Terminator: Dark Fate is one the most interesting movies to ever come out of Hollywood. For a franchise that’s been world renowned for decades, its left large swathes of its fans wanting since 2003 when Rise of the Machines tried to top T2. You count that movie, a TV show who fizzled out on its promise, Salvation (a movie so forgettable I actually had to Google its name), and Genisys and you’re left wondering why someone would even bother. Every writer to step into the batter’s box has gone down swinging, some laughably so. What could another attempt at a story about robots from the future do to undo so many missteps?

Well… Apparently it could just, you know, undo them.

Dark Fate does something a movie seldom gets the opportunity to do; wholesale ignore subpar past entries. Much like Skynet, the Terminator saga has now become self-aware and concedes that everything after T2 should be swiped off the storyboard. While there had to have been a sense of relief in jettisoning some of the less favored iterations of Terminator, the freedom creates something of a do or die scenario.

Let’s just call this movie what it is. Terminator: Dark Fate is the last hope this franchise has at a path forward. If this movie bombs, you probably won’t be seeing another one for a very, very long time. In a poetic stroke of irony, it’s not the future Dark Fate is running from but rather the past. Thankfully, with its lean script, efficient pacing, enjoyable action this movie is up to the task.

Dark Fate is a well-crafted story that delivers a better experience than I’m sure most would anticipate. Right out of the gate, you’re given a sense of where this movie picks up in the overall narrative, a hint of how far they’re willing to go with its gritty violence, and an effective emotional anchor that serves as the backbone to the entire story.

Linda Hamilton does a phenomenal job of portraying both a hardened veteran who’s seen it all and a person still struggling with the emotional turmoil of their past. She managed to show that no matter how grizzled the outside was, within still beat the heart of a very relatable human. Giving her a lot to play off of, Arnold’s performance here is nuanced, stoic, and carries philosophical depth that explores a machine’s ability to feel.

When I first saw Dark Fate’s initial trailer, I was worried about Gabriel Luna’s ability to play the part of a menacing death robot from the future. Having now seen the movie, I’m still trying to decide if my initial worries came true in the final cut or if he brought an unusual measure of subtlety to his portrayal. Although I was never completely sold on the threat his presence in front of the camera posed, he fared much better in the scenes where he blended in and interacted with humans.

Mackenzie Davis and Natalia Reyes are new names to me, but I was very impressed with their respective performances. I feel it would take a second viewing to really appreciate the arcs of their characters, but Natalia’s Dani in particular felt like a real person caught up in tragic and extraordinary circumstances.

A bone I’ve long had to pick with the Terminator franchise was its attempt at hand to hand combat. I’m not sure who thought seeing robots grab people by the shoulders and slam them into things made for great entertainment, but I would not be mad to never see that or someone getting flimsily tossed instead of something more effective again.

Some of the opening action sequences specifically let me know I was in for a much better time on the action front. The choreography felt crisp, visceral, and blended with solid special effects and sound to convince me we were seeing combatants actively trying to kill their adversaries. One of the coolest things was seeing that new style mesh with the old. The T-800’s contribution felt stiff, robotic, and fresh out of T2 while Grace and the Rev-9 approached fighting with modern flair.

The movie was far from perfect, and there were a few instances where I felt the plot faltered. I’d count them as largely forgivable however, as their smoothing out would require more attention than the movie’s runtime could afford. That efficiency also cuts out too much world building, with next to nothing stated about the main antagonist.

Even without giving the plot away, the movie’s objectives were pretty clear. Both you and it know what it needs to deliver, and for the most part I’d say Dark Fate was successful. Future robots. Daring chases. Stuff exploding. Things. Excitement. But it was wrapped in a package that I feel gave due fan service to the franchise’s loyal followers. The movie was wise to do little more than hit all of the requisite checkboxes, using mild subversion sparingly while staying within the expected lines.

One thing that I think will make people enjoy or despise this movie is the fact that the movie is an action movie. The original Terminator movie was a significantly more intimate affair, trending towards suspense and horror. That’s absent here. Perhaps this is an extension of my uncertainty about the Rev-9’s level of intimidation. The T-800 felt killable by conventional means. This modern take couldn’t be killed by anything I’d be able to find, so I’m not able to connect to the scenes in that way. If you expected that you will be disappointed.

I think Terminator: Dark Fate does a great job at being a standalone worthwhile action movie and also taking the overall story in a new direction. I worry that past entries may have sunk this outing’s battleship before it’s set sail. I certainly walked into the theater with my skepticism equipped and at the ready. I came out wanting to, and perhaps even excited to see, a follow-up, which is a heck of a lot more than I can say for anything else past T2.

If we’re throwing a number at this thing I’d say it was a 7 out of 10. Maybe 7.5.

I wanted to take a moment to say that I will not be returning to host any Rocket League things this Fall, and to give a short message to the game’s community.

I write this blog as a means of honest, personal expression as it’s something I’ve historically struggled with a great deal. If something momentous happens in my life or I come to some personal realization I try to document my findings and how I feel about them here.

My time having the pleasure and honor of being host for CRL and Rival Series more than fits that description.

When I was first approached with the opportunity and idea of hosting CRL, I was nervous. I had never filled solely the host role before, and while I’ve played Rocket League I didn’t play Rocket League. I expect a certain level of performance and effort from myself in anything I do in esports, and the Rocket League community certainly deserves a certain level of performance so I spent a lot of time trying to figure out how I could best meet those expectations before agreeing to sign on.

I chose to turn a perceived weakness into a strength, and was thus given an opportunity to learn a lot about esports, humanity, and myself.

My level of play of Rocket League is atrocious by most standards, and I wasn’t confident I would be able to change that by the time the red lights on the camera flashed brightly and we were on. So instead I decided to spend the weeks leading up to CRL poring over every bit of competitive Rocket League I could find both past and present. While I was not able to play the game at a high level, I made a point to learn its ins and outs from an analytical perspective to the best of my ability.

What I found was awe inspiring.

Leading up to, and along the way during, CRL and RLRS I came to truly appreciate the amount of skill and effort that went into playing Rocket League at the competitive level. Having ascertained what was technically and mechanically required to achieve that made my excitement, enthusiasm, and adoration of plays that made such a thing seem easy organic and authentic. Having known how bad I was made seeing how good the players I’d watch during broadcasts a straightforward and, frankly, humbling process. When you’d see me geeking out over plays it was because I knew the precision that went into them and how I wouldn’t be able to emulate that in a million years.

The thing that became clear to me at the outset of my foray into competitive Rocket League was the sheer amount and quality of passion the community had for this game and its scene. This game was an integral part of people’s lives in a way that is seldom scene in any group, gaming or otherwise. It’s something truly special that makes the Rocket League community stand out, and seeing that firsthand made me all the more committed to giving everything I had in pursuit of being the best host I could be.

I was given the chance to befriend and work with some amazing people. Everyone I was on the desk with and everyone behind the camera were more than accepting and willing to help me learn the proverbial ropes. I felt like I was amongs friends and a part of the team, which is something that is incredibly difficult for someone with my social quirks to accomplish. But they all made it seem easy. That in itself was a heartwarming aspect to my time hosting.

Meeting players like the group at University of Redlands, joking around with sensational “e-gaming athletes” (inside joke) like ExplosiveGyro, having Apex post memes that make me laugh to this day, and seeing the responses to gifs posted on the Rocket League Esports’ Twitter account all made me feel like I was a part of something special. And there is no way to truly express the magnitude of such a thing, how much it means to me, and how thankful I am for that honor.

Rocket League will always be special to me because its competitive scene is one I approached by getting to know the people and the culture first before the game itself. It’s the first time a community’s raw sincerity and passion drew me in and inspired me to also come to love the game instead of my first loving a game, joining its community, and then seeing if I would enjoy getting involved in its competitive scene.

As an outsider that was subsequently brought in and felt like one of the tribe, I can say that the Rocket League community is one of a kind and I absolutely loved every moment hosting CRL and RLRS. I would jump at the opportunity to do so again, but I am humbled and honored for the time I was able to have on the desk.

I gave my heart and soul to being the best host I could be, because the Rocket League community deserved nothing less. What I got back in return is something I wouldn’t trade for the world.

Thank you.

“True confidence is not needing anyone else’s approval because you already have your own.” -Albert Hailey III

This is quote has served me well over the past few years. It’s a feeling and notion that came as the result of a lot of thinking on my past experiences. Confidence is something I’ve struggled with for a large part of my life. A visceral fear of failure, rejection, and mockery lead to me to approach life with a guard raised too high. It was safer to not try for things, to not put myself out there. The reward paled in comparison to the risk.

Or so I thought.

I came to realize that if I wanted to try for something but opted not to on account of my being worried about not succeeding then I never truly learn if I was able to accomplish that thing. Without that knowledge, I’m largely left to wonder what I’m truly capable of. Of what’s possible. How could I ever feel confident under those circumstances? With so much inconclusiveness floating around it felt borderline impossible to really feel good about myself.

And so I began on an emotional and spirit journey. I aimed to better connect with myself. Better see the value within, and better acknowledge who I was and who I wanted to be. I realized I spent a lot of my life not really thinking much of myself, let alone loving myself. Looking back, there’s a bit of irony in that I feared what others might think of me when nothing they could say could hold a candle to the constant barrage my inner monologue bombarded me with.

As I ventured down this path, I was able to gain a better appreciation for myself. In turn, I started to feel more confident. That slow progression is what lead to the quote at the start of this post. I had placed so much of my potential worth on the perception of external factors that I robbed myself of a lot of joy and confidence. I sapped my own potential before I took the first step toward anything.

Previously I wrote about a concept of there being a ratio to wisdom. The more I learn about myself and the human condition the less I feel I actually know. Learning about the extent of the proverbial solar system just makes me realize there’s an entire galaxy out there. The more known knowns I’ve gathered I’ve also come to understand that there are exponentially more known unknowns, and that doesn’t even count the unknown unknowns. A strange paradox, but anyway.

The above quote, which has been so integral and important to my personal development, now feels wholly obsolete. The ratio dynamic again has presented itself, as I’ve started to learn more about myself and the concept of confidence.

I render this judgment on my once coveted quote because it is inherently flawed. Not needing anyone else’s approval is great, but what if you lost the approval of yourself you once had? That’s a pretty damn big Jenga piece to yank out of the stack.

There have been a few instances of late where I would go into something with my hard-earned sense of self approval and, by extension, confidence. Should things go as I hoped, great. It all works out. However, anything short of success would trigger a host of feelings and thoughts of doubt, listlessness, sadness, and everything else. It then takes time to get back on my feet and try again.

In a lot of ways, that return to a fighting stance was even more difficult than it was in life before my thoughts on true confidence. A building built too rigid collapses mighty fast if it’s pushed past a certain point. My confidence was no different.

But life is an iterative progression. We are forever works in progress, and I made a pretty big realization last night. I have a new definition of true confidence.

True confidence is believing in one’s self in spite of successes or setbacks.

When I think about my previous definition, its intent was sound but its execution was ultimately doomed. Its scope was simply too narrow. To merely place its entire definition on the concept of people is short-sighted and, when I think about it, somewhat spiteful. It, at least for me, carried a measure of “I’ll show them” to my approach towards confidence. Its subtext largely aimed to diminish the value of hypothetical negative opinions from people who I originally feared in a bid to empower myself. Living in opposition to something still deeply roots it in your life.

There is another aspect of confidence that has always looked me right in the face that my original quote refused to acknowledge. Success or failure, for my entire life, has been used as conclusive proof of my capability and self-worth. Success sometimes would lead to a temporary sense of elation, but most of the time it felt like a maintenance of the status quo; a still running fear from failure. Failure was the culmination of fears and doubt come to pass.

I threw six touchdowns but one interception. I failed. I haven’t gotten as far as I’ve hoped to with streaming. I failed. I put everything I had into a relationship and it didn’t work out. I failed. I didn’t get every opportunity in esports I wanted. I failed. I’m not a multi-millionaire. I failed. I haven’t made the time to jump far into web development. I failed.

Things like this weigh on my very soul, and it can be so very hard to keep moving forward sometimes. Every setback is just more debris to clear from the path. It’s more ammunition for my negative self-talk.

But, conceptually, what if I took value away from success or failure. What if, instead, I more focus on the idea that in spite of my doubts and fears I acted. I went for something. I strived for something. I sought to accomplish something. At all. I opted not to be a bystander in my own life. I tried to make something happen. Is that not worth some measure of confidence?

The courage to act, in and of itself, is not easy. And while each time I’ve acted has not left me batting 1.000 I am much further along in life and towards my goals than if I never tried at all. That’s worth something. At the very least it should be.

If I put myself out there for something I’d like to get to a place where that’s the metric on which my sense of self-worth and confidence hinges. Because success and failure are, much like the hypothetical opinions I dared to rebel against with my previous quote, external factors. And conceptually I don’t want external factors to affect me past a certain point.

In my recent aims to learn from both my successes and setbacks I see the added benefit in how that pursuit can and should make me feel. If I try for something, whether it works out or not, I endeavor to feel proud of the effort I’ve put in, to assess the details on the outcome, and to learn from those observations. All the while I want to remain confident that I am capable of accomplishing my goals with enough time, practice, and persistence.

In this, only giving up on something I truly want should result in a loss of confidence.

Bear in mind this is merely a proof of concept. While I would love to magically evolve to such a point where this is my approach to confidence, I am not there. Yet. Having a compass of this magnitude and caliber helps a lot, though.

I may not get everything right every time, but I know my intentions in life are good, and that I’m capable of great things. I just have to keep trying.

Birthdays have traditionally been a good time for me to take stock of my life and assess things. Since 30, I’ve tried to really think about the growth I have or haven’t been able to accomplish, where I am, and where I want to go. Turning 35 is no different.

Leading up to my birthday, I’ve been thinking about the concept of identity and what mine was. What defined me? If thoughts lead to actions and actions lead to habits when then lead to character, what are my thoughts and what do they say about me? Who am I and who do I want to be?

I went for a walk today to clear my head and think on the first part of that question; who I am. It was hard for me to discern who I am without thinking about who I’ve been. In doing so, looking back on my life, I came to a realization that shook me to my core; something that I was afraid to face even within the comfort and confines of my inner monologue.

It feels awkward even to type this, even though this blog is dedicated to the expression of thoughts and feelings I otherwise wouldn’t be able to. I’m sitting here, taking a slow breath to work up the gumption to type it. Here it goes.

I care what people think about me.

Anyone that’s known me for a long time and has talked about the subject of what people think would and should know that I practically pride myself on the exact opposite of that sentiment. Because it’s how I’ve genuinely felt at a conscious level and in action for most of my life. Or so I thought.

In probing further into this, I derived some really enlightening things that I hope can help shape my attitude towards myself in the future. This may be splitting hairs, but I think the nature of this feeling is this:

It’s not so much that I care what people think about me. It’s that I care about how I’m accepted.

An example. Timmy is a kid that wants to learn how to skateboard. It’s a dream of his. It’s what he’s always wanted to do. He accepts that part of himself. It makes him happy. Only he never actually tries because in his mind he knows that his friends will make fun of him for wanting to skateboard. He knows that his parents will be overly protective. He knows that he could fall and hurt himself. So he just represses that feeling and moves on with his life.

To me, Timmy doesn’t care what people think to the extent it affects his conclusion about himself. It’s that his caring about what people think affects his actions.

That distinction has pretty much come to define my life, I’m partially sad to say and mostly happy to have realized. Took me 20 years or so, but there it is.

My mom reminds me from time to time that as a kid I was really outgoing. That I was social. That I made a lot of friends, and that it was easy for me to make friends. That all changed in high school. I’ve written enough about the details of those events, but the punchline is is that I became something of a shut-in. I developed hermit-like tendencies that define me to this day.

I spent a lot of my twenties being largely standoffish to people. Influenced by my general perfectionist mindset and the want to hide flaws that comes along with it, my reaction to this aversion to judgment and assessment was to be closed off. No one can opt to not accept me if I never ‘offer’ myself to begin with.

And so I became cold. I would not talk much in social settings. I didn’t volunteer for stuff. Try new stuff. Because I was scared. Not so much because of what people would think of me, but out of fear of what else would be added to the pile.

I like video games. I mostly feel I am a pretty big geek. And I like that. That’s my conclusion about myself and I would feel good about it, right up until I faced society at large or on a smaller scale.

In light of this, when I say I don’t care what people think of me I mean to say that I don’t want to change my values or my interests to fit into any social group or setting. I choose and have chosen to be true to who I am. It’s that I spent most of my life being absolutely certain that nobody would like who I was, which creates a crossroads of sorts.

How did I handle this feeling? By delving further inward. I wouldn’t express much, if any pride in my interests or accomplishments. I wouldn’t explore interests past a certain point and wouldn’t socialize past a certain extent.

I became lonely. The cost of feeling that you’re not going to be anyone’s cup of tea and being fundamentally okay with that means that you are on an island of your own making and design. Sure, you maintain truth to yourself and your integrity but your perceptions have created a world where it’s you versus its entirety. Or maybe not necessarily set against it. Just not a part of it.

I think it’s why I’m so introspective. I think it’s why I’m such a hermit. I think it’s why my already natural inclinations towards introversion are embraced in action and the latent extrovert in me remained largely repressed for most of my life. It’s why I’m so independent and wanting to prove to myself that I can get through life on my own. It’s why I don’t like accepting help or consideration from others. And it’s why I have been happy with myself in some instances but not necessarily with my life.

That conclusion of non-acceptance has cost me a great deal.

But, in some ways I’m really proud of myself. 30 was a big turning point for me. I knew I wanted to make changes. Having realized this, I can see the ‘why’ whereas before the reason why was just because I was unhappy. I never truly understood why I was unhappy. Back then, I at least had the presence of mind to know there was a problem, even if I didn’t know what it was. And I took steps in a direction I thought would find a solution, even if I didn’t quite know what the solution was either. Reading that back makes me realize how blind I was in the whole process of self-development. And still am.

But I’m proud that I wanted to make changes. I started. Somewhere. Somehow. And slowly things are starting to make some kind of sense.

So what does this mean for the future? I’m honestly not sure. I think realizing this will be a great asset in social situations where my general inclination is to withdraw. I could challenge that thought by posing the question that maybe I am merely putting too much stock in how accepted I am or am not going to be.

If casting and streaming has taught me anything, it’s that I might be plenty surprised by what people think of me and how I am accepted. I also have learned what it feels like to not be accepted by some, and that it’s not the end of the world. That it’s not something to fear or feel down about. That’s okay, and that I’d be okay. For that I will be eternally thankful, and for that I have been made a better person.

I’m hoping this realization helps me to be more open to people, and that it helps me to better feel like I can express myself in ways other than a blog post.

I suppose only time will tell.

I’ve sat here looking at a blank page for longer than I care to admit. These blog posts are largely just streams of consciousness, where there’s a general topic, event, or theme I want to talk about but I have no established or effective game plan. I’ll write them in one sitting, take the most cursory of glances to check for spelling or grammatical errors, post it, and link to it without much advertisement.

I’ve been thinking about what I’d use for a title. Potential candidates feel, in a vacuum, largely negative or attention grabbing so I don’t really want the contents of the post to be unfairly assessed before someone reads it. So, if you’re going to read this I’d implore you to look at the whole message objectively. Also I’d assure you to the extent possible that I’m okay.

A couple of nights ago I reached something of a checkmate scenario with myself. Emotional highs and lows are commonplace and something I certainly struggle with but that night I was pretty much at the bottom of the spectrum. Perhaps it’s been because of I’ve started meditating and trying to visualize goals that will make me happy, but with this emotional valley I also had a startling level of clarity.

I thought on what it would be like to accomplish the goals I have set out for myself. The sense of accomplishment of it all. How reassuring and vindicating it’d feel to put countless hours into an endeavor. To persist through lapses of motivation and interest. To sacrifice immediate gratification to plod away at something for a larger payoff down the road. I sat with that feeling, and thought on some of the accomplishments I’ve already pulled off and how I feel about them.

I don’t think accomplishing any of these theorized goals, no matter how lofty or ambitious, will actually make me happy. In fact, it’s with a pretty sharp measure of confidence that I’d say I would just end up back at the emotionally hollow place I was right then. Only then I’d also be met with the realization that even for all the effort I’ve put in I didn’t effectively get anywhere. So what was the point?

Believe me. My attempts at refuting this notion were plenty. I reasoned with myself, trying everything from baseless positive self-talk to every cognitive technique I could think of. It all just lead me back to the same place. Every turn, every mental path. Just back at a central point of futility and hopelessness.

With the full strength of my mental faculty and ability to reason coming to a pretty sound conclusion, I did the only thing I could do.

I gave up.

Part of me died emotionally as I sat there on my couch. A friend just so happened to message me, and I’m sure they thought something was off with how I was responding. Albert gets pretty down on himself sometimes, sure, but this is different. There must really be something up. I’m certain that’s what they thought. I loathed the idea that I’ve made someone I care about worry me, especially in an instance where I don’t feel much value in myself.

Ever since I turned 30, I’ve been on this journey to grow as a person. I’ve chronicled a lot of those twists and turns here in this blog. People have come and gone in my life, much like the seasons and my varying frames of mind and realizations. There was an almost childish sense of naivety to the whole idea that I would, someday, become the person I wanted to and hoped I could be. That I would do the things I had hoped I was capable of doing.

Thinking back then, I would have never thought that I’d come to a conclusion that while the results of my efforts leave me feeling confident that I could do those things with enough effort I wouldn’t particularly care to.

Climbing into bed felt weird. What was the point of waking up the next day? I thought about it for a while, and could hardly find an answer. It’s a sad irony that I’ve gathered years of experience going through life’s motions while feeling disconnected emotionally. I was able to fall back on a lot of that mindset. Home, sweet home. Abject defeat really is like riding a bike. Who knew.

The next day felt average enough. Nothing really stood out. I tried to find things to be grateful for to gather a sense of appreciation for life. And there are a lot of things I am truly grateful for. My family. My friends. The accomplishments I’ve managed. My being ‘me’, and being able to use what I have to do the things I have done is certainly still cool to me. Still, by most accounts, I have a great life. Things could certainly be worse, and I’m thankful that they’re not.

But what’s next? That’s the question that came to mind.

Spending the rest of my life like this didn’t sound particularly fun. I wouldn’t say this whole emotional trek took me to a place of feeling suicidal. At most, I just concluded I saw no point to living. Not necessarily that I wanted to die. Reading that back as I type it now sounds grim-dark as Hell, but again I assure you that I’m looking at all of this objectively. Dispassionately, even. That could be argued to be a problem in and of itself, but even that’s not being legitimately suicidal. I would talk to someone if I was.

Mulling over this question gave me an odd sense of relief, surprisingly. For years now I’ve put so much pressure on myself to do and accomplish these things. To be who I want to be. While I haven’t hit all of the checkboxes, I’ve at least put down the foundation. Every setback or time I feel I’d gotten lazy brought a measure of pressure and shame that it was sometimes hard to act and push forward.

I started to ask myself what were some of the times I felt genuinely, truly happy. Maybe that could serve as a form of resurrection; a return to the path I had set myself on. So when have I felt that way? The instances are few and far between, if I’m being honest.

I’m happy when I see my folks and when they tell me they’re proud of me. It makes me feel like I haven’t let them down and that the effort spent raising me wasn’t wasted. I’m happy when someone that loves me smile at me without reservation and I see the hope, love, trust, and happiness they share with me glimmer in their eyes. It gives me such a warm feeling and a sense of duty and responsibility to never let that person down. Not exactly batting .1000 there, but I suppose that’s another blog post. Still, add it to the list.

The times someone messages me, however close we are or aren’t, to say they read my blog post and something resonated with them. Or even that it helped them in some way. That’s always mind blowing to me. When someone hangs out in my stream and says they appreciate the atmosphere and the community that’s formed there. Things like that.

Personal growth accomplishments, like when I cast and push aside negative self-talk to be an honest representation of me fulfilling a role I enjoy. I like giving context to the personal struggles I endure by saying even though I feel this way I can still muster up the energy and courage to put myself out there in such a way.

In thinking on ways I could potentially replicate this, a light bulb, dusty and unused as it’s ever been, flickered and sputtered before finally it shone bright.

I’ve been a largely selfish person for most of my life. It’s not a great quality, but it’s worth being honest with myself.

My goals, when I thought about them, have all been about me. What I accomplish. How it makes me feel. What it says about me. What it proves to myself. What I get out of it. I think of all the cool things I’ve done and have bought and how the happiness that all grants is fleeting at best and often feels hollow.

That’s the core root on why I gave up. None of it made me happy. Not really. Not in any tangible, consistent way. Not even content. Bear in mind I don’t mean riding off into the sunset, grinning ear to ear, shaking jazz hands happy. I mean just a basic sense of fulfillment and being content. Being pleased with myself and my life. That’s the  feeling that’s hard to come by.

And the folly of my outset hit me like a ton of bricks. I’ve spent so much time and energy working to better someone I don’t really love or care about. Again, odd irony to say that my problem all along has been that it’s been to benefit myself when I don’t much like myself. But, it’s true.

I thought about the things that made me feel happy, and none of them really had anything to do with me. They’re rooted in how others made me feel. It wasn’t that I made a certain amount of money, or that I got to do a certain thing.

Mining more from this thread of logic brought me to realize something I’ve actually been thinking about for a while but haven’t been able to really find. I’ve been wanting to write a mission statement of sorts for myself. Something to guide my actions in service towards something. I haven’t been able to find something worth working toward in my life enough that I’d want it to guide my thoughts and actions that extensively.

But I thought about how pursuing goals for my own benefit hit a certain dead end, and what things did make me happy. It’s a bittersweet idea, but I think I’ve decided that my life’s purpose is to work towards becoming the kind of person I want others to aspire to be so the world becomes a better place.

The best way I can possibly articulate this concept is that one of my long term goals is to write a book. One that is the result of my time on this journal of personal developments. My thoughts. My conclusions. I genuinely set this goal with the intent to help others, but a lot of the push behind it was to prove to myself that I actually could sit down and write a full book.

This life purpose changes this goal from wanting to write a book to help others to writing a book so that I can help others. Perhaps that’s splitting hairs to some, but it’s a pretty stark and profound difference to me.

I write out all of this to say I’ve come to a somewhat disheartening conclusion that I just don’t feel I’m a person hardwired for the kind of happiness I’ve sought the past few years. And while the proverbial jury is out on whether or not that means I’m not wired happiness at all, I can use this conclusion to be selfless where I’ve been selfish.

I’m not happy, but maybe I can make someone else’s life better. Maybe I can lift up family and friends. Maybe I can help someone through a tough time. I can hopefully inspire someone to go after a goal of theirs.

If I can hit milestones with casting, or with web development, or with just carving out a certain kind of life it may make someone think that if I can do it then maybe they can do. If I positively impact even just one person in that capacity, and their life ends up being a fraction better than it would have otherwise then at the very least some good came out of my time on this planet.

A value I try to upkeep is to leave things like I found them or better. If I can bring positivity to people maybe it helps their day, which in turn helps their next interaction with a loved one or with how they look at their goals. It makes someone’s day, their world, a little brighter. And they maybe pass that on to someone else.

Let’s say a cashier is having a bad day and my kindness to them helps them get through their shift and maybe that encourages them to be nicer to the next person. And that carries on. It goes viral. And the butterfly effect leads to someone’s marriage sticking together because a couple aren’t taking their bad days out on each other and because of that they have a kid that ends up changing the world.

If I’m going to have lofty ambitions, I’d rather they were like that.

Elon Musk said, to paraphrase, that he started SpaceX because he hopes that one day humans are able to explore deeper into space, past our solar system. He said he started Tesla because he wanted to make energy efficient transportation affordable to benefit the world. The guy puts an insane amount of time and effort into these endeavors, employing genius and ingenuity to ultimately help people. I’m sure being able to print money is cool too, but that’s not why he does any of that stuff.

I’ve never actively set a goal to make my life or my pursuits about others or the greater good. Even this blog was meant to be therapy for me, and people benefiting from it ended up being an unexpected side effect. I think there’s a very real correlation to this selfish way of thinking and my general emotional detachment from people. And possibly even my own inability to be happy.

I guess I wrote all of this to say I learned more about the idea that it’s better to give than to receive, and wanting to give can be a powerful motivator and I’m hoping that it becomes one for me.

If the world is ever going to be what it could and arguably should be people have to change. I don’t have the gumption or the ego to say I’m going to change the world, but it’d be cool to think that this shift in mindset helps someone out that ultimately does. Or at least makes it better than it was like I found it.

I heard from a friend and former coworker today. They messaged me on Facebook, and let me know that they had an extra ticket to see a band that we both really like. It’s been a couple of years since I had actually talked with my friend, so I had an interesting realization when I told them that I no longer lived on the east coast and that I had moved to California.

I had told my friend, like I had plenty of other people, that one day I wanted to move to California. I almost forgot that several year stretch when I had laid out a plan of sorts, all the while knowing inside that I wouldn’t accomplish it or be able to accomplish it. The heavy certainty that my desires, with regards to my capability and drive, were largely unrealistic and another avenue towards disappointment and failure weighed on me a lot back then.

But I did still want to move to California.

I detailed the nature of my move to California. How I’ve done stuff in esports and arranged working full time remotely with my job. And when I look at my life from the perspective of where I was and where I figured I would be back then I’d think that I’d be insanely happy. I’ve achieved a lot more than I ever felt I’d be able to, but the same deflated outlook still hangs over my head so much of the time.

I think that’s the truly disheartening and unfortunate thing about depression, self-doubt, and everything along that path; your perception of things are largely skewed and diminish the value had out of the positive things in your life.

I’ve felt so drained lately. It seems like the things I do to try to recharge are only 30% effective, leaving me still worn out emotionally and physically. I spend a lot of time alone with my thoughts; a place that probably isn’t the most advised vacation spot. I find myself struggling with a lot of the same demons I always have.

Feeling like I have no one to talk to, while knowing that I do. Feeling that talking about myself and my feelings to anyone is an exercise in selfishness and ignorance of the goings on for anyone else, while knowing there are people in my life that care enough to be there for me in that capacity if I went to them. The feeling that knowing that paradoxically reinforces the idea that I shouldn’t go to them, because I don’t want to burden a friendship of that caliber and quality.

Feeling abjectly alone.

Bundling all this up leaves a feeling of being bottled up; a tightly shut valve housing building pressure with no release in sight. What feels like sensible logic talks me out of any potential avenue for relief. Returning to therapy would feel like a failure and a step back. I mentioned how I feel about talking to friends and family. Even my blog has lost its sense of purpose.

A core founding principle of this blog was that I’d be completely open and honest with myself in a more public setting, but I never imagined people would actually bother to read anything I wrote. I don’t want my struggles to feel like some cry for attention, or like I’m trying to burden people in some kind of way. In the off chance I’ve ever positively impacted someone with my writing or in some other way, I don’t want to let anyone down or disappoint them.

It’s all an aversion to show weakness, vulnerability, or insecurity. That’s all it’s ever been. At its root, my mind feels perpetually wired to close myself off if it means I’m not showing sides of myself I’m less than proud of.

I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what I can do. I just keep trying to get back on the proverbial bike, wondering if I’ll ever really be capable of learning how to ride. Comparing myself to others who seemingly are naturals at riding to try and figure out what is wrong with me.

Isolation has always lead to introspection for me, and sooner or later that introspection leads to a more positive place. I hope the third act of that progression comes soon.

—-

I see the world for what it is

Or at the least for what it seems

What makes sense could be mere fact or myth

How can I trust what I have seen?

A heavy cloak, this veil I wear

It’s fabric worn from being there

For years it’s been a second skin

A constant presence, unwavering friend

It’s strange how comfort forms from pain

How what you’ve grown used to feels like home

My hope and joy and light is drained

By this cloak that insist I suffer alone

The emptiness I’m used to

The void is nothing new

It’s bringing color to black and white

That sets my world askew

Warmth within a cold embrace

From the veil, at least that’s what it seemed

The truth that I am scared to face

Is could I survive if I was freed?

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?

—

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.

This is something I had planned on doing for a while, but for one reason or another I never sat down and committed the time. It started as me wanting to write about the experience of living in California; of moving across the country and the amount of effort it took to make this an actual thing. Then as the end of the year approached I decided I’d expand it to more an assessment of the year in its entirety. Then the end of the year came and went without me writing a single word.

The act of not writing the review then became a point of shame in my mind. When I’d think of how long it had been since I’ve written anything negative self thoughts about procrastination would mire my thoughts. Then, before long, everything I had or hadn’t yet done became a topic of a trial forever going on in my mind. Am I a good person? Am I doing enough? Am I lazy?

It all becomes exhausting, so I just give up after a while. The fight with my inner thoughts is, as I’ve written before, likely to never end but I hope that someday I can get to a place where they don’t drain me as much as they do.

But anyway.

2018 was a year of great change for me. In all truth, I thought the prospect and possibility of me actually moving to California was farfetched, insanely ambitious, and incredibly unlikely. What would I even do when I was out there? It’d be upending my entire life. Nothing would be the same. I’d be on my own. Arguably the last place I should probably be.

Living alone on the opposite side of the country is a curious test for someone who spends most of their time overthinking and being lost in their mind. It takes a lot of self discipline to be able to be productive and do work when there’s no office for you to go to and no one directly in your face to hold you accountable. Objectively it could be argued that I’m managing all of that well, but there’s always going to be a part of me that nags, saying that I could have done more. That I’m arguably not doing nearly enough.

A lot of the goals I had set for myself in 2018 were accomplished, though. I was able to cast at the pro level. I did, in fact, move to California. I had hoped to cast Blizzcon, but that wasn’t to be. With no shortage of trepidation, I thought on the possibility of my becoming a professional caster in the HGC. It feels weird to even type that out, knowing that at some point someone might read it. Someone might know that I wanted to go for something, and they’d know I’d known failure if it didn’t happen. That’s the general thought process that goes into my being so private and reserved. I’m not standoffish. I’m insecure.

But anyway, different signs suggested I could have a proverbial seat at that table only to find out that the whole house was being demolished. A lot of people asked me how I felt with regards to the end of HGC. Perhaps they also felt I would have been brought on to the HGC. Some said as much. My first thought is of the players and people who relied financially on the HGC. I’ll always feel they deserved better treatment. That their efforts, commitment, and sacrificed should have been better cherished and respected. That would be a different post entirely, though.

It’s hard for me to mourn the concept of something that was only ever an ambitious hypothetical. My humility and ‘standoffishness’ makes it really hard for me to express how I feel about it. Even with myself. In 2018, almost all of the goals I’ve ever had for myself with casting were met. I proved to myself that I could cast at the pro level and be good at it. I didn’t need to prove it to anyone else, and I didn’t necessarily need to keep doing it. Accomplishing that put something of a finality to casting as much as it made for a new beginning.

While casting has always been about self expression and having fun, the drive to prove something to myself was no longer there. However large a percentage of the effort I put into casting that was, that could all be put into just raw enjoyment.

2018 has also become a year where I’ve found it strangely difficult to really talk about my feelings. It’s a part of why I haven’t written a blog post in a long time. At first I just thought it was me adjusting to the new status quo of living in California, but maybe there’s something more.

In a further concession to the idea that I can’t fix all of my problems on my own, I’ve started going to a therapist who was quick to discern that I am too hard on myself, too emotionally restrictive, and socially withdrawn. Therapy has certainly helped me deal with some things. Or at the very least to better understand them. I don’t know how much longer I’ll keep going, though. I wanted a roadmap that would get me where I wanted to go and I feel I’ve gotten that. Anything else would feel like my therapist is doing the work for me.

One of the reasons I wanted to move was to take myself out of my comfort zone. It was a big part in my development when I moved to Virginia. It only seemed logical that I’d get the same benefit in moving here. I could weigh and measure myself, see what changes I wanted and needed to make. I’ve done that, but in doing so light has been cast on what might be the biggest challenge I’ll ever face.

The ability to change my habits.

I’ve started and stopped so many initiatives over the course of my life that I’ve lost count. Every time I tell myself, ‘This will be the time when changes I make will stick’ there’s a part of my mind that’s confident that effort is only temporary. It just takes one bad day, or one hiccup to throw off a rhythm and I find myself back in lazy patterns doing just enough to get by.

And I hate that. I hate that about myself. The things I want to change would leave me spending less time on ‘fun’ and entertaining things and more on things more accurately described as hard work. Consistent work. Not ‘fun’. My mind will tell me that I’ve worked really hard to get to where I’m at. Don’t I deserve to enjoy the fruits of my labor? Sure, but if I do that then I’ll always be where I’m at right now. And I want more than that. Don’t I?

My mind lately has felt as frayed and all over the place as this blog post. I need to construct a pattern of logic that will get me on track to accomplish the things I want in life. I guess I just have to be patient with myself. It takes a while to learn how to ride a bike. Rome wasn’t built in a day. That sort of thing.

I have a plan to accomplish the things I want this year. I just have to actually do it. That’s the hard part. It’s always been the hard part, and it likely will always be the hard part.

I suppose I’ll start by giving something of a warning. This post will likely be long, circular in its expression, meandering, and without much structure or organization. Such is my mind. If I remember, I’ll see about putting a TL;DR at the bottom but I imagine if someone were to take the time to click on this link to look they would be interested enough to read the whole thing. I don’t know. Seeing as how I never really expect anyone to read this, I guess I’m typing this largely for my own benefit. Huzzah.

 

This past weekend, I had the extreme privilege to cast my first HGC offline event. A question I was asked a number of times leading up to, during, and after the event was how does it feel? What do I think? Looking back now on all the times I’ve answered that question and the different ways I tried  to I came to a pretty interesting realization.

 

In the past, I would measure my words because I didn’t feel like anyone would want to hear the entirety of what I had to say. Now, I would measure my words answering each time because I had so much I wanted to say I felt like I’d end up talking someone’s ear off and they’d have gotten infinitely more than they asked for. But the key takeaway for me in that is that I actually WANTED to talk someone’s ear off.

 

I wanted to express my thoughts and feelings. Openly. Without reservation. To a human being. In real time. To their face. And I wasn’t afraid to do so.

 

The act of measuring my words, through that context, felt the same as before. But different. But in action still the same. The what was similar. The how and why could not be any more different.

 

I have grown, and as a result my relationship with expression has changed. As thought about what I’d write in this post I came to the realization that my relationship with casting has changed also. Because I have changed.

 

Anyone who’s known me for a long while or has taken the time to read an interview about me or a blog post I’ve written about casting would likely know that I got into casting as a means of honest expression. Much like this blog, it was an avenue for me to ignore the general pathways of negative thought so I could be myself. People enjoying my casting, and the act of casting itself has always been a side effect to a much more personal goal.

 

As I’ve gotten to do more things and have  gotten more feedback, the more confidence I have gotten about expression in other parts of my life. Casting has helped me become a more confident, more ambitious person; someone that believes in themselves in a way they never had before. I love casting, and it will always be a part of me.

 

But in the way that I used to, I don’t feel I need casting anymore.

 

It feels weird to type that, because on its own it might sound like I’m not going to cast anymore or that I don’t like it anymore or something. That’s not the case at all. Allow me to explain.

 

A fundamental principle of casting for me has always been that I, effectively, am not concerned with what people think of my performance.

 

I think back to the first day of the Western Clash. I had done a pretty good job of not feeling nervous leading up to the event, and I found it particularly inopportune that an avalanche of nervousness would crash upon me watching the countdown to the beginning of the day. I put my headset on, looked out to the audience, looked to Trikslyr at my right and Khaldor at my left, feeling like a deer in proverbial headlights.

 

All of the negative thoughts about myself came rushing in at once. I would bomb. People wouldn’t like me. It’d be proven that I couldn’t hack casting at the professional level. You name it.

 

I’m ashamed to admit that it really affected me once the show got underway. I felt reserved. Timid. Afraid to really step into anything I had to say. I felt like such an outsider. All of my other co-casters have literally years of professional level Heroes experience. My first 900 games or so were AI matches.

 

Who the Hell was I to try to speak intelligently at all about anything that was happening? I’ve never casted HGC matches before. Some Open Division stuff, sure, but never the HGC proper. I was a stranger. First impressions are important. I’m going to fail. That’s what I thought.

 

That emotional anchor carried with me through my first cast. It is the act of some benevolent force in the universe that made it so my first time casting the HGC is with one of my best friends not only in the Heroes scene but in life. Josh, at this point, feels like a brother so to get to cast a match with him was immeasurably cool. I’m sad to say that I did not do as well as I had hoped casting that match. I was in my own head too much, and as much as some might say to the contrary, I’m certain those that know my casting well enough would know that something was off. I can admit that.

 

I wanted to hide from the world after, but I didn’t have that luxury. I was due to be back on the desk after the next match. So to the best of my ability I tried to silo these feelings to do the job I came there to do. Finally, I had a break.

 

I sat in the green room alone, feeling the onset of welling tears. I was blowing it. I was letting nerves get in the way. On top of all the people I was letting down, I was letting myself down.

 

Something clicked in me in that moment, though. Having resigned to failure, I had a thought that was counter-intuitive to my pity party. If I had failed, what did I have to lose in just going all out without a care in the damn world? What did I have to lose if I had already lost?

 

And then it all hit me.

 

I didn’t get into casting to seek or attain anyone’s approval. Hell, when I got into casting I openly anticipated ridicule and mockery. Casting was a means to fall so I could learn how to get back up, feeling content with the effort made over any perceived result. It was me learning how to try giving something my all. To be afraid of failing would abandon that principle, so I made a deal with myself. I told myself I could feel as terribly as I wanted to after the event, but during said event I was going to go down in a blaze of glory. I’m going to cast like it’s a Chair League match with 6 people, and I’m going to cast like none of those 6 people would like what I had to say.

 

But I was going to say it anyway.

 

My ability to act without giving a damn leveled up in a way it hadn’t before, and while the perfectionist in me still flinched at every stumbled word and every mistake I was happy with the performance I put forward thereafter. I was happy and content with the idea that I would step off of that stage or walk out of the casting room knowing thousand of people thoroughly disliked my performance. I was fine with Blizzard regretting their decision to bring me to the Western Clash. I was okay with knowing I’d never get another shot at casting at the professional level again. Because that was all a form of approval that I never aimed to seek.

 

To me, true confidence is not needing anyone else’s approval because you already have your own. And I had mine in that moment. To do something of the enormity of the Western Clash, a commentator’s dream, and still make my feelings about my performance solely about me is something I’ll never forget and I’m eternally thankful  for the opportunity.

 

Glancing over all of this makes it sound like I had extremely selfish intentions with casting the Western Clash. Surprise, I kinda did. But I stand by the reasoning that any time I cast I need to prove to myself that I can actually BE myself if I’m to give a performance to the level I’m capable of. A number of people have said they aren’t sure where I come up with some of the things I say. I don’t either. I just know for damn sure that I wouldn’t be able to come up with them if I’m not feeling like it’s okay to be myself.

 

What was surprising to me was how well received my performance this weekend really was. Realistically, I expected boilerplate ‘great job!’ kinds of comments where it’d largely feel like people were saying what they felt they should say to be socially courteous and to be gentle with my feelings. But I didn’t get that. I got the impression people were genuine and sincere in their compliments. So many people recalled a line I said here, or something I said there. They remembered. They enjoyed it. I helped them to have a good time. That’s an amazing feeling.

 

A moment I will always, ALWAYS remember from this weekend was on the third day. I talked about it on the desk, about how I saw Team Freedom getting ready for their match and I popped into the room to tell them to have fun. Nazmas, someone I’ve never talked to before this event, looked away from the monitor and saw me there and took the time to walk across the room to give me a fist bump. Perhaps that was a trivial gesture for him, but it carries a lifelong impact for me.

 

I could be 100% wrong, but I took that moment as him feeling we had enough of a rapport that he wanted to share the encouragement. I left an impression with him that gave him a feeling that he knew me well enough to want to do that. And outside of our interviews going into the tournament, he had really only gotten to know me through my casting. It made me feel like I had been successful in my mission of being myself. My pure enthusiasm for casting, and the want to see teams succeed registered in enough of a way that someone I didn’t know felt as though they knew me. Because they did, because I was myself on stage and in casting.

 

I am likely not articulating any of this well, but what I mean to say is that no matter how I was received by the players, my co-casters, or the community I was happy with my ability to be myself to be measured however I ended up being measured. I somehow managed to do that. Even though it scared the Hell out of me.

 

If anything, BECAUSE it scared the Hell out of me.

 

I say all of this to get across the point that I found a way to seek only my approval in an instance that would have felt impossible before, and I’ve gotten to that point because of casting and because of the support I’ve gotten and the encouragement I’ve gotten that it’s okay to be myself.

 

And that’s why I say I don’t necessarily need casting anymore. In that context of self confidence, I’ve accomplished the mission I set out for myself two years ago. I did it. I’m, in that capacity, the person I had hoped to become. Roll credits.

 

So what next, then? If I don’t need casting to feel confident in myself do I stop casting? I don’t intend to. Where casting was once a fully personal endeavor, now I see a possibility of it become more of a professional one. I will always be a person first and a caster second. I will always just be myself, for better or worse. I just feel certain that I actually WILL always be just myself, and I don’t need casting to get up the nerve to feel that way.

 

I want to cast more HGC level things. I want to cast, commentate, and host more professionally. I feel confident in my ability to excel at that, and to bring something no one else can. I’m the only me there is, and it’s with confidence and not arrogance that inspires me to want to push further.

 

At the same time, though, if I never got to cast professionally again I would be okay. It’d be a bummer, because of how much fun I had at the idea that I could maybe someday cast as my main vocation, but I wouldn’t let such a turn diminish the progress I’ve made personally. Because casting, for me, has never been about the results. It’s been about the sincerity and totality of the effort. And I’ve managed to stay true to that.

 

It is incredibly humbling to think that people liked my casting this past weekend. Also surprising. I’ve always struggled with allowing myself to be complimented or feeling good about something I’ve done. I don’t want to come off like a dick. But I think my journey casting has gotten me to a place where I can be my humble self while not selling myself short of being self deprecating about myself or my worth. That’s a form of confidence I’ve never had before, but I have it now.

 

Thanks to casting, and thanks to anyone who’s ever encouraged me to keep going.

 

I look to throw my proverbial hat in the ring for opportunities I feel I’d be a good fit for. In my own way, I plan to advocate for myself and push to make the goals I have a reality.

 

While one chapter of personal growth ends, another begins and I’m excited to see where it takes me.

 

Whoops. I forgot.

TL;DR

Casting has always been a means to feel better about myself, and it’s been successful in that endeavor. I’m excited to make the most I can out of that success, and to continue growing both personally and professionally.