Our award-winning short documentary The Rebel Reef: Seeds of Hope—which follows Christian Carias, Tela’s only divemaster, on a journey of personal and environmental resilience—has earned accolades at festivals around the world. However, attending the 32nd annual Sedona International Film Festival (SIFF) in Arizona’s red rocks desert was our first time bringing the film to an in-person festival. What we experienced there will stay with us forever.

From the moment we received a personal acceptance email from Patrick Schweiss, the Executive Director of SIFF, , we knew this festival was different. He takes the time to email or call every single film selected for each year’s festival: “My favorite three days of my job,” he cheerily confessed to us. That personal touch set the tone for everything that followed.

A Filmmaker’s Paradise

SIFF feels like it was built specifically for filmmakers. The festival organizers have thought of everything: three meals a day in the VIP lounge, shuttles to transport filmmakers between venues, and workshops covering everything from film marketing and festival strategy to scoring and storyboarding. Whether you were a first-time filmmaker (like us) or a seasoned veteran, there was something to learn, someone to meet, and something to discover.

The genuine care extended beyond logistics. Throughout the week, staff and volunteers checked in to make sure we were taken care of, celebrated, and enjoying ourselves. One board member convinced us to extend our stay an extra night to attend the Gala—and suggested some wonderfully creative places to find “Oz-worthy” outfits for the occasion.

Finding Community in a “Third Space”

The most unexpected takeaway from this experience was how much I enjoyed being there. I’d come in thinking we were meant to screen our film, answer questions, and leave; I quickly learned that festivals, when done right, can be an entire world in a week, a place for old and new friends to meet and create together. One of the workshops introduced a concept that stuck with me: the idea of festivals as moving “third spaces” for filmmakers. You see, in our modern world, we’ve lost many of those communal gathering places—plazas, libraries, coffee shops—where connections naturally form. For filmmakers, festivals like SIFF have become that vital third space: a place to find collaborators, inspirations, and lifelong friends.

We experienced this firsthand. At the VIP sunset luncheon on our first day in town, Daphne De Celles (our film’s impact producer) and I made new friends. One of them, David Abel, became our hiking and film-watching adventure buddy for much of the week. By the end, we were swapping stories, supporting each other’s screenings, and making plans to cross paths again.

The Power of Shorts

I am the furthest from being a “movie person” possible. I, generally, watch nothing. It’s never been the medium for me. But, sitting in our first shorts block at SIFF, something clicked. In six to 15 minutes, each film delivered a complete human experience: laughter, tears, fear, breathless anticipation. These weren’t just good films—they were masterful, and we felt humbled and grateful to have our little movie be considered peers among them.

One short, “Emergency,” about domestic violence witnessed through a child’s eyes, ended with a dedication that leveled us: “for the woman who made me, and the woman who saved me.” The young star of the film was in the audience, fully aware of the weight of her role yet still very much a child—a beautiful reminder of the stories waiting to be told at every age.

But the film that will stay with me longest is “The Vote.” It explores the impossible decisions we sometimes face for family members—a situation I’ve navigated personally. The film handled its subject with nuance, restraint, and profound humanity. It was haunting in the best way, and I left knowing that this is the kind of storytelling I want to pursue.

Our Moment in the Spotlight

The morning of our screening, we squeezed in a hike to the Seven Sacred Pools and the birthing cave with Daphne and David. Then came a serendipitous networking lunch with actress Sharon Lawrence (of NYPD Blue fame), who overheard Daphne gushing about scuba diving and whales and joined in on the ocean love. Before we knew it, it was 4:00 PM—time for The Rebel Reef: Seeds of Hope to meet its audience. Both David and Sharon changed existing plans to attend our screening; that’s the community they were describing. I felt buoyed.

Patrick introduced our film, noting that he was grateful the programmer had paired us with the feature The Last Dive, a beautiful documentary about manta rays, ocean healing, and finding meaning, so both could be broadcast on Sedona’s biggest screen. My whole heart jumped into my throat with anticipation seeing Christian’s face up on the big screen, and seeing his messages of hope, strength, and resilience resonate with the audience.

After our screening, Patrick invited me on stage for a Q&A, and the audience’s questions were thoughtful, engaged, and genuinely curious. It was a joy to share the mysteries, the science, and the stories of Tela on the big stage. I felt like we had done our friends—Christian, Antal, and the entire Tela community—proud, showcasing them in this light.

What We Carry Forward

The days that followed brought more screenings, more workshops, and more discussions. Each added a new layer to our understanding of what film can do—how it can hold complexity, honor memory, and invite audiences into experiences they might otherwise never know.

Turns out, SIFF was never just about screening our film. It was about learning what kind of storytellers we want to become. It was about watching masters at work and realizing that the stories we carry—Christian’s story, the story of Tela’s reefs, the stories of our own families—deserve to be told with that same level of craft and care. It was about finding a community that will hold us accountable to that standard.

We left Sedona with more than festival laurels and new connections. We left with a clearer vision of the work ahead, and the quiet confidence that we belong in the rooms where these stories are shaped. And for that, I’ll always be grateful.