The Year in Review: Lessons from Students, Aikido, and Rejection.

On the roof of our building.

Greetings, folks!

Happy Holidays!

2024 was the year I finally realized that no one gets out of here alive, no matter how many vitamins one consumes or how much one exercises. Bummer.

There were bright spots throughout the year, but not many. I mentored a talented group of MFA screenwriting students bursting with talent and vision. Each week, we sat down on Zoom to discuss their stories and exchange ideas, but honestly, these sessions didn’t feel like ‘lessons’ in the traditional sense. These students already know how to write better than I ever could. Their scripts are clever, heartfelt, and surprising in ways that make me marvel and scratch my bald head.

So what am I bringing to the table? Maybe it’s less about teaching them how to write and more about helping them trust the stories they want to tell. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s that writing is as much about persistence as it is about skill. It’s showing up, draft after draft, even when you’re sure you’ve got nothing left. I remind my students of this because I’ve lived it—and continue to live it.

Photography has been a masterclass in persistence for me. Back in 2022, The Sun magazine published four of my photos in a single year. For a brief, thrilling moment, I thought, “This is it! They’ve found their “house” photographer!”

But here’s the reality: over the last two years, I’ve submitted more than 100 photos to The Sun—and received over 200 polite rejections. Rachel, The Sun’s photo editor, knows me by name and always responds with grace.

“Dear Alex,

Thanks for submitting your photography to The Sun. Unfortunately, we didn’t find anything we could use in this latest submission. This isn’t meant as a reflection on your work… We hope you’ll continue to send your photographs here.”

Some days, it stings. Other days, I laugh. But the joy of photography is still there, even when I don’t get the result I hoped for. And who knows? Maybe one of those photos will surprise Rachel someday.

Speaking of surprises, Aikido has been the greatest gift I’ve given myself in years. I started it two years ago for my 60th birthday, and it’s become a source of joy I didn’t anticipate. Aikido isn’t about fighting; it’s about harmony—blending with energy, redirecting force, and finding balance. It’s a physical and mental practice that’s taught me to approach life with curiosity and calm.

Here I am, training at Aikido of Park Slope. Brooklyn, NY.

Every time I step onto the mat, I learn something new—not just about Aikido, but about myself. It’s not about achieving perfection (everyone around me thinks I’m already perfect, and I’m inclined to agree), but about the willingness to keep going. To fall and get back up, again and again.

Paintball Woods

And, for the first time this year, I played paintball. My friend Vadim somehow roped me into joining him and two drunks from Sullivan County, NY for a match. I had no idea what I was doing, but I loved it. There’s something deeply satisfying about charging through the woods with paint pellets hard-landing on your neck. Vadim won, of course—he’s annoyingly good at shooting, ducking, and singing—but I’m convinced I discovered an untapped well of tactical genius in myself. Or maybe that’s just the adrenaline talking.

Vadim, after winning.

Then there’s The Seer of Berlin, the TV series that my co-writer and I have been shaping, reshaping, and rewriting for years. We finally finished another round of revisions on the six episodes and series bible this year. The project has been under option with a German production company in Cologne for nearly five years now, though we’ve yet to see any real traction.

The film critic Pauline Kael once said, “Hollywood is the place where you can die of encouragement.” Turns out, it’s not just Hollywood—it’s the whole world.

Reflecting on this year, I see a common thread. Whether I’m mentoring students, submitting photos, rolling on the Aikido mat, ducking behind a tree in a paintball match, or rewriting The Seer of Berlin for the umpteenth time, the lesson is the same: it’s about showing up. Even when the outcome isn’t certain. Even when the odds feel stacked against you. Because the act of showing up—of writing, submitting, practicing, playing—is where the real joy and growth happen.

As I look to 2025, I’ll carry these lessons with me: trust the process, celebrate the small victories, and find meaning in the effort. And, of course, keep submitting photos to The Sun.
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The best film I’ve seen this year: Emilia Perez, a French musical crime comedy film written and directed by Jacques Audiard.

The best book I’ve read this year: I Curse the River of Time, a 2008 novel by the Nowegian writer Per Petterson.

The best album I listened to this year (it’s a three-way tie): Wild God, by Nick Cave, Songs of the Lost World, by The Cure, and Faure: Complete Music for Solo Piano, by Lucas Debargue

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’Til next year.
ak