Today, I’m heading to New York City for a quick 24-hour trip – and honestly, I’ve been feeling the nerves.
It’s not often I get this kind of anxious energy about work. But there’s still one scenario that brings out the imposter syndrome in full force:
Awards shows.
Tonight, Yetta and I will be attending the 2025 Webby Awards Ceremony in lower Manhattan, red carpet and all.
It’s a surreal experience. I’ve spent decades crafting stories and creating work. But I haven’t spent decades receiving public recognition, walking fancy carpets, or standing shoulder to shoulder with celebrities.
Just look at who’s being honored tonight: Rihanna, Taylor Swift, Kendrick Lamar, Taika Waititi, Simone Biles, the Kelce brothers – and more.
And then there’s me. Ian, who?
A small voice in my head says: You don’t belong here.
Ok. Fine. It’s actually a big voice. And it’s really loud.
All afternoon yesterday, I was worrying about what I would say to people. “How do you make small talk again?” “What will I do?” “I probably shouldn’t even go, right? Like awards are just a total waste of time anyway!?”
But as the nervous energy was growing to an unbearable level and as my own brain was saying “hey, dude. Normal people don’t belong at an event like this,” a different thought hit me: What if it’s precisely the normal people who are called to do meaningful work that serves other normal people?
That, after all, is what Distant Moon was built for – helping others wrestle with life’s essential questions, see the world more clearly, and connect with what it means to be human. That’s what I’ve been called to do.
And the interesting thing is, as soon as I had that thought, the nerves began to subside. Suddenly the objective in my attendance was disconnected from my own well-being. Instead of asking “what if people think I don’t belong?” I was able to start wondering “what can I do to help others feel like they belong?”
In case it’s not obvious, I’m not talking about “belonging at the Webbys.” I’m talking about belonging in a deeper sense.
C.S. Lewis was one of the most profound influences in my early scholastic life. In high school I enrolled in a great books course that was predominantly focused on the nonfiction writings of Lewis. In one of his books, “The Weight of Glory,” he says something that has always stuck with me:
“It may be possible for each to think too much of his own potential glory hereafter; it is hardly possible for him to think too often or too deeply about that of his neighbour. The load, or weight, or burden of my neighbour’s glory should be laid daily on my back, a load so heavy that only humility can carry it, and the backs of the proud will be broken.
It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest and most uninteresting person you can talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship, or else a horror and a corruption such as you now meet, if at all, only in a nightmare.
All day long we are, in some degree, helping each other to one or other of these destinations. It is in the light of these overwhelming possibilities, it is with the awe and the circumspection proper to them, that we should conduct all our dealings with one another, all friendships, all loves, all play, all politics.
There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilizations—these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit—immortal horrors or everlasting splendours.”
What if the goal isn’t to promote ourselves, but to encourage the eternal beings all around us to find truth, goodness, and flourishing in their everyday lives? Perhaps that ought to be the goal even in the fleeting moments of small talk at a banquet, on the red carpet, or in a crowded after party?
What if we approached every encounter with genuine curiosity, asking others about their dreams, their work, their purpose?
That’s the posture Yetta and I are going to try to take with us. We’re not going to sell ourselves. We’re going to try to see others – to really see them.
So….tonight, I’m choosing to see the Webby Awards not as a stage to impress, but as a space to serve.
And, just maybe, we’ll encourage someone else who also wonders why they’re at the Webby Awards… and remind them that they belong as well.
Here’s to Human Flourishing.
-Ian
In Other News…
My oldest son, Cal and I went down to Nashville a week ago to visit our friends at Kingdom Story Company. We spent a wonderful day with the team there as they’re finalizing their new studio and on set shooting I Can Only Imagine 2. Here are some fun pictures from the time I got to spend with Cal both on set and around the town.
