can go to if I have a question.

Someone who makes an unfamiliar environment feel a little less unfamiliar.

And interestingly, I've rarely had trouble finding that person.

People tend to come to me.

Maybe it's because something about my presence makes people feel comfortable enough to express themselves.

Or maybe I'm just good at finding my people.

Either way, I learned:

Independence doesn't mean you don't need people.

It means you can enter the world without needing someone you already know to come with you.

By the end of that first week, the other actors were inviting me to clubs and house parties.

I'd say I'd think about it.

The truth?

I didn't want them to know how young I was.

Also, I didn't have a fake ID.

And at 19, I probably looked 13.

Let's be honest.

Eventually, the season ended.

There was a wrap party.

The 2nd AD wanted to take everyone out for shots.

These people loved to drink.

They kept encouraging me to come.

And finally he asked:

"Wait a minute, Maya. How old are you?"

I smiled.

"Nineteen."

He looked horrified.

"Oh shit! I forgot. My bad."

I laughed.

"No worries, bro. Thanks for a great season."

I hadn't told him earlier because I was afraid he wouldn't keep booking me.

And then he told me something I didn't know.

There had been people looking out for me behind the scenes.

One of those people was Lisa Lee, a Black woman and the production coordinator on the show.

She had helped create an opportunity that changed my trajectory.

I had walked through that security gate thinking I was simply going to work.

I didn't realize I was practicing something I'd spend years learning:

How to go into the unknown without abandoning yourself.

I didn't become independent that day.

But I started practicing it.

And every time you practice trusting yourself, the next unknown becomes a little less intimidating.

That's how the muscle gets stronger.

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