Part of me wanted to write this 2 weeks into CRL. Part of me wanted to wait until after the Finals and everything was done. But I decided on the drive home last night, after the last team for the finals was found that I’d take time today to try to gather my thoughts on my experience as a host.

Consider this as more of a stream of consciousness more than anything else. There isn’t going to be much of a beginning middle and end.

Since there are folks who watched CRL who didn’t know who I was beforehand, I’ll go over some stuff about me you may already have read. Sorry?

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Hosting proved to be one of the most difficult things I’ve done in my life, but also one of the most rewarding. On its surface, it’d be easy to think the transition would be easy. I’ve opened for Heroes of the Dorm and other stuff before. I’ve been the host in that capacity. But now I’m just doing that without the casting. Should be easy, right?

Not for me.

I got into casting as a means to better connect with myself and who I was; to learn how to honestly express myself. I expected to fail. I anticipated people thinking I was terrible at it, laughing at me, and giving me the chance to experience social rejection so that it might harden me for future attempts at things. My plan felt infallible at the time, but it backfired in that people seemed to like my casting enough for me to keep doing more and more things.

A certain bar was reached for me, where I felt like I accomplished the things I wanted to do with casting at the professional level. When the announcement came out that HGC was ending I felt a range of things (that I mostly wrote in a previous blog post if someone was so inclined to read that), but for the most part I made my peace with the idea that my casting ‘career’ was over.

Since then I started casting some Smash Ultimate stuff, but it felt more like back when I started out with casting; something I did because I enjoyed it and I wanted to challenge myself by trying to cast a game that was very different from what I had known. So when I was contacted about potentially hosting CRL I was entirely floored.

Knowing I did not have a ton of experience with the game, they still felt I would be good at the role of host. That in and of itself was flattering, but a bit terrifying as well.

Casting is my outlet. It’s one of the few times in my life where my brain takes a backseat to truly honest expression. I reach into a part of myself I didn’t know I had a few years ago. During a cast I am imbued with confidence that I seldom feel in other places. It’s a kind of energy that is addicting yet soothing at the same time.

But I guess the realization I made as the weeks went on with CRL is one huge difference between casting and hosting. Casting, in a lot of ways and in the context I see it, is a shield. It’s me, sure, but it’s me doing an act of some sort. Like singing, dancing, or playing a sport. It’s something to hide behind, as meta a concept as that may be.

If I make a bad joke casting, there’s a whole wealth of things to talk about afterwards. I can just get into the technical aspects of casting a game and ‘hide’. I felt like it was very much just me in front of a camera.

You don’t really get to do that with hosting. Not really, I found. A good host has a good personality, and I was considered for the role of host for CRL because of my personality. Something that I’ve consistently bashed, looked down on, doubted, and for a long time lost hope in was something others saw value in. And the people who saw value in it aren’t crazy. They’re people I have a lot of respect for.

So maybe I was the one that was crazy? I don’t know.

I do know that as a host I felt very ‘naked’. I’ve said it time and time again, but the guys I worked with on the desk, the production staff, and Psyonix made what felt like an impossible endeavor into something I felt pretty comfortable doing. Perhaps even confident in some instances.

Which blows my freaking mind because looking back on it now I am shocked I even wanted to do it in the first place.

Someone who constantly doubts himself and feels uncomfortable in groups he should feel comfortable in takes on a new role in a new game with new coworkers in front of a new community in a medium that is largely open to criticism and laid-bare rejection.

What could go wrong?

About my performance I can say that there were instances where I fell short of my expectations, both lofty and reasonable. But there were also moments where, looking back, I was pretty impressed with the job I did.

To face hosting was and is to face myself. As I’ve explained to a few people it’s odd getting feedback and tips on what to improve as a host, because there isn’t much separation from the ‘me’ that’s typing this up and the ‘me’ that is passing off to a break. I don’t like to show imperfections, and I felt every stumble of words, every mistake, every mispronounced name, and every misstep. It was somehow easy and difficult at the same time.

I like to think that true growth comes from being outside your comfort zone to a degree, and I definitely was there.

From a technical perspective, hosting also really made me assess how my mind works. People have asked over the years where I come up with the stuff I say when I cast, and my answer is always the truth; I have no idea. It just comes to me on the fly. But I don’t really get to do that with hosting.

I participated in casting as a second analyst/storyteller kind of person. Which is cool, and looking back helped me wade in to the concept of ever potentially casting Rocket League outright. It created a lot of jammed signals in my head, though.

What I say when I cast Heroes on the fly comes from my subconscious (I think) and my short term memory. I actually rarely remember a lot of things I say that people find funny, in all truth. But hosting requires a TON of mid-to-long term memory. Remembering team names, stories, what two other people are saying in and out of a game, what is lined up next in terms of production, and whatever else bounces around in my head at any given moment.

In my growing understanding of the game, I would take a lot of notes when I noticed patterns and big plays from the teams over the course of the game. Mid-term memory. But I’d also add stuff during the course of the game. Short-term memory.

So out of the game there would be a lot of times where how words go from mid-term memory to out of my mouth would cross up with my short-term mental processes. At least that’s what it felt like. I would go to describe one thing based on a word or two I jotted down in the game but a different way to say it would magically be what I say, only I’d stumble over the word.

It happened a lot.

I’ve kinda always had an issue where I’d stumble over my words. It’s a large part of why I feel I’m a better writer than speaker. Except for things like this where it’s just an aimless wandering of the mind, I suppose. With actual stories and things I think I’m pretty good at writing. Anyway.

Casting has helped to some extent address my stumbling, but it might always be there to some degree. I’ve worked at it. I just don’t know how to get rid of it entirely. I’d love to because that’d mean my mind itself would work in a better rhythm and that’s something I’ve wanted for a long time.

With Heroes, talking outside the game was pretty easy in that I knew the game very well and I knew what to talk about. By the time I did the second Heroes of the Dorm all the production-sided processes were ingrained in muscle memory. So I never really got out of sync.

A lot of the flow and format from Dorm to CRL had similarities, but it’s still a new game, new environment, new role, new production folks, and a new community.

I honestly felt like at any given time I was thinking entertaining anywhere from 8-11 different mental threads as host. It actually brought about an instance where I felt a lot of disappointment in myself.

I had wanted to try to do some play-by-play casting during the games, but adding that kind of mental processing on top of everything else just felt like it was too much for me. I could feel other things suffering. It was a limit that was very hard to hit, and even more difficult to consciously recognize. The perfectionist in me, that wants to be able to take on any challenge and excel wilts at the idea of not being able to do something I set out to do.

I really struggled with the idea that I had failed. It took a lot of doing to give myself some slack, and be ‘okay’ with the idea of not being able to do it all yet. With time, as more stuff because automatic processes I don’t need to think about then I do feel I could bring a lot of what people know me for as a caster to the table as play by play in Rocket League.

But damn if it didn’t hurt to realize I couldn’t do it just yet.

A lot of folks from the RL community took time out of their day to message me and tell me I was doing a good job, and gave me some pointers and words of encouragement on how to improve. It meant more to me than I’m sure a lot of people would think.

I never feel like I fit in anywhere, but the RL community as a whole did not give me any instance where I felt I was unwelcome. It made it really easy to tackle those negative thoughts and rein them in. On the day it was announced I was doing CRL, someone had asked what I knew about Rocket League since I didn’t tweet about the game. They later on messaged me to say they were sorry they doubted me and that they thought I was doing a great job; that it was clear I had put in the work.

Stuff like that really resonates with me. I wouldn’t venture into a different community lightly. Games, their competitive scenes, and their communities can be important parts of people’s lives and they are right to want to protect that and see it respected. A principle I have, which has definitely left me in a position where I choose to let some opportunities pass, is that if I can’t do the job I’d expect of someone as a viewer I wouldn’t want to do it.

But I felt like I was capable of being the host for CRL, and I had the support of a lot of people to keep me going if an instance ever came up where I started to doubt that.

All in all, it was an amazing experience for me. On top of the games and the stories that unfolded for the teams, it was a deeply enriching journey into myself and an opportunity to better connect with and understand who that person is. Who I am.

I could see a world where I seek more hosting opportunities. I think as I get more comfortable with the particulars and accepting of who I am, imperfect as that might be, I will continue to improve as a host.

I gave the role everything I had, and I feel I came away a better person for the experience. For that, and for everyone’s kindness and support I will be eternally thankful.

I’d be lying, though, if I didn’t feel a need to recharge. It’s mentally exhausting stuff, ad hoc deep introspection in front of a camera while being a host.

I’ve come to some difficult realizations as of late. I’m emotionally bottled up by ways of suppression and avoidance. Here are two stories that indirectly shed light on what I mean.

There’s a song named Sober by Childish Gambino. The video itself has a lot of layers, and while my interpretation of it might not be accurate it does resonate and mean something to me.

The lead character is a goofy loner sitting in a restaurant that takes interest in a girl that comes in. In a goofy and awkward progression of events he attempts to socialize with the girl, and express some form of interest. Initially, she’s pretty weirded out but by the end of the video she finds something about his honest, yet odd, expression somewhat charming; enough anyway that she dances with him for a brief moment before her food is ready and she leaves.

There’s a specific pair of shots at the end of the video that hit a really strong chord with me. After she dances with him and goes to get her food, he’s continuing to dance in a way that says, “See. I’m actually not that weird. I’m not what most people take me to be at first glance.” It’s like a high he’s chasing, in a way. That sense of recognition. Something worked, and he employs the logic of ‘if then’ conditioning, so if he continues to dance then he’ll continue to get recognized.

Then she leaves and he stops dancing. He nods a little bit, as if to acknowledge that the interaction is over, but he proved to himself that someone noticed him. There’s a sense of bereft acquiescence as he moves to return to his seat, as though he’s struggling with the idea of maybe he was only recognized because he carried some novel bit of entertainment and that his value past that was what he had feared all along; nothing.

He wasn’t noticed before. He was even openly rejected as he attempted to entertain. Sure, there’s a moment of levity in being noticed but was he noticed in the way he really wanted?

Maybe some of the resoluteness in his nod was him having to swallow the bitter pill of realizing that maybe entertaining someone was the only way he’d ever actually be noticed. That maybe he just needed to be content with that, and give up on the notion that someone would notice him even if he wasn’t dancing. While he may or may not have more to offer, that’s all anyone was looking for from him. And that had to be enough. But deep down he knew it wasn’t.

By now my projection is pretty apparent.

At the end of almost every social interaction I feel a variation of this. When I close the door to my house and I’m alone again I wonder where I really stand with people. The constant flood of negative self-talk seize upon the opportunity to take that proverbial ball and run with it.

“They just wanted a way to kill some time. They just wanted to be entertained for a while. That’s all. They aren’t really your friends. They don’t really care. You make them laugh, but if you ever wanted to talk to them about something they wouldn’t want to be there for you. Not really. They might humor you for a while, but it’s just out of kindness. Your rapport with them in a one-way street. You provide entertainment or you listen to them about their troubles, and that’s it. And here are all the reasons why that’s the case.”

Despite my best efforts, sooner or later some argument is posed that feels pretty iron-clad and conclusive. I don’t want to dispel my assumptions by simply asking outright, because that plays into the same negative circle of logic about my interactions being a one way street.

So I ultimately come to the conclusion of the best way to win at this game is simply to not play. So I delve further into my introverted tendencies. I don’t give myself opportunities to make myself feel bad about social interactions. I simply avoid them outright, and I choose loneliness over perceived rejection or relegation. I make myself into the very thing I fear people think of me as; a social tool for their benefit and little else. Making myself into the thing I don’t want to be because I’m worried that might be what people see me as is not exactly an optimal strategy as I look at what I’ve typed objectively. Yet here we are, and here we have been for most of my life.

Story number two.

A person struggles with emotionally closing themselves off. They struggle with feelings of acceptance and decide that, in an attempt to break through these self-imposed barriers, they will do things that fly in the face of their fears. They start a blog, intending to write, without filter, their feelings about different moments in their life. They will post this blog for the world to see, even link it on their social media accounts. The thing is, however, that they find a measure of comfort in knowing that no one’s going to actually read it. Why would they? People don’t care.

Maybe one or two people will be bored enough to skim through a paragraph or two and say, “Hey. That’s pretty deep. Thanks for writing that,” but in terms of any real processing? No. But that’s fine. This person isn’t hoping for an audience. They’re simply hoping to prove to themselves that they won’t explode if they express themselves. Even better would be the possibility that they’d learn that life isn’t over if someone responds negatively to the blog. Someone doesn’t like what I have to say about my feelings. So what? It doesn’t kill me.

And that person can use that as a foundation to maybe open up more.

This person also starts attempting to express themselves in other ways. They start commentating in a game they like. And to their surprise people seemingly really enjoy the effort. He’s entertaining enough, apparently, that they get more and more opportunities to commentate.

This isn’t part of the plan. Much like with the blog, they only started commentating to prove to themselves that it’s okay if people don’t like their honest expression. But people continue to find him entertaining. People continue to read their blog posts.

These attempts at failure somehow lead to what someone would consider success. People tell this person that their blog posts resonate with them. That they find themselves in a lot of the words they write. People want this person to commentate and do more things. They think this person has potential to do some really cool stuff, and that they deserve some really cool opportunities.

But this person still deeply struggles with feelings of fundamental acceptance. This person asks themselves some pretty existential questions. Do people just like me because I’m entertaining? Is that all I’m worth? What if I’m not feeling particularly entertaining a certain day? Do the people I think are my friends suddenly find themselves not particularly interested in me as a person?

Are there expectations for these blog posts now? Has something that was selfishly made for me now become the world’s? Or at the very least has it in the possession of the people who read it? And look forward to more posts?

What if I’m not able to help people like I have before? What if I’m not writing what people expect? What if it’s not happy enough? What if I’m not resolutely resolving feelings? What if things aren’t getting better? What if things are getting worse? Will people not bother to reply? Will they not bother to offer words of encouragement like they had before? How will that make me feel?

Will I come away from these attempts at personal growth feeling worse about myself than I started? I was already at a low place, so what would even lower a place look like?

This person decides it’s just best to not bother writing blog posts at all. At the very least, to only write when a sense of certainty is had that it will hit the checkboxes of expectations he’s assumed and placed upon themselves.

Depression, in the way I understand myself to suffer from it and subsequently interpret it, is all encompassing and is tireless in its endeavor to consume every potentially positive thing that happens in my life. It is the ever vigilant devil’s advocate to every ‘good’ thing, and I am not always equipped to deal with it very well.

It costs me a lot in terms of self-esteem, strong friendships, and a connection to the world at large. Closing myself off, at times, feels like the best option but that brings a cost all its own. It doesn’t save me from the very depression that lead me to want to close off to begin with, but it does potentially give the depression less to corrupt.

It’s like being set on fire, and your attempts to put it out would be to lock yourself in an air-tight room made of glass in hopes that the fire runs out of the oxygen, even though there’s a swimming pool just outside the room.

If you read a lot of the blog posts I’ve written over the past couple of years it would sound like my life is in a really good place. I’ve accomplished a lot of cool things, and have made some serious strides in terms of personal growth. And those things are true. I have an amazing life, and I have people in my life that care about me. I feel very lucky, and try to remind myself every day of how fortunate I am.

But I’ve made a difficult, sobering realization. One I’ve made a few times before, but understand it with an intense vibrance now.

Whether I take anti-depressants or not, I will always deal with depression. It’s not something I will ever beat. It’s not something that will go away. It’s going to dog me at every turn, and the concept of ‘happily ever after’ happiness is a fantasy that ultimately works against me, as I start to feel bad that I’m not that happy in the face of all the good things happening in my life.

The happiness I need to seek is not a ‘destination’ where I’ve defeated depression. The happiness I need is in the process of accepting how my mind works and creating a strategy that deals with my depression as it exists. I need to learn to act knowing that it will always be there.

It’s always been the devil on my shoulder. It will likely always be the devil on my shoulder. I need to make an angel, or find a way to more consistently listen to it if it’s been there. Because I haven’t done a very good job of listening.

And I need to talk to people. I guess. At the very least, I need to accept the plausibility of the idea that people actually do like me for me enough to act on that possibility in spite of how I’m feeling.

It hurts to open up to people and be actually rejected. It also hurts to cut myself off from people in fear of rejection. If I’m going to be hurt either way, I may as well try for the former. I guess. At the very least, opting for the latter hasn’t gotten me where I’d like to be so it’s worth giving the former more of a try.

I guess.