Oliver Scheier

Oliver Scheier remembers being eight years old, standing on stage at his elementary school talent show with minimal preparation, freestyle dancing to "Just Dance" by Lady Gaga. "I just got up there and just danced. It was amazing," he recalls with a smile. "I was just, I'm so me. And I didn't care. I didn't think about anything other than what I wanted to do."

That fearless eight-year-old, wholly absorbed in the present moment and unburdened by self-consciousness, represents something Oliver has been working to reclaim. "I wish I could be that again," he reflects. "I know in my soul, I can be—you know those Russian dolls? We're literally that. I firmly believe that."

Early Life

Oliver grew up in Livingston, New Jersey, in what he describes as an exceptionally loving household. "I feel like I've been super privileged to have grown up in a family that was so loving, and it was unconditional love," he shares. "Love where I didn't have to question my parents' love for me, for each other, and the same for my siblings."

This foundation of unconditional acceptance proved especially crucial as Oliver navigated childhood with a disability. His parents made a conscious choice that would shape his entire worldview. "From a super young age, they let me be who I am and really let me just be in close contact with my truth and didn't limit me at all," Oliver explains. "And especially growing up as someone with a disability, there's a big potential due to the ableist culture that we live in to be put in a box."

Oliver's parents understood the historical context of this challenge. "Go back even a hundred years, people like me were put in circuses," he notes matter-of-factly. "People with disabilities are not shown that we can be the same loud and potent people that any other person would be." Instead of allowing society's limitations to define their son's possibilities, Oliver's parents instilled in him from the beginning that he was "just like anyone else."

The family's closeness extends beyond Oliver's immediate relationship with his parents. He describes his siblings as his best friends, and when asked about the most influential person in his life, he doesn't hesitate: "Definitely my mom. No question."

Threads of Wisdom

One of the most profound lessons Oliver learned came from an unexpected source—a mentor who told him simply, "You think too much." This advice has become increasingly meaningful as Oliver has matured. "As much as I love thinking and pondering and questioning, sometimes we gotta just be right here, right now," he reflects. "I find so much peace and calm when I'm just totally absorbed in the present moment."

This wisdom connects directly to Oliver's approach to handling assumptions about his disability. When asked what people assume incorrectly about him, his response is refreshingly straightforward: "All I can do is just live my life the way I want."

However, Oliver acknowledges that some interactions are harder to dismiss. "When I'm at an airport and I'm being pushed into a wheelchair, and people will talk to the person pushing the wheelchair and refer to me instead of talking to me," he describes. "In those moments, I guess what they get wrong is the fact that I am incapable and that I am something other than a person."

These experiences have taught Oliver the importance of advocacy through visibility. "I'm grateful for conversations like these and the ability to speak about it, and showing that I am so willing to answer for myself."

Perhaps most remarkably, Oliver has discovered how his disability has actually equipped him for success in his chosen field of filmmaking. "Disability in a world that is not built for disabled people requires you to be flexible and to know how to figure things out very quickly," he explains. "As I got more into filmmaking, I realized how lucky I was that I have this training my entire life."

The parallel between navigating an inaccessible world and managing film productions has proven invaluable. "One of the core parts of filmmaking is the absolute need for flexibility because absolutely no project will ever go exactly to plan," Oliver notes. "I am truly energized by it because I feel perfectly equipped for that because of my body."

Reflections

Now a student at Tulane University, Oliver is working toward his first feature-length film while maintaining a clear vision for his future impact. "I want to have the ability to have my voice heard and to spread my love and my message to as many people as can hear it," he shares. "I really firmly believe that many other disabled people and I offer a perspective that if absorbed by a mass amount of people, I would really be interested to see where our world would be."

When asked what question he wishes people would ask him more often, Oliver's answer reveals his desire for deeper connection: "How are you really?" He explains the frustration with surface-level interactions: "It's almost like a default robotic response. I want that sentiment to be more sacred."

Oliver's advice to his younger self reflects both wisdom and self-compassion. To his nine-year-old self, he would simply say, "You're not weird or you're fine. It's okay." To his sixteen-year-old self, he would emphasize appreciation: "Really actively appreciate the little things like your brother coming into your room, wanting to hang out."

Looking ahead, Oliver's goals extend far beyond personal achievement. While he jokes about wanting to "win an Oscar," his deeper aspiration is about representation and change. Through his art and his voice, he's committed to sharing the disabled perspective with the world, continuing the work his parents began when they decided their eight-year-old son could dance however he wanted on that elementary school stage.

As Oliver puts it, "I was made to do this." That confident eight-year-old is still there, ready to take up space and share his truth with the world.