Andrew Jenks - Andrew Jenks. My Adventures as a Young Filmmaker

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

A few people are calling me.

Where did he go?

I get a voice mail from my mom: Andrew, arent you at the VMAs? Thought you flew there. Maybe I am confused. I forget what city youre in. Dad cant remember either. Anyway, call us tomorrow; were heading to bed.

I just locked myself inside a bathroom at the VMAs. And I dont want to get out. MTVs Video Music Awards, which ten million people are currently watching, is airing. And inside the bathroom, I can hear the loud noises only a few feet away. The premiere of my show airs directly after.

Ive just been on the red carpet with the worlds biggest stars. Lady Gaga. Justin Bieber. Kanye West. A publicist directed me toward the top of the red carpet, where I did a live interview on MTV.

During the opening of the awards, I sat in awe as Eminem performed, and when he was done, I checked my e-mail. Were still in the middle of editing my new show, and Id just gotten the latest cut of an episode wed been working on for months. I decided to go to the bathroom. You just cant top Eminemand it was more productive to do some work. I thought nobody would notice Id gone other than the seat filler who took my seat.

Now, in the bathroom, Im watching on my phone. Pausing every few minutes to take notes. My leg shakes uncontrollablyit usually does. As I sit on the toilet, I watch my eight days living on the streets of San Francisco with a homeless young woman. I want to see how the show has developed before I head to a Dallas prison to do an interview for an entirely different episode. The show is getting better, but there is still work to be done.

My phone rings. I pick it up.

Its J.J. Hill, whos been one of my best friends since elementary school. We talk a lot.

Yo, Jenks.

Whats up, man?

Why are you whispering?

I am working in the bathroom.

What are you working on in the bathroom?

I feel like the show needs work. I am just working on it in here. Its easier.

J.J. knows me too well to question what I am doing. So he just continues

You want to play ball tomorrow? I got a good group of guys to play.

I am in Los Angeles, man. At the VMAs.

J.J.s forgotten. Typical. Ive had the same group of friends my whole life. They are everything to me. And they couldnt care less about the VMAs. In fact, most of them have never attended any one of my movie premieres. But if I ever told them I needed their helpthey would drop everything and run.

In this case, J.J. just wants me to play basketball.

Well, call me when you get back tomorrow. I am telling you, its going to be a great pickup game.

I put down my phone and look around.

I am 23 years old. How did I get here?

Why is the awkward kid who went through puberty way too early and pretended he was a filmmaker by practicing his Oscar speech in the mirror now at the hottest show on the planet?

• Ive had some wonderful experiences:
• I moved into a nursing home when I was 19 and made a movie about it that sold to HBO.
• I dropped out of college and moved to Japan to make a movie for ESPN.
• I created and starred in my own MTV show.

Of course, theres more to it. A lot more.

There is not just the wild, outlandish, risky, and sometimes lavish journey I have been on, but above all, there is the story of the work: shooting tens of thousands of hours of footage; late nights focusing to the point of forgetting an outside world exists; crying over the ones Ive lost; recovering from trying to absorb the worlds Im forced to leave; having people ground me, give me their time, pick me up when I think its all over, and take a big chance on me; feeling guilty and angry for not doing the right thing; and feeling proud of what I have done.

That night in Beverly Hills, I went to bed as five million people watched my show and I started to trend on Twitter worldwide. As I was falling asleep, J.J. calls.

I am telling you, this is going to be an amazing game.

I know, man. I am taking the first flight back.

Our letter exchanges. Looks like I had issues spelling my name.

Belgium sucked. I am sure it had a lot to offer just nothing that I was looking for.

A chubby outcast, I hit puberty so hard that overnight I became a six-foot-one fifth-grader with the voice of a middle-aged man. Instead of turning tall and suave, there was just more of me to feel awkward. I hadnt become a man but a huge baby. People called me the gentle giant.

I was very much by myself, except for my family and they didnt count (because at that age, even though I would cry if Mom wasnt around for one night, you still prefer the company of friends). Our weekend trips, when we packed into the Volvo and drove all around Europe, were no consolation. Luxembourg. Germany. Spain. You name it. My parents thought they were educating Matt and me by taking us to Greece to see the sites of the ancient Olympics. But I just wanted to go home. The world was too big.

The way I kept myself from going crazy was to parcel out time in increments that I knew I could get through. In ten days we are going to be back in Belgium, I remember saying to my brother during a trip to Utrecht. Once we get back to Belgium, then two weeks after that maybe we can play some basketball and then two weeks after that, we are going to be back in New York visiting friends.

Our travels in Europe

Basketball. My brother. Friends. Home.

I couldnt always have those things, but there were two things I never went anywhere without.

Since second grade, I have never slept without a fan blowing right into my face. When I dont have a fan, even when exhausted, I just dont sleep. I try. But I end up turning on the TV. Or lying for hours thinking. Thinking about how anxious I am to start the next project. Write the great script. Make the big film. But I lie there. And feel empty. I realize I need to breathe.