Why We Keep Showing Up, Even When the Room Is Empty

Have you ever felt like your life is a string of different lives, each one teaching you one thing you didn’t know you needed? That’s Travis Farris. Texas ranch kid. College defensive back. Oil-rig roughneck. Actor. Father. Husband. Artist. If you’ve ever changed lanes mid-highway because your gut tugged harder than your logic, you already know him.

We talked on The Conversation Podcast about craft, survival, and that mystery force that keeps pulling us toward the work. And I want to ask you straight out — when did a movie first make you feel less alone?

For Travis, it was Casablanca with his dad during a long fight with cancer. Bogart’s cool under heat. That world that looked nothing like a cattle ranch and everything like a doorway. Maybe your doorway was different — a song on repeat, a book whispered under covers, a VHS with bad tracking lines. What was it? And who were you sitting next to?

Travis says football taught him the actor’s muscle: short memory. Play the snap right in front of you. Miss the last tackle? Let it go. Next play. That’s acting when it’s honest — do the homework, then forget it and respond. Have you had that time stops moment, where you’re not planning anymore, you’re just there? Where did it happen? On a stage? In a kitchen? Behind a camera? At your desk at 2 a.m.?

We got into the heavy stuff too — the strikes, the pandemic, the long winter where auditions dried up and the algorithm felt like the only thing working. If you’re a creative, did this last stretch test your why? Did it get quieter around you? Did the highlight reels make you feel like you were the only one stuck while everyone else was gliding red carpets and soft-focus interviews?

Here’s the part I think matters. The business is a business. Bottom lines. Boards. Co-productions. Naming rights. That’s real. But it’s not the reason anyone falls in love with storytelling. We do it because a scene over a kitchen table can rescue a day. Because a line of dialogue can explain your father better than therapy. Because somewhere, someone needs to hear the exact sound of your voice to remember they’re not crazy. Do you still feel that pull? If not, what would it take to feel it again?

Travis told me he’s tried to walk away. Twice. Shut off the casting sites. Took the high-pay rig job. Life got bigger in one way and smaller in another. Maybe you’ve tried that too — chased the clean line, the sure thing. Did your days get quieter, or just dimmer? No judgment here. We all have to eat. We all have bills and kids and mornings where the fuel gauge is on E. This isn’t a hustle sermon. It’s a human one.

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We also talked meditation. He used to sit by the ocean in Venice. Ten minutes. Breathe. Mantra. Sun. Maybe that’s you. Maybe your meditation is drywall dust, mile five, or washing dishes in a too-quiet house. However you name it — where do you put your spirit back where it belongs? And if you haven’t in a while, would ten minutes tomorrow morning be unreasonable?

I’ll be honest. For a year, I watched way too many people pretend everything was fine. Then the dam cracked. Actors posting residual checks that wouldn’t buy a stamp. Directors admitting they were scared. Crew selling gear. When the truth started showing up, community did too. Have you noticed that? The way honesty finds its people?

There’s a line Travis dropped that I can’t shake: “I don’t think this business loves me back — but I love it.” If you’ve ever loved something that didn’t always love you back — art, a company, a dream — you know that ache. So why keep going?

Because we might be in a dark age before a renaissance. That’s not romantic framing; it’s a cycle. The studio system collapsed. The seventies exploded with risk and soul. Maybe we’re due. Maybe the next wave is smaller crews, smarter budgets, braver stories, and audiences who don’t need their hearts focus-grouped. If the gates won’t open, we build new roads. If the roads are toll roads, we hike the shoulder and film on the way. Are you in for that version?

Here’s what I’m asking you to do — today, not someday.

1. Name your why in one sentence. Write it in the notes on your phone. Will you send it to me?
2. Do one ten-minute thing that feeds your craft. Read a scene. Sketch a frame. Record a voice memo. One rep.
3. Tell one truth publicly. Comment below with something real about your last year. No polish. Just the truth you wish someone had said out loud when you needed it.

And if you’re not in the arts, you’re still part of this. The plumber finishing a perfect line is chasing the same clean truth as the editor nailing a cut. The baker, the teacher, the nurse — you’re all storytellers with different tools. When did your work last feel like a scene that landed?

Travis and I started as classmates running scenes and ended up talking about what holds a life together — gut, grit, and choosing to show up when the room is empty. He played a complicated, tender role in Dead on Arrival years before those conversations were trending. He keeps choosing the work. That inspires me.

If any of this hit a nerve, hit reply and tell me where you are right now — stuck, sprinting, circling, or ready. If you want more conversations like this, subscribe and share this with the one friend who needs it tonight. And if you’re new here, welcome to The Conversation Podcast. We’re building a small, stubborn community of people who refuse to give up on making something true.

Last question. What’s your doorway — your Casablanca — and who are you going to invite to sit down and watch it with you this week? The Travis Conversation

Don’t worry about sounding professional. Sound like you. There are over 1.5 billion websites out there, but your story is what’s going to separate this one from the rest. If you read the words back and don’t hear your own voice in your head, that’s a good sign you still have more work to do.

Be clear, be confident and don’t overthink it. The beauty of your story is that it’s going to continue to evolve and your site can evolve with it. Your goal should be to make it feel right for right now. Later will take care of itself. It always does.