Before I stepped into advocacy and systems commentary, I spent my career inside the media machine—producing, directing, editing, and animating video content for tech companies, hotels, healthcare giants, and digital networks. After working for Larry King’s Ora TV, where I worked on brand shows and delivered top-performing content across platforms, I started my own boutique media business, managing full production pipelines for big name clients. I was good at making things look polished. Over time, the constant instability of that lifestyle turned my attention to the root causes of that instability.

At Ora TV, Larry King’s digital network, I worked as lead editor and associate producer on a slate of short-form web shows during a pivotal moment in online media. I helped develop show branding, managed production pipelines, and built custom motion graphics—but more than anything, I watched an entire industry take shape. This was where I first learned how the business of attention really works. I saw firsthand how creative work gets shaped (and sometimes warped) by platform demands, and how easily performance and visibility can eclipse substance. These sizzles are the polished surface of that time—but the real story is what I carried forward from it.

Alyssa and I had never met. I just heard the song, connected with the message, and sent her a pitch. The rest is history. I didn’t share her experiences as a musician, but I deeply related as a YouTuber navigating the pressure to satisfy both audiences and revenue streams—and somehow remain authentic. The concept came together quickly, but the production took about six months, with over 30 volunteers pitching in.

This was one of my direct attempts to bridge the gap between autistic people and the neurotypical world. This is a highlight reel from a longer training session where I broke down the unique and commonly misunderstood characteristics of autistic communication to an allistic (not autistic) audience—how we ask questions, how we process context, why directness isn’t aggression, overwhelm isn’t a character flaw, and why “common sense” is a poor measuring stick for autistic “uncommon sense.” For autistics, repairing broken communication isn’t just about clarity—it’s about survival.

This reel-of-reels marked my return to short-form video—an ongoing invitation to think sharper, feel safer, and make sense of the chaos in 60 seconds. My neurodivergence & trauma healing shorts were designed to be sharp, shareable, and emotionally intelligent. I tackled demand avoidance, narcissistic power structures, ADHD hacks that actually work, distinguishing between threats when the amygdala is triggered, and how extroverted AuDHDers can survive social chaos without abandoning hope. Every reel points to something deeper: how misunderstood neurotypes end up caught in systems that mistake protection for pathology. (To see them in their original intended vertical format, visit @lindsay-makes-videos on YouTube or @zamdanga on Instagram.)

I’m a huge Fallout fan, and in this video, I use the rivalry between Benny and Mr. House in Fallout: New Vegas to explore power—how charisma, manipulation, and fear drive survival decision-making. I frame The Courier (the player) as a pressure point that reveals each character’s philosophy: one rooted in image and rebellion, the other in cold, calculated control. This was a chance to merge my love of narrative gaming with the bigger questions I always circle back to—when we serve power more than honesty, what kind of future are we really choosing? With the Fallout Amazon series now a hit and Mr. House featured in Season 2 this December, this conversation is more relevant than ever.