I’m Not Interested in What Happened

I am not interested in what happened. I understand the value of stories that show people the way the world was or is — I really do. History is important. We need to remember it. My background is in art history, after all.

But I’m gonna be honest — I’m not really interested in what happened. Rake me over the coals, whatever.

I’m a futurist. The most important thing to me has always been, and will continue to be, the ability to use stories to show people the way the world could be. That’s what excites me most, because storytelling gives us the ability to create new worlds, new understandings of other people’s experiences, and even new ways of seeing ourselves.

When we show people what could be, we’re creating new possibility. We’re saying, Hey — it could work this way. It could end this way. The story could unfold differently. And that’s what moves us forward.

And I want to be clear: I love the entertainment industry. This is not me throwing stones. I say this as someone within the world of storytelling, simply reflecting what I’ve been sensing and witnessing — in pitch meetings, in conversations with executives, in rooms where stories are chosen and shaped.

The industry isn’t crumbling; it’s evolving. Yes, there’s pressure coming from all sides — political, sociological, economic — but that’s true of any system in transition. And we are in transition. There’s a future that wants to be born here.

But we’ve been living through a massive paradigm shift — really since 1986, but most recently since the 2010s. It’s a frequency shift that’s changed how we create, consume, and connect. Most people sense this without necessarily having language for it. They’re often focused on the visible events — the social, political, and economic changes they can measure in real time — and that’s valid.

But there are more subtle layers beneath all of that: energetic and astrological undercurrents that are not only supporting, but actually making way for these mass cultural transformations we’re all experiencing.

It’s like people see the wave, but they don’t see the energetic current creating it.

This current has been reshaping every system — especially the entertainment industry. We’re being asked to operate with more transparency, more innovation, and a deeper sense of purpose. The old templates of how stories were told, and who got to tell them, are dissolving — and have been dissolving. This energy is calling us to write and create from a higher octave of truth.

And yet, I’ve noticed something. Studios and networks often say they want to be a part of that evolution — that they want new stories — but we know they keep greenlighting the same ones. It’s not for lack of powerful storytellers or visionary ideas. The repetition of tropes, the repackaging of what’s already been done, the return to the same timelines, the same conflicts, the same mirrors of what already is — those choices don’t come from creative talent.

Often, they come from the people in positions of authority — the ones with the power to say yes. Too often, it feels like their collective imagination is on pause. There’s this fixation on the past and the present, with very little courage to greenlight the future.

And I can understand why that happens. Studios, networks, writers, producers — they all feel the pressure to create what they know will sell, to stay employable, to keep their companies afloat. And as an industry, we’ve been moving through enormous energetic and cultural shifts. The world has been shedding a lot, and so have we. The ground is still shifting beneath our feet.

When life feels unstable, it’s natural to reach for what’s familiar — to repeat what’s worked before. That’s not laziness; it’s just survival. But these times are asking more of us. They’re asking us to clean up our side of the street — to become more self-aware about why we create what we create, and to recognize the power we hold as storytellers and decision-makers.

Because when we stop imagining new futures, we stop evolving.

What’s happening in our world, as heavy as it feels, isn’t without purpose. It’s painful, yes — but it’s also asking us to be present with what’s emerging. It’s asking us to become more courageous, more truthful, more willing to vision-cast beyond what we can currently see — to imagine better, to future-write through storytelling.

Because ultimately, storytelling is a form of future-writing technology. It gives people a new vision — and that requires courage and faith on our part. And that’s not an easy combination, because it demands self-mastery: to ground ourselves deeply in the present, to hold empathy for what has been, and still to have the audacity to say, No. I’m hoping for something better — and I’m going to create it.

And that’s what we’re here to do. That’s what I’m here to do. And honestly, it’s what makes me the happiest.

© 2025 Lana Jackson. All Rights Reserved.