But about an hour after I was born, my older sister nicknamed me Sassy. I wouldn’t say she sealed my fate—but I wouldn’t not say that either.

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As a kid, I took 45-minute showers not to relax, but to perform. Full concerts. Original songs. Sometimes choreography. At 8, I made my sister film one-woman episodes of America X Out, my homemade reality show where I played every role—from Judge Sharon Osbourne to a tearful contestant named Wando, whose accent still defies categorization.

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When I was ten, I starred in Horton Hears a Who. The final scene of Act I was intense: Horton and Gertrude dragged apart, shouting each other’s names. The lights dimmed, the curtain dropped, the audience held its breath—and into the silence came my voice over the loudspeakers: “Somebody pooted.” My mic was still on. I had just entered a particularly smelly dressing room. The crowd lost it. I cried through Act II. A comedic tragedy.

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But somewhere between the pooting and the performing, I fell in love with storytelling—the kind that doesn’t need a spotlight. The kind that lives in writing, producing, and creating things behind the scenes. That’s where I found my voice.

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Now, I use it to build ideas that are honest, a little weird, and totally human. Whether it’s a campaign or a character, I’m here for the stuff that sticks—kind of like my sister’s nickname for me, Sassy. Some things just have a way of hanging around.