We recently had the chance to connect with Ricardo Ceballos and have shared our conversation below.
Ricardo, we’re thrilled to have you with us today. Before we jump into your intro and the heart of the interview, let’s start with a bit of an ice breaker: Who are you learning from right now?
At the moment, my greatest teachers live under the same roof as I do.
I have two kids and a Vizsla dog who, most days, feels like a third child. They’re my world, and almost every decision I make starts with them in mind.
They’re all completely different, different needs, different rhythms, different ways of asking for love and attention. Some days I wonder how one person is supposed to show up fully for all of them. There’s only one of me in their world, and yet they each deserve my best.
So I’m learning. Slowly. Daily. With a lot of intention and a lot of grace for myself when I fall short.
My wife teaches me what calm looks like in practice, how care can be steady, gentle, and deeply rooted. My oldest reminds me that presence is the real currency; that time, undistracted and shared, is what builds connection. My youngest shows me what courage looks like before fear has learned its rules. And our dog…he’s a masterclass in unconditional love, always ready to give more than we think we deserve.
When I step back and pay attention, I realize how much I’m being shaped by simply living alongside them. It’s not something I take lightly. I know how fortunate I am to be learning these lessons this way, every day, in the middle of ordinary life.
Can you briefly introduce yourself and share what makes you or your brand unique?
I’m a Colombian-born filmmaker who happens to wear a few other hats too: father, executive producer, director, drummer, lifelong soccer player, and unapologetic music junkie. I’m based in South Florida by circumstance more than preference. It’s where my oldest son lives with his mom, so Florida has become both a personal anchor and a practical port for my career, as well as the starting point for many of the family trips we take.
Most of my work lives elsewhere. I’ve been operating remotely long before it became a necessity, collaborating across cities, time zones, and cultures. That way of working suits me; it’s taught me how to stay connected, adaptable, and focused on what actually moves a project forward.
At my core, I’m someone who enjoys bringing order to creative chaos. I love building and leading teams, creating environments where people feel supported and heard, and helping ideas find their way from a messy first conversation into something tangible and meaningful. Over the years, I’ve learned how to guide projects through every stage of development while keeping both the creative vision and the human side of the process intact.
I take a lot of pride in mentoring talent, streamlining workflows, and making sure productions run smoothly without losing the joy of making things together. I’m serious about the work, but I believe the best results come from calm leadership, trust, and a sense of shared purpose. If we’re doing great work and enjoying the process along the way, I know we’re doing something right.
Amazing, so let’s take a moment to go back in time. What’s a moment that really shaped how you see the world?
At sixteen, against my father’s wishes and with my mother’s unwavering support, I spent a year in Colombia doing mandatory “military service” as part of the police force. I was young, inexperienced, and didn’t fully understand what I was stepping into but that year ended up shaping me in ways I’m still discovering.
Wearing a uniform alongside others my age, all of us dressed the same yet coming from completely different worlds, was deeply humbling. We shared the same responsibilities, the same rules, the same risks but not the same starting points in life. That contrast opened my eyes early to how uneven the world can be, and how often people are judged without their stories being known.
What stayed with me most wasn’t the discipline or the structure, but the perspective. I learned that society isn’t always fair, that opportunity is rarely distributed equally, and that behind every person there’s a reason often unseen for why they are where they are. For some, being there was a choice; for others, it was the only option.
Looking back, I feel nothing but gratitude for that experience. It grounded me, softened my judgment, and taught me respect for lives and paths very different from my own. It gave me an understanding of humanity that no classroom could have offered, and it continues to inform how I move through the world with more empathy, more patience, and a deeper appreciation for the complexity of people and their stories.
What did suffering teach you that success never could?
I’ve had to start over from almost nothing more than once in my life. Each time looked different on the surface, but the feeling underneath was the same uncertainty, humility, and a quiet fear of not knowing what came next.
What stood out most in those moments wasn’t work or career milestones. It was who showed up.
At my lowest points, family and a few close friends were there without conditions, without expectations, and without anything to gain. No deals to close, no favors owed, no timelines attached. Just presence. Just support.
I’ve been fortunate to build a meaningful and successful career, and I’m deeply grateful for that. But success has a way of being transactional. People come and go with projects, roles, and opportunities. That’s not a bad thing; it’s just the nature of work. Suffering, on the other hand, stripped all of that away and showed me what remained when there was nothing to offer in return.
The real lesson wasn’t just about gratitude; it was about responsibility. The responsibility to protect time for the people who’ve always been there, not just when things fall apart, but especially when things are going well. It’s easy to give our best hours to work and leave what’s left for family and friends. Harder and far more important to do the opposite.
Suffering taught me that success can build a life, but relationships are what sustain it. And those relationships deserve more than leftover time; they deserve intention, presence, and care.
Next, maybe we can discuss some of your foundational philosophies and views? Is the public version of you the real you?
It has to be. That’s the one rule I’m not willing to break.
Transparency isn’t just a value for me, it’s part of my personal brand. When the environment or culture of a place didn’t allow for that, I learned it was better to step away than to slowly become someone I didn’t recognize. That choice hasn’t always been easy, but it’s always felt right.
I struggled when I first joined social media. It was tempting and incredibly easy to present a version of life that looked seamless and perfectly curated. But that version never felt honest. Real life is messy, uneven, and full of moments that don’t fit neatly into a highlight reel.
Watching my wife navigate social media changed my perspective. She shows up naturally sharing both the good days and the hard ones and people connect with her because of that honesty. There’s no performance, just presence. Seeing how others responded to her reminded me that authenticity resonates far more than perfection ever could.
Early on in my carrier I made a decision: if I was going to show up publicly, it would be as myself. Not a polished version, not a brand-safe version, just a real one. The wins, the doubts, the growth, the loud heavy metal songs on my headphones while at work, and the lessons in between. I’ve found that transparency builds trust, and trust builds real connection. And for me, that’s the only kind of brand worth building.
Okay, we’ve made it essentially to the end. One last question before you go. If you knew you had 10 years left, what would you stop doing immediately?
Last year, I lost one of my closest collaborators and friend, Diego Jimenez, without warning. We were almost the same age. Since the early 2000s, we grew up in this industry side by side mostly with him supporting my side projects, always reminding me (and himself) that we were going to make it. That belief never left our work. It was present in every collaboration, every late night, every problem we had to solve.
When he was suddenly gone, it forced a pause I didn’t know I needed.
Like a lot of people, I’m used to putting my head down when a project gets demanding fixing things, pushing through, making it work no matter the cost. But his loss cut through that rhythm. It made me look up and really examine my life: my kids, my wife, my family, my career and how much of myself I was giving to each.
If I truly knew I only had ten years left, I don’t think I’d try to do more. I’d do less but with more intention.
I’d stop saying yes out of habit or momentum. I’d be more selective about the projects I take on, the people I work with, and the cultures I choose to align myself with. I’d stop trading meaningful time for unnecessary urgency.
I’d spend more time outside with my family. More time traveling without rushing. More time sitting in small, unassuming restaurants in unfamiliar places, listening, tasting, being present. And I’d stop getting upset about the small, forgettable things that don’t deserve the energy we give them.
Losing Diego didn’t just remind me that time is limited, it reminded me that how we spend it is the real work. Everything else is just noise.
Contact Info:
- Website: https://www.ricardoceballos.com
- Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/_ricardo.ceballos/
- Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/ricardo-ceballos-7556079/
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