Dream 'Til You Scream

A true story about chasing Hollywood, finding agency & redefining "the dream".

The mindset of “stuck” is awfully familiar to many creatives who’ve long carried a vision for their life. Whether aspiring to own a business, write a book, launch a jewelry line, showcase art, or create and run a TV show (hi, it’s me), most have been chasing a dream since childhood. Even through the ups and downs, full stops, and pivots, chasing that passion until they achieve success can feel like the only path to a fulfilling life.

Like many artists and entrepreneurs, I spent years chasing a very specific version of my dream: I wanted to “make it” in Hollywood as a showrunner. I worked hard, took the hits, endured emotional whiplash – and still, I stayed. For eleven years. I climbed the ladder, worked with incredibly talented people, landed in some amazing rooms – yet I never quite felt successful. I was always striving. Always chasing. So close I could taste it.

I’ve been out of the entertainment industry for six years now, and I feel more joyful and fulfilled than I ever did while I was in it. Only with distance can I clearly see why I stayed on that roller coaster for so long – and what it was really costing me.

When I was a kid, back in the ‘90s, a local San Diego radio station hosted a roller coaster riding contest at Belmont Park called Whirl ‘Til You Hurl. Twenty-two contestants would ride the Giant Dipper without pause, aiming to outlast each other for a chance at a jackpot worth $64,000.

I felt connected to this competition on a visceral level – I had spent several birthdays at this amusement park and was obsessed with the Giant Dipper. It was the most expensive ride so my parents would only let me ride it twice – three times if I was lucky. It was my dream to be a contestant, certain I would win, but you had to be eighteen years old.

My family would tune in every morning to see who was still whirling. We’d listen to the hosts banter about who had gotten off, and make predictions about who would win – my money was on Bruised Up Betty. I silently judged everyone who gave up, knowing I would have done whatever it took to accomplish my dream of fame and fortune.

As the contest rolled into day 65, I thought back on all the things I had done at school since the competition began – the things I had learned, the tether ball games I had won, the field trips we had taken – and I still wished that I could have been on that roller coaster instead.

I did the math: If the Giant Dipper costs $3 per ride and they’re riding 257 times per day, these lucky contestants are winning $771/day. I’m not winning anything at school (except tether ball games).

This, I realize now, was kid math.

CUT TO:

EXT. BELMONT PARK - 22 YEARS LATER

I returned to Belmont Park in my thirties with my husband Fernando and our niece and nephew. Fernando gritted his teeth as I swiped the credit card, securing us three rides each for the Giant Dipper. “Expensive, but so worth it!”, my inner child assured him.

Leading up to our San Diego vacation, I had described the Giant Dipper in great detail – the thrill of the ride, the view of the ocean from the top, the nostalgic rumble of the wooden tracks beneath my feet – so everyone was pumped as we approached the line to get on.

Our cart pulled up and Fernando nervously commented that it looked rickety, questioning my judgement in roller coasters. I punched his arm, defensively, “Trust me! Just get in and experience the magic of the Giant Dipper.”

We buckled in and off we went. I threw my hands in the air, eager to share this moment with my family.

As we whipped around the first turn, my neck cracked and my knees bonked against the wooden interior. Ouch!

We slowly rode upward toward the first little dip.

Cruuunch! My entire spine compressed as we pounded down. My niece and nephew were all smiles and squeals, but Fernando’s eyes were wide with horror.

My whole body tensed as the roller coaster slowed down and began the clickety clack of the final incline. I knew where we were headed…

The Giant Dip.

As we neared the summit, I looked deep into my husband’s soul. “I’m sorry”, I mouthed as gravity took over and we plunged downward.

My tailbone smashed into the seat and my brain jiggled inside my skull. Everything was blurry as we dashed around the last turn and pulled back into the loading area.

I felt such relief that this horrendous ride was over, and so much guilt for dragging my poor husband into it. I thought about those adult contestants back in the day who stayed on this ride for over two months. Rather than being envious, I began to wonder what made them hold so tightly to their dream of winning $64,000 and some local San Diego fame. The opportunity cost was immense, sacrificing their time, health, relationships, and countless other opportunities.

Suddenly, I had a newfound respect for the contestants who got off early. I applauded them for reassessing the situation, asserting their agency, and quickly taking action before the roller coaster caused permanent damage.

When our cart came to a complete stop, Fernando and I stumbled off like battered bobbleheads, but the kids stayed put. “We have two more rides!” Please come with us.”, they begged. I considered for a brief moment, but staying on this roller coaster was NOT adult Krystee’s dream. I had changed. My preferences had changed. My dreams had changed. And that was a good thing.

I chuckled as I responded, “Not even for sixty-four thousand dollars.”

The hugely important life lesson I want you to learn here is: Don’t “kid math” your dreams!

Whirl ‘Til You Hurl ended after 70 days and five winners split the prize. They each made $10,000 after taxes, which breaks down to $5.95 per hour.

Two of the contestants sued the radio station, one claiming, “I’m completely worn out every day. It’s like I can’t escape the pain. No matter what I do, it’s always there.” (San Diego Union Tribune).

One can’t help but ask: If it was that bad, why didn’t they just get off? What made them feel stuck, going round and round, day after day?

I stayed stuck in the film and television industry for eleven years, all in the name of pursuing my Hollywood dream. Initially, it felt empowering, but I unknowingly developed a kind of tunnel vision – or what I now call: “Dream Focus”. Dream Focus is when we become so fixated on one specific version of our dream that the broader landscape of possibilities starts to blur. Without realizing it, we begin to neglect other important areas of our life.

I willingly accepted a series of “pay-your-dues” roles in order to immerse myself in the world, but these people-pleasing roles strategically stripped me of my agency, left me seeking external validation to determine my worth, and eventually led to a creative-adjacent career purgatory.

Round and round I went, sacrificing my time, my health, my relationships, and other (sometimes better) opportunities, just like Bruised Up Betty.

Dreams are incredible, but without clarity, ownership, and discernment, they can create a lot of chaos and confusion. No one was forcing me to stay in this industry, but I genuinely didn’t think I had any other options.

And so I kept riding, kept dreaming. I was a willing contestant in Dream ‘Til You Scream – a little competition where millions of aspiring creatives ride the Hollywood Dipper without pause, aiming to outlast and outrank each other for a chance at a meaningful creative career in LA LA Land.

Season after season, I found myself throwing my hands up in the air, launching forward for yet another aggressive ride. It was actually fun for the first few rounds, but I blew past every warning sign and held on too long. By the end, I felt small, disconnected from my creative voice and weighed down by a sense of untapped potential. It was costing me way more than what I hoped to win on the other side.

What roller coaster have you gotten on? And why is it so hard to get off even after you realize the risk has far outweighed the reward?

When I took charge of my life and finally got off the Hollywood Dipper, something shifted. My Dream Focus expanded and the rest of my life came into view. I quickly realized I did have other options – so many options. The valuable, transferable skills I gained over eleven years became clear to me, revealing possibilities I had completely overlooked in the blur of the roller coaster.

From this calm new perspective, I began to reflect on what I actually wanted. Was “making it” in Hollywood still the dream? Had it ever been?

Or was the real dream to create, to write, to use my voice to spark connection and spotlight meaningful topics… to live a joyful, generous life, be part of something bigger than myself, and help others recognize their own creative value and innate worth?

To live an extraordinary, fulfilled life?

Yes. That. That was it.

This mindset shift changed everything: I realized the real dream isn’t a singular achievement – it’s a way of being. It’s the daily practice of living in alignment with your values and gifts across every area of life. It’s creating from a place of grounded purpose, not frantic striving. It’s using your talents in service of something greater than yourself.

And when you do that – when your inner world and outer actions finally match – the world starts to meet you differently. Doors open. Joy returns. Momentum builds. Not because you’re forcing it, but because you’re finally flowing with the life – the show – you were always meant to create.

From that moment on, things began to unfold. I entered a deeper season of growth and gave myself permission to use my creativity beyond the narrow lane of screenwriting – into copywriting, mindset mentorship, brand voice development, career pivot workshops, and eventually… writing my very first book. Each of these pursuits created a ripple effect that extends far beyond the work itself.

Over the past five years, I’ve worked with many displaced creatives and screenwriters who felt the same heaviness I did when stepping off their version of the Giant Dipper. They believe they’re giving up on a lifelong dream. But I tell them what I had to tell myself:

You’re not giving up – you’re taking the lead. You’re realigning your dream with the season of life you’re in so it drives your story forward and deepens your creative impact. And that’s the real magic.

You, my friend, are showrunning your life.