That changed when late last year when I received the most surreal email of my life. The Berlinale invited us to play.

It’s amazing how even a tiny bit of justification from an outsider can change the way you see your own work. In this case, it was one of the oldest film festivals in the world deeming us worthy of walking in their presence. It felt amazing, but I kept thinking “Really?” This, I should note, is a recurring theme during my creative process – “You really want to donate money to this?” “You really want to work on this for free?” Now I could add, “You want to screen this?” to that list.

Another “really?” moment occurred about a year earlier when we were invited to be one of ten features in the IFP Narrative Labs. Being included in such an impressive lineup of films by talented new filmmakers was a wake up call. Over the course of the next year, IFP strengthened not only Hide Your Smiling Faces as a film, but my own belief in the film as well. I could finally start to see it as something people other than my immediately family friends would be interested in. The July session was a scarily-thorough, eye-opening, closed-door film education in five days. Film Week in September was a whirlwind of one-on-one meetings with some of the most important production companies, distributors, and festivals in independent cinema. Relationships with both of our premiere festivals (Berlin and the upcoming Tribeca) began here. December brought the distribution labs, a final look at where our project stood and how best to move forward in the real world with a completed film.

From the moment we were officially invited, to the day we landed in Germany, I “finished” the edit, quit my job in the Middle East, flew home to New York, “finished” the sound design, and flew to Europe for my color correction and masters (donated by the wonderful folks at Platige Image and Dcinex). Our DCP and HDCams arrived only a few days before we did and the film was officially out of my hands and living on its own in the real world. I’d like to say I was excited, but the feeling felt a lot closer to terror. I felt none of the relief I hoped I would. Rather than feeling like the end of a three-year chapter, it felt like just the beginning of a much longer one.

The relationship with IFP continued through to our premiere. We were graciously invited to be a part of  “American Independents in Berlin,” a joint effort of IFP and the Sundance Institute which takes place as part of the European Film Market – three chaotic floors of sales agents, distributors, and every other film organization imaginable. The program offers a free press and industry screening at one of the world’s biggest film markets – an amazing opportunity to get more eyes on the film. For a tiny film like ours, this is invaluable, especially at a festival like Berlin, where we were vying for attention against the likes of Gus Van Sant and Wong Kar Wai. Having some familiar faces from IFP with us on the ground helped us stay afloat.

It was a moment I’d played over in my head countless times. Not just screening a feature to a packed festival audience, but specifically to a Berlinale audience. This was literally a dream come true. Our little movie, made by a bunch of friends in the woods of New Jersey, now found itself at one of the biggest film festivals in the world. It was a real movie and I had the ticket to prove it.

A pair of Mercedes sedans painted with that ubiquitous bear, pulled up outside our apartment. We pulled up to the Haus der Kulturen der Welt and stepped onto the red carpet, completely devoid of any photographers or excited fans, embarrassingly early to our own film. We made our way to the lounge for some drinks and photos. In no time, a line began to snake back and forth along the enormous lobby. I had seen the theater the night before during the tech screening – a 1200 seat auditorium that never failed to slingshot my stomach up into the back of my throat. It was empty then, tonight it was sold out.

I sat in the theater as the lights dimmed, flanked by the cast and crew, my family, and a large group of friends visiting from all over the world, and wondered what the hell I was doing there. Florian Weghorn, co-director of the Generation program introduced the film, calling our team a “film family,” simultaneously referencing our collaborative nature, as well as the sizable number of crew and supporters in attendance. At that moment, all of the tiny edit changes, mix sessions, and color tweaks meant nothing. It was the first time where I couldn’t change a single thing, even if I wanted to, and it was oddly liberating. It was “done”, like it or not. For the first time, I liked it.