Picture this: the opening scene of my hypothetical biopic. We’re on a sun-drenched beach in Santa Barbara. The camera pans across driftwood and sea glass as the tide quietly laps the shore. Cue a mellow Fleetwood Mac track, and there I am—a lanky kid with sandy blonde hair, straddling the line between wearing flip-flops and going barefoot, unsure of much except one thing: this is my happy place.

But life isn’t all sunshine, ocean breezes, and Stevie Nicks harmonies. No, it’s an intricate movie script, a genre-blending mix of indie romance, thoughtful drama, and the occasional Wes Anderson-esque quirky moment. The casting director, though, really has their work cut out for them. Here’s how I envision this going down.

The Lead Role: Me, Starring Adam Driver (Post Hot-Priest Era)

First off, casting myself is no easy task. Who embodies the low-key complexity of a guy striving to balance coastal living, existential pondering, and the enduring riddle of human connection? Adam Driver is my choice. Picture him in slightly rumpled linen, gazing out at the Pacific with all the intensity he usually reserves for space battles or theological musings.

I see it now: Adam walking along the cliffs in Santa Monica, notebook in hand, muttering lines like, “Romance is just nature conservation for the soul.” Is it a bit highbrow? Sure. But living in California has a way of making you talk like that after you’ve had an almond milk latte or two.

Supporting Cast and the Occasional Cameo

No good movie happens in isolation. Life, much like relationships, thrives on connection. So let’s round out the people shaping this journey:

Mom and Dad, Played by Meryl Streep and Jeff Bridges

These two deserve some serious Hollywood star power. My mom—a mix of driven fundraiser and quiet nurturer—gets the illustrious Meryl Streep treatment. Picture her with a clipboard, organizing philanthropic galas while also reminding me to wear sunscreen (a critical skill in Santa Barbara).

As for Dad, Jeff Bridges captures his easygoing steadiness, complete with a side of rugged wisdom. I imagine him giving sage life advice from behind a grill, spatula in hand. He’s the guy who somehow makes you feel better about failing a college class because, you know, “failure builds character, kid.”

Best Friend and Confidante, Played by Emma Stone

Quick-witted, empathic, and able to call me out on my occasional existential ramblings with a single raised eyebrow—this role screams Emma Stone. She’s the one who drags me out to karaoke nights when I’d rather be journaling and reassures me that, no, texting back too soon does not make me clingy.

Emma (or her fictional character, let’s stay grounded here) is also my sounding board for every disastrous first date over guacamole and margaritas. She’s not afraid to ask the tough relationship questions, just as much as she’s the first to point out when I’m overthinking the vibe of a text message.

The Love Interest, a Mix of Zoë Kravitz and Someone Completely Unknown

A love story deserves someone magnetic yet grounded. Zoë Kravitz, or someone with Zoë-like energy, is my go-to here—effortlessly cool, slightly mysterious, and perfectly embodying the duality of being both deeply introspective and totally unbothered by societal norms. She’s the type who’d send me off on a rabbit hole about whether love is an art or a science, but not before we’ve spent hours climbing a canyon trail together to watch the sunset.

Let’s keep this bit ambiguous. Because, honestly, isn’t that how love often feels in real life? Equal parts vivid and undefined, showing up in people (or moments) you least expect.

Scenes of Romance, Heartache, and Comedic Relief

Every good movie functions on its highs, lows, and laugh-out-loud moments. Here’s how those could play out:

Act I: Santa Barbara School Dances and Adolescent Crushes

The early days—the obligatory montage of chasing surf breaks after school, fumbling over middle school heartaches, and realizing the ocean will always be my first love. Picture a soundtrack full of Beach Boys B-sides and slow-motion shots of teenage awkwardness: braces, hand-me-down blazers, and misplaced confidence about whether saying “What’s up?” constitutes flirting.

Act II: Post-College Mistakes and Santa Monica Growth Spurts

Cut to my early 20s. I’m fresh out of UC Santa Barbara, joining the workforce in environmental consulting, thinking all my starter-adult problems are problems worth panicking over. For the comedic relief segment, throw in a couple of botched networking events and one too many attempts at making “sustainability” sound sexy on a date. Spoiler: it wasn’t.

Now, though, the storytelling pivots. Cue my move to Santa Monica—long walks down Abbott Kinney Boulevard, grappling with existential questions like, “Does this brunch menu define me?” Growth emerges here as I learn to embrace life’s imperfections and actually detach my self-worth from whether or not I’ve “figured it all out.”

Act III: Flirting, Failing, Then Finding Connection

This part’s an ensemble of memorable dates: some astonishingly good, others destined to end before the dessert arrives (fun fact: no one calls it crème brûlée anymore, by the way, it’s “brûléed custard”).

Picture this scene: I’m at a rooftop bar overlooking downtown LA, a date tells me, “I hate Fleetwood Mac,” and the music halts entirely like in a rom-com moment of doom. I channel my inner Emma Stone/Best Friend Voice saying, “Chris, you’ve got this. Walk away gracefully.”

Of course, heartbreak makes a brief appearance here. But by the closing scenes, the movie is not about “someone else completing me.” Rather, it’s about showing up for myself, my life, and the relationships worth investing in—all without losing that west coast optimism for what comes next.

Lessons From the Director’s Chair

Every movie comes with a final message, something to pull from the reel in the quiet reflection of the closing credits. Mine? Life isn’t always the Hollywood romance we envision. Sometimes it’s paddling out into uncertain waves, not exactly sure if the swell will carry you or knock you off balance.

And yet, every scene—even the messy ones—counts. Maybe it’s the heartbreaks and awkward flirtations that magnify the moments of real connection. Or maybe it’s realizing that you, yourself, are both cast and director in your own story. Ball’s in your court—or surfboard, as I like to think of it.

Fade out to an acoustic version of “Go Your Own Way.”

And that, dear reader, is how I’d make a movie of my life. Take your curtain call—and while you’re at it, don’t forget to write your own script because, let me tell you, nobody does it quite like you.