I don’t really like gifts.

For two main reasons, chief of which is that I almost never know what to get someone else. So it’s awkward when someone gets me something and I’m caught flat-footed about it. It’s like, “Ohh, thanks! I… I didn’t get you anything, so. Here we are.” It’s a weird mix of feeling obligated, not wanting to feel obligated, but genuinely feeling obligated because of an actual want to get a gift for someone. It’s weird.

But I also have gotten to a point in my life where if there’s something I want I’ll just go get it. I’m fortunate enough to be independent. The fun things; the electronics, the televisions, the video games, the computer parts and what not. I can get those myself when the mood fancies, for the most part. Don’t have to wait for Santa Claus or anything.

In that, I don’t really feel a want for gifts. I don’t want anything to get me anything. But a gift is seldom just the physical object, isn’t it?

I went to my parents’ house this year for Christmas. I’ve developed a newfound appreciation for my folks as I’ve gotten older, and have been able to see how lucky I was to have parents who loved me and saw to me turning out okay. They gave me a foundation to become who I’ve grown up to be, all the while allowing me to become just that. I love them for that.

But I didn’t get anyone any gifts.

So I felt extremely awkward when my sister and my parents gave me things. I felt like a bad son. A bad brother. It wasn’t just the monetary, materialistic value of the things they got me. It was the sentiment behind it. They know me well enough to know that giving gifts isn’t my strong suit, nor is receiving them. But they love me enough to get me something anyway. Something about that resonated with me, once I started to get over the valuation I put on myself.

As poorly equipped as I am at finding a good gift for anyone, I decided to reverse engineer my next course of action.

I’m old enough that I’m probably more excited about getting a vacuum cleaner than a video game. I can spend my own money on a video game. I don’t want to spend my money on a vacuum cleaner if I can avoid it. Suddenly the jokes I’d heard about adulthood as a kid make sense. So I went down the avenue of the more practical, quality of life approach.

My sister loves her dog Jersey very much. That happy little puppyface was and is a huge part of my life. She got me through some of the more difficult parts of moving to Virginia. I came up with the idea of naming her Jersey because my sister got her just before we moved. I posed that we were taking a piece of New Jersey with us. It stuck.

So I went to a pet store and got a bunch of things for Jersey. Puppy pads, a little dress thing she could wear when it’s cold, and some toys. Not much, but I had hoped it would mean a lot to my sister, to realize I know her enough to give a gift that’s related to something that’s close to her heart. That I care.

I didn’t know what to get my parents, though.

The house I grew up in has seen a lot of change since I moved out. My parents have really made the place nice, with new paint, new appliances. But one thing that hadn’t changed was the mailbox.

That mailbox was part of the oldest memory I can recall, when I was somewhere around 4 and my grandpa pulled up in his van. I ran down the driveway to hug him, and he picked me up. Right by that mailbox.

But it had seen better days, for sure. I texted my sister and said that I wanted to get mom and dad a new mailbox from us. I borrowed her car and went over to Home Depot to pick one out.

It was important to me that my parents had to do nothing throughout the entire process. They had a service where someone came to install the mailbox. Which was a relief, because I was prepared to try to install it myself and who knows how that would have turned out.

It took them a long time to actually show up, but my dad sent me a picture of the mailbox installed this morning.

The wave of emotion I felt in that moment was infinitely more potent than I had anticipated. I don’t know.

It wasn’t just a mailbox to me.

It was an acknowledgement. An apology. A promise. An expression. Appreciation. Hope. Vulnerability. Admission of emotional dependence. Proof that I have a beating heart still capable of feeling emotion in a capacity that I truly felt left me for a long time.

I thought about how I am older than my parents were when they had me, and how I couldn’t imagine how I’d handle having a kid, even now. I put myself in their shoes. There’s no friggin’ instruction manual for raising a kid. I imagine you just try to do the best you can. Life isn’t about you at that point anymore.

More and more I feel a need to make my parents proud. To show them that their effort wasn’t in vain. I get it now, in a way I hadn’t up until about a couple of years ago.

They didn’t owe me anything, and I owe them everything. They sacrificed so much because they loved my sister and me.

I see my parents as more than just my mom and dad now. I see them as people, main protagonists in their own stories. It’s in that light that their efforts to raise me seem that much more heroic. I’ve spent a lot of time ignorant of that fact, I’m ashamed to admit. But hopefully I can make up for some of that going forward.

I got to do something for my parents. I didn’t just get them something. There’s a difference.

It seems like a bum trade though, when I think about it. “I raised this kid and all I got was a mailbox.” But I hope they look at that mailbox and see their efforts have come full circle, in a way. I hope it’s proof that their efforts put something into the world.

I like to think I’m pretty cool, and they have a lot to do with what made me me. Maybe that sweetens the deal with the mailbox. That’s the hope, anyway.

Tonight, I sat at the Heroes Hype table at Con Before the Storm as a man beside himself. Going into it, I wasn’t sure what to expect. The concept of a meet and greet isn’t particularly difficult to understand, but for me it was one of the most difficult things I could imagine.

From one perspective, I was excited to meet people. I feel lucky enough to say being a part of the Heroes community has gotten me to a place where people know me to some extent, so the idea of meeting people who enjoy what I’ve done in the community is pretty neat. From another, it could be fuel for my self doubt to make an argument that people may know me but they simply don’t care enough to actually meet me in some organized capacity.

It was an instance of putting myself out there in a way that I could come away feeling accepted and/or rejected. It was scary.

Ultimately, I’m glad I did attend. Someone told me they’ve followed my casting since I started in Chair League. I hope they found the experience of meeting me to be worthwhile. I hope everyone I met tonight or in general feels that way. I can be pretty clumsy socially, so I always just hope people keep in mind that I’m just a person like anyone else. I’m just me.

I came away from the experience feeling it was time to confront some feelings I’ve had, and to express them in a way that terrifies me.

So here goes.

Actually, a bit of backstory for context. I sang Bass in my high school chorus. As one of the only kids who could actually hit the lower notes, I was more or less needed to fill the role if we were going to have a full sound.

We were working on a Billy Joel Medley one quarter, and there was an opportunity to sing a solo that I really wanted to take a crack at. This urge was both a surprise and a strong contradiction to my wallflower-like personality and demeanor. In spite of feeling like I’d die from stage fright, if I even got past the likelihood of being laughed at for even wanting to try a solo in the first place, I wanted this solo. I’d carefully find time at home when no one was around so I could practice.

Even after all these years, I can remember the last day to try out for the solo part. I can recall standing up, walking over to Mr. VanAntwerp’s piano and telling him I wanted to try out for the solo. I remember the look of surprise on his face, followed by fascinated curiosity. We went into the back practice area, and I remember doing everything I could to not quake with fear as I tried to sing the solo. The paranoid feeling that everyone had stopped what they were doing, just to hear me struggle through this solo to laugh at me was crippling.

But I tried.

While I didn’t get the part, I look back on that day as a hallmark moment of sorts. I tried.

So many times in my life, and in so many ways I’ve decided to not ‘go for’ something. The comfort of possibility felt safer, more controllable than the certainty of an attempt and the results thereafter. The hollow fantasy of what could have been felt more manageable than rejection.

I almost let that feeling override an actual attempt at casting. “Maybe I’d be a good caster,” I’d tell myself. “But imagine if you tried and people laughed at you? How terrible would that feel? Do you really want to subject yourself to that kind of pain?”

But I decided to try, with the promise that I’d just be myself and however that turned out would be what it was. Thankfully, people have been incredibly kind and supportive of my casting. It’s helped me to learn more about myself, and to find a sense of confidence in allowing myself to be who I am. In that, I can never repay the Heroes of the Storm community and the friends I’ve made in it.

I say all of this to give context to a realization I’ve made recently. Casting has allowed me to put myself out there as a person, but I haven’t put myself out there in terms of my ambitions.

As difficult as it’s historically been for me to express myself, expressing intentions has been even more difficult. It’s a kind of vulnerability that shakes me to my core. I don’t like showing weakness or failure. I’ve always opted to simply not ask for anything over seeking something that I might not get. It was safer.

I’ve been incredibly lucky in terms of casting. I’ve honestly only put myself out there a handful of times. Once to Superjova to cast in Chair League, and once to the folks at Heroes Hype when I applied on their site and got a chance to cast with DJ Tyrant. Pretty much every other instance where I’ve casted I was asked. It’s an incredible feeling to think that I’ve had opportunities come my way the way they have. It’s just…

I’ve put a lot of time and effort into casting. It’s a thrill and passion unlike anything else I’ve ever had in my life. I get to express my unabashed joy and sense of wonder over the spirit of competition and the spectacle that is a game I adore. Without reservation, I get to be myself and geek out. And I’ve gotten to place where I actually feel I’m good at it. My own sense of self doubt and humility always made compliments I received feel strange. I didn’t think enough of myself or believe in myself enough to really allow compliments to resonate. But in the past year I’ve gone from feeling great about casting to feeling great about MY casting. Perhaps subtle, but the distinction between the two is incredibly profound for me.

It is with that evolution that I want to do more. I want to cast more Blizzard level things. I feel I’m capable and ready. I feel my style of casting and content creation would bring something new to the table. I think I’m funny. I think I’m charismatic. I think I’d help broaden the audience and shake things up. I think I’d bring emphasis to the human element of competitive Heroes in a way that hasn’t been done before. I think, no, I know – with every fiber of my being – that I would rise to any occasion and seize any opportunity given to me and excel.

The road to that feeling and that kind of conviction has been difficult, and I’m proud to have gotten to such a place. But what does feeling that way truly amount to if I don’t believe in myself enough to actually go after what I want?

Feeling this way reminds me of trying for that Billy Joel solo, only back then I half-expected failure. Anticipating that turnout stopped me from giving my best effort, and I suppose that’s where I’d most want to grow. It was great to try, but looking back I felt I timidly walked up and tapped on the door of opportunity.

Now, I want to knock as hard as I can. I want to kick down doors. I want to shout from rooftops. I want a chance to prove myself.

If you’re a part of Blizzard and you’ve read this far, know that I want a shot. I am confident I will knock any opportunity out of the park. If there is any conversation for a chance to cast, I want to be a part of it. I want to be considered.

If you’re a fan or supporter of mine in some way, then I am doing something I’ve never done before.

I’m asking for your help.

I’m asking you to let Blizzard know if you think I’m ready for the HGC or LAN level events. I’m asking you to let them know if you feel I should be a part of things. Tweet at them. Let them know. Your support and kind words have inspired me to make such a gesture and amass to audacity necessary to ask for your help. No matter how it turns out, thank you for supporting me.

I admit I feel scared, writing something like this and vowing to myself to try to go after what I want. As fearful as I am, I’m more afraid of not trying.

I’ve been cowardly about a lot of things in my life. I don’t want an ambition as big and important to me as this to be another one of those things.

If I’m ever going to become the person I want to be, I have to try. I just… Have to.

It’s easy to miss the calm slosh and lap of the ocean. The distant call of birds whose entire lives are spent floating along with and against the slow breeze that rolls with the tide. The general din of human life itself generated by other souls drawn to the edge of wonder and realization of our minuscule place in the universe. I find the ocean, both being by it and in it, to be one of the best analogies for life I can think of.

Which makes my aversion to the ocean for most of my life to be somewhat ironic.

My mind and body are a sailboat, traversing the crests and dips of a vast ocean. Calmer days are beautiful. The crisp sea air is revitalizing. I can look out on the horizon and see the setting sun beyond and endless expanse between the water and a clear sky. The ebbing warmth of the day’s end permeates my skin, and the orange glow seen past my closed eyelids feels analogous to the very renewal of my soul, which spends its days as the captain of the ship.

It’s the storm that turns all of that on its head. Long gone is the gentle sway of a life at sea. The pit of my soul’s stomach pitches as the harsh waves thrash my sailboat, threatening to crash down on my battered sails and wash my soul off the deck completely.

My mind loses its cool, spending so much effort trying to react to the storm that my soul too becomes distracted. The rudder, the direction of my life, becomes second priority to merely managing the battle with the storm. “Hard to starboard!” my soul calls. I hear the wooden ship creaking from bow to stern and with gritted teeth my soul pulls to the left. The storm tries its best to snap the hull of my ship in two, but sooner or later its worst proves to be not good enough. The pelting sheets of rain start to wane and before long the dark skies part to the clear blue I so longed for.

For the longest time, those moments, when the light at the proverbial end of the tunnel was reached, felt like victory. I persevered through my mental hurdles. I weathered the storm of solitude, depression, doubt, and every other sense of malaise.

But where the Hell am I?

I became so focused on turning my ship this way and that to manage the challenge of the sea that I veered off course. I’ve lost my way. I allowed the storm to so heavily dictate my actions that I find myself far away from the course I originally set.

For the longest time I struggled with dealing with the storm at all. My ability to, for the most part, do so now is an accomplishment I feel proud of. The act can still get the better of me, and I’ll need time to myself to recharge; to repair my ship before it can be seaworthy once more. And that’s okay.

But my progress isn’t enough.

I see now that there’s another layer I need to explore if I am to reach the goals I’ve set for myself. It’s not enough to just weather the storm. While managing the fearsome seas, I need to make decisions that both get me through the storm and leave me positioned to still head in the direction I want to go.

The storms of life, indirectly, are given more power over my life than I ultimately want to give when I set defeating the storms as my sole purpose. The storms win in a way, if in their defeat they drive me off course. I would rather my ship take more damage if it means I stay on course. True mastery of life, to me, will be managing the storms while remaining on course. If my charted course is due north, I cannot turn south to weather a storm. No storm is worth taking me off course.

Hold on, Albert. When the storms  inevitably come, batten down the hatches and hold onto that rudder like your life depends on it. Because in a lot of ways, it does.

Heroes of the Dorm can be generally described as a tournament where college students compete for tuition, but that only scratches the surface. This year, I had the unique opportunity to participate in casting Heroes of the Dorm, while also being present for its conclusion as a member of the audience. Having seen both perspectives and after peeling back the layers and taking a closer look, it becomes clear to me that Heroes of the Dorm is a case study on passion, community, competition, and the future of gaming.

Conceptually, this tournament is different than many others by way of its prizing. The stakes are inherently high in things like the Heroes Global Championship with prize pools that offer players an opportunity to pursue their thirst for competition as a true vocation, but offering college tuition speaks to a different incentive.

Seeking a higher education is an investment in yourself. In my time participating in Heroes of the Dorm, I got a chance to meet aspiring doctors, lawyers, mechanical engineers, psychologists, and everything in between. These are driven young men and women who are working towards a foundation that could structure their professional lives, and this tournament offers them the opportunity to pair that passion for an education with an interest in gaming. In that, Heroes of the Dorm takes on something of an almost developmental role. Easing the burden of receiving an education through gaming is a profound and innovative undertaking, and fosters the growth of the human spirit.

It wasn’t until I began interviewing players prior to games did I truly come to appreciate the human element to this tournament and the role gaming can have in connecting people. Every team featured a set of protagonists that were all easy to root for. I think of DeAnza College, whose captain thinks the world of players like Fan and Michael Udall. He ventured from China in pursuit of his own American dream, looking to those players as a guide on how that dream can become a reality.

I think of Cal Poly Pomona, whose roster has not changed in all three years of this tournament. They formed the Pomona Ponies a week before the first tournament, and have remained friends ever since. Their interest in Heroes has formed a lifelong bond, where they plan on continuing to be friends and hanging out long after they’ve completed their education. During a time in someone’s life where memories and experience can solidify and shape someone’s character, it is profound to me to think that some of the strongest bonds are formed rushing down cores and timing heroics off of a perfectly timed Mosh Pit.

Teams like University of Kentucky come to mind. Two sets of brothers who battled their way to the Heroic Four and fast became one of the easiest teams to watch out for and be excited to see in the tournament. Serving as the quintessential Cinderella story, this team defied all odds to make it to Vegas. What most impressed me was their confidence and humility. Seeing Quonzar’s interview, where he spoke with absolute faith in his team’s ability to show up and perform without any sense of intimidation was truly inspiring for me. Watching them stay true to themselves and going at tournament favorites served as a reminder of what it means to be courageous. Few teams played with as much heart and sincerity as this team, and I hope we get to see them again.

These were not just teams or name tags moving around on a screen for me anymore over time. These were people with ambitions, wants, and dreams. I shared in their successes and felt empathy for their setbacks. Their emotional rollercoasters became our own throughout the course of the tournament, and I feel that’s something that Heroes of the Dorm does in a way unlike any other competition. Friends, family, and people just a part of the community in general came from all over to be there in Vegas and I think the efforts of the teams were a big reason why.

Heroes of the Storm, as a game, is designed around teamwork and cooperation. Playing in a coordinated setting with the same set of teammates will inherently develop social skills and an ability to connect with others in a way some players may not experience otherwise. I remember speaking with Kotank of Arizona State University, and he told me that he wanted to play his best for his teammates. This selfless statement really spoke volumes to me about this game’s ability to create friendships and bonds. These teams battle exams, studying, and all the rigors of college life but still find time to game together. What better way to get over a bad day is there than to sit down with a group of friends and play a game as a cohesive unit? Heroes of the Storm, and this annual tournament provided that for these teams and that’s a prize that’s hard to quantify.

The students participating in the tournament are not the only reason why Heroes of the Dorm is an amazing example of passion and community. I had an opportunity to speak with a range of people from Blizzard over the course of the tournament and each time came away thoroughly impressed and in awe of their love for this game and its community.

Whether someone is thinking of the best way to streamline the UI or if they are designing the next hero that will shake up the meta and defy MOBA conventions, each person I spoke to expressed absolute enthusiasm for this game. I quickly learned that this game is not a job for them. It’s a calling. I feel we are truly lucky to have this collection of individuals create something as complex, fun, challenging, and dynamic as Heroes of the Storm. It was truly an honor to see the game through their eyes in the times I was able to converse with them.

After the confetti settled, I thought back on my experience and smiled. I had the privilege in taking part in one of the most heartwarming journeys anyone could possibly go on. While its destination was an incredible culmination, the road to get there will be something I always remember.

I truly feel, with all my heart, that Heroes of the Dorm adds context to what it means to be a student, a competitor, and a person. Communities rallied behind these teams, and so did the audience. Passion was shown on the battlegrounds from the players, behind the camera from the production team, through the hard work of the tireless admins, and on the drawing board of the game’s developers. This tournament is a shining example of what collegiate esports can be, and for that I am both thankful and excited for its future.

Until next time, I’ll see you in the Nexus.

I think, from now on, when I fly I will ask for the window seat.

Today has been something of an emotionally charged day. I was set to go to the National Championship for Heroes of the Dorm. That, in and of itself, was something of a surprising turn of events. When I was originally slated to take part in this year’s competition, I was to cast to the round of 16 and then head back home. So it’s something of a prideful point for Blizzard to think enough of my efforts to want to bring me to Vegas, to see this whole thing through.

People in the community were excited that I was going. Some people even said they were making the trip to Vegas specifically to meet me. How crazy is that? To say I feel honored would be a profound understatement.

Due to weather issues in Atlanta, my flights to Las Vegas were canceled. My heart sank, standing there in the check-in line at the airport and being told that the next available flight was Sunday night. That there was nothing that could be done. I wasn’t going to Las Vegas. I wasn’t going to the finals.

It felt like a cosmic joke of sorts. I, someone who struggles with feeling like they belong anywhere, am excited to see people in a community that’s embraced me and am ready to power through the notion of social exhaustion to enjoy being in people’s company only to learn that it wasn’t to be.

It felt ironic, as far as karma goes. Yesterday when I bought Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild and traded in my Wii U and 3DS there was a kid behind me that asked the person working at the store if there was still a copy of Mortal Kombat vs. DC Universe. He said he had gone there before, but it was $20 and was too expensive. He even knew what drawer the disc was in.

When the person working at the store asked what I wanted to do with the leftover money from my trade, I told him I wanted to buy that game for that kid. Mario, the kid’s name I learned after, looked at my like I had six heads. It didn’t seem like he was used to people doing things like that for him, or at all. I had a mind to ask how he was doing in school, and to give something of an after school special speech about how hard work brings a lot of good fortune, and it feels good to pass that on to others. That maybe he could buy some kid a game someday. But I didn’t. He asked to shake my hand, so I did. And I left.

I still don’t know exactly why I bought that game for that kid, but it certainly wasn’t to reap any sort of karma for myself. And yet it did sting a little to feel that in the grand scheme of things I was ultimately stepping out of that check-in lane and into a cab back home.

I took responsibility, trying to reason and search on where I went wrong. Choosing that flight, not asking for a non-stop. Not being more diligent about making sure the flight was good to go. Not checking the weather to see this coming. What could I have done differently? I felt like I was being let down and like I had failed at the same time.

I reached out to different people at Blizzard, and what felt to me like a massive undertaking went underway. They sought to get me another flight to Vegas. I had the distinct privilege of being a part of the production at the Heroes of the Dorm finals. I told them it didn’t look like I was going to be able to make it, unfortunately. And even they were making efforts to try to get me out to Vegas. They asked for updates. Asked if there was anything they could do to help. Offered true empathy.

People in the community expressed their hope that I’d be able to go.

And it was for me.

Me.

I don’t know. Maybe people just felt like they were doing their job, and maybe people were just saying they hoped I made it to be nice. But sitting on this plane now makes me feel skeptical of that. Today, I felt like people went through a lot of effort on my behalf. That’s not something that ever really happens for me. I try to be as independent as possible, in large part because I hate feeling like anyone’s going out of their way for me. Insecurity and issues of self worth bubbling up some my subconscious and into action.

I needed help today. And support. I got both in ways I didn’t think were possible.

While I wish it didn’t come at the cost of people going out of their way for me, I feel karma has given me a far greater reward in this experience than simply just waking up and getting on a flight. People care, and I wouldn’t be on my way to Vegas feeling so welcomed and connected if they didn’t.

As I waited for my first flight, I got the notion to walk up to the counter and ask for a window seat. I always want the window seat. Seeing the world so small is akin to going to the beach and looking out at the ocean. Seeing so many buildings and dots of cars and lights turn on as the sun the plane chases goes I am simultaneously reminded of the importance and insignificance of my life. Its preciousness and its frivolity. Somewhere in the middle, it’s up to me to make the most of my life. It’s not something to take for granted.

I normally would not ask for the window seat. Like all the times where I want something and cave in to insecurity, choosing not to pursue, I felt this would be another instance where I had a middle seat and looked over at the window, feeling sorry that I didn’t at least try.

But if so many people were so willing to go out of their way on my behalf, people I greatly respect, aren’t I enough of a person that deserves to at least ask for something I wanted? So I set my jaw, stepped forward, got the agent’s attention, and asked if they had any window seats available.

“You’re in luck,” she said.

She has no idea how lucky I am, or how lucky I feel.

I think, from now on, when I fly I will ask for the window seat.

I’m not proud or happy to say that I hit something of an emotional stumbling block today. It’s no surprise or revelation that I tend to struggle with most social settings. While I’ve come to accept that quirk about myself, it’s something that I’ve spent quite a bit of time trying to work on.

I have a lot more work to do on this front yet.

One of the producers for Heroes of the Dorm was kind and gracious enough to invite the casters out to their birthday party today. The thought of implied social interaction with a group of strangers was pretty daunting, but I’ve come to really appreciate the producer’s friendship and wanted to show my thanks and support.

All in all, the party was really cool. The people I met were nice. I just have this irrational hiccup about feeling accepted in uncertain environments. And those anxieties came to the surface in full force today. I thought I had gotten past this to some extent. I thought I had come to grips with and had reasoned with this feeling, and when push came to shove… I just haven’t. I wanted to get away. I wanted to withdraw. And I really did not like feeling that way.

It’s like building a dam, and it breaks. So you spend a lot of time reinforcing the dam, and you feel confident that it will hold the next time the water rises. The time comes and, sure enough, the dam breaks again. In spite of the failure, I have to start to rebuild and perhaps rethink the way I go about making the dam. Or maybe find a better way to divert the stream and be better about ‘going with the flow’ of it all. I don’t know.

Something that was particularly interesting about the party was that there was a group painting session. An instructor set up a bunch of canvases and we had paint brushes and paint to make a landscape painting of sorts. I thought that was a really cool idea. I never heard of a business where they made something like that part of a social experience.

At first I was too locked in with my want to withdraw to participate, but I decided to give painting a try. I’m not an artist by any stretch, and I took a seat having already accepted the fact that my painting would be sub par compared to anyone else’s. But it wasn’t a competition or anything.

I followed along at first, creating an orange sunset at the top that was serviceable, if a bit heavy handed and plodding with my strokes. I never appreciated the nuance that goes into paint blending for colors, how to manipulate a brush, or how to manage the brush’s wetness or amount of paint. I got a better sense of how a painter can put their souls into a painting, so if anything I felt that was a victory of sorts.

When we got to the beginnings of the actual sun itself, I left too much water on the brush, so my first stroke sent a bead of yellowish white streaking down the canvas. I initially panicked. I ruined the painting ten minutes top into making it. I can just paint over it, I figured. The paint was heavy enough that with a few strokes it’d vanish and no one would be any the wiser, right?

I’m not someone that likes showing imperfections, and here I am sitting here plotting the concealment of another mistake of mine. I don’t know. Something about it didn’t sit well with me. I decided to stop trying to make what the class was supposed to be making and to do my own thing.

I tuned out the world, picked up my paper plate easel, set my jaw firmly, and became an artist for a short while.

The end result is nothing to write home about or praise. My technique is likely elementary at best, but at the end of it all I created a painting of a setting sun above the ocean. In the foreground, a figure stood alone on a beach, looking out toward the ocean. The bottom right portion of the canvas is untouched.

The painting represented something vulnerable for me. Showing something that falls short of my general expectations is difficult enough, but there was something ‘meta’ about the painting and its intended meaning for me.

The figure in the painting is me, standing on a beach of my own imagination. I’ve separated myself from the world around me, in part out of anxiety, and in part out of self doubt. I didn’t want to be there, and the feeling of defeat in not wanting to be there made me not want to be anywhere. But even that respite of withdrawing to the depths of my own mind felt hollow, as I was fully aware of what I was trying to do. In that awareness, I had failed at even achieving the comfort I sought, so I wasn’t really separated at all.

The incomplete portion of the painting represents that; the realization that my escape to my mind had failed and that I was very much in tune with the very reality I was trying to get away from. And the streak of yellow I aimed to cover up was on full display in that break back to reality.

My imperfection. Laid bare.

It made me feel tortured in a way. Defenseless against the anxiety of imposed extroverted social interaction. Being out of my element. Not being in control of my surroundings or my situation.

The instructor had walked by at some point, taking a cursory glance at the painting. I wondered what he thought of it. I assume he thinks I didn’t care too much about the class; so little that I didn’t even finish my painting. And what was actually there had to look like the work of a six year old to him. I wonder if he felt disrespected by that. Part of me wanted to go over and explain to him the meaning behind the painting.

But I didn’t.

I don’t know what I’ll do with the painting. I aim to keep it. It’s hard to feel good about it, even if part of me is proud that it at least represents something I’m feeling, or at least felt at that moment. Expressing my feelings is why I started this blog, and why I started casting. So that has to count for something, I feel.

I sat and stared at the painting before I started writing this. Part of me wants to try to paint a series of things and call them all Solitude. Maybe even stream it, where I don’t say anything and just have the camera pointed at the canvas and then when I finish I just end the stream. I don’t know. I don’t know if anyone would even want to see someone who has no artistic talent or experience put their woes and insecurities on a canvas while they felt too humbled or embarrassed to even really talk about it.

I don’t know.

The walk back from the production office reminded me that winter was still very much upon us. The breeze carried an oceanic quality, as though the Pacific itself called to me, asking that I remember the time I traversed its edge, heard its song, and was soothed by its message. I imagined if fallen leaves were a thing that their dried brown would rush and swirl around my feet, dancing in the chilled air. Their absence reaffirmed the notion that I am far from home, far from everything I know.

I wind down for the evening, easing back into a chair while listening to Thelonious Monk, Round Lights. I sip from a glass of water, and think.

I’ve said this a number of times by now, likely in this very blog, but I feel it bears repeating to truly make this message clear. I started casting largely for personal reasons. As something of a shut-in and introvert, honest expression is a difficult challenge for me. I promised myself that when I cast I would just be myself, without reservation and without fear. I would make jokes that I thought were funny, even if no one else did, and I would forgive myself for mistakes. I would share my enjoyment and enthusiasm of a game I enjoy in as honest a way I could. From there, the chips would fall where they did.

It began, in that way, as a somewhat selfish endeavor. I wanted to explore my own manner of expression and develop social skills to better connect with people; with humanity. For so long I’ve felt that part of my life was missing, incomplete, or not all of what it could be. I was proud of myself for wanting to work on that. Casting and starting this blog have really helped me grow as a person.

Casting Heroes of the Dorm so far has given me some insight to my place in the community and what I’ve seen and felt so far has been truly profound. I generally try to avoid naming specific people when I write in my blog, but I feel it necessary to do so. In case they ever read this, I’d like for them to understand the depth of my appreciation.

Today I casted the Tennessee vs. LSU match, and had a chance to interview HecarimJ. We get on the call, and I’m excited for him because he played super well and his team definitely made a strong showing. One of the first thing he says is that it’s good to see me, because I’ve casted him for so long and that he was glad to see me on the big stage.

This moment was his. He earned it by playing so well. I had questions planned to ask him about his and his team’s play, but he took the time to say something like that to me when he didn’t have to. I told him I appreciated it and got back to asking my questions because I felt I’d be way too dorky to elaborate any further, but it was a moment that stands out for me this year.

I got the opportunity to cast my friends Kylaris and Solian earlier this week. Kylaris and I had talked about how cool it’d be if I got to cast her for months now, so for the stars to align there felt amazing. I wanted to do a good job for her, and I was really glad to see her hard work shine through. Johns Hopkins played great, and getting to interview her and Solian after their victory was really special to me. She was one of the first friends I’ve made in the Heroes community, and I think she’s neat. Meeting her and Solian at BlizzCon was a favorite moment. I dunno. I can’t really word it, but it was just really cool to cast them.

I love Momma Shot. She is such a positive person in the Heroes community. I had the chance to meet her today and I was legitimately excited and starstruck to meet her. Getting a picture with and a hug from her has been a highlight of my time in the Heroes community. I was so surprised that she recognized me and knew who I was. She messages me on Twitter and stuff sometimes, but it was just really cool to meet her. And she even said I was adorable afterwards!

Someone in the community FleurDeLisle responded to my tweet about getting to meet Momma Shot and said something that shook me to the core. They said, “You really are great, my friend. I don’t just mean your casting. You, Albert, are a truly great person.” I honestly was not ready for a message like that. I know they’ve read my blog in the past, so they have a bit more insight as to what makes me ‘me’ than someone who hadn’t, so it was really special to get a message like that. 140 characters simply are not enough to express my thanks for that message. It genuinely brought a tear to my eye. Even thinking about it now kinda does.

There’s a streamer named AlexDidz, and it’s always a surprise to me that when I stop by his stream that he’s genuinely glad and excited I’m there. I just feel like I’m some dude, so for someone to be happy I’m around is neat to me. He’s a genuinely good person, and I like seeing him play and listening to the game soundtracks he has going when he streams. I noticed after one of his HL games that he is in 3 channels, Rentaro’s, his own, and mine. I honestly cannot remember the last time I did anything with my in-game channel, so it meant a lot to me that he was in it after so long.

Maybe he had just forgotten about it, but something about seeing that was really special to me. I will always appreciate the kindness and friendship he’s given me.

The more I’ve casted Dorms the more I’ve realized that I’ve gotten a chance to cast a lot of people in the community, and that I know a lot more people than I guess I thought I did.

My own humble nature and proactive effort to not have any sort of ego generally bars me from thinking too highly of myself past a certain point, but today I really started to feel like I was a part of the community. As someone who’s seldom felt like a part of anything in his life, it’s something of a groundbreaking feeling.

I blink back tears typing this now because I think about all of the kind things people have had to say about me and my casting over the time I’ve started on this journey and it’s emotionally overwhelming. When I started I half expected to be made fun of or told I wasn’t any good. Never in a million years would I think I’d be here.

I put my heart out there and am my most vulnerable when I cast. It’s an exhilarating feeling like little else I’ve experienced, but it’s also terrifying in its own way. But every time I hold true to the promise I made to myself back at the start.

It’s never a performance when I cast. It’s just me. And I can never thank the people enough who appreciate me and what I do.

I simply cannot put a price or value on the idea that people like me for genuinely being me, after struggling with that sense of self worth for so long. Even if I never casted again after Heroes of the Dorm, the experience and takeaways from coming here to do this has genuinely changed my life.

Casting has given me a sense of confidence in myself and connection to humanity I lost as a teenager and never thought I’d have again. It is truly an honor to be a part of this community.

From the bottom of my heart. Thank you.

A common observation I’ve heard about myself is that I can get lost in my own mind. That I get into my own head, and stay there. For too long. And that I need to return to the world more often.

It’s not something I think will ever change about me entirely, and that the task set before me is less about ridding myself of that habit but understanding it enough to not serve as a hindrance to my ultimate ambitions.

My time so far in California has been a pretty interesting take on that observation.

I haven’t written in my blog since the beginning of the year, when I spend a good bit of time reflecting on 2016. It hasn’t been for a lack of thought, events, or shifts in mindset. I just… Haven’t written. I think I’ve gotten too far into my own head again, and that I’ve forgotten what I started this blog for and what it’s come to represent for me. As more people have, over time, read posts here and have been kind enough to say they can relate to what I’ve written I’ve felt it take on something of a different life. And it’s made me feel more selective about what to put in here.

I should change that.

The very nature of this blog was to be an open book, and as more people potentially start to look at it I should not shy away from it’s meant to me. I am a recluse in more ways than one, particularly when it comes to emotions. Writing in this blog has been how I’ve chipped away at that, and it’s helped. I want it to continue helping me, and potentially help others. So as self-conscious as I can be about writing here sometimes, I should feel all the more committed to jotting down my thoughts.

My time in California has been life changing. I started casting as another means of opening up. To find out what it meant to ‘be myself’ and reconnect with that kind of carefree, unscripted, unfiltered aspect of what makes me me. To think that in response a community has come to enjoy my natural expression, and that because of it I’ve gotten a chance like this is and forever will be mind blowing.

As amazing as the experience has been, and as much as I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world, it has come at a cost.

It is a tall order, for me, to be asked to step outside of my routine and effectively put my life on hold for 6 and a half weeks. What has always been a natural expression of myself at a rate and quantity of my choosing has now been invested in a business sense, and that’s not something I want to fall short of or let down. So there’s an added pressure to ‘perform’, when casting has been anything but a performance for me.

It’s been interesting in that I’ve actually found an appreciation for my ‘day job’ out of this. I would jump at the chance of making a living by casting or doing something along those lines, but for my normal job I can put some music on, tune out the world, and just complete tasks assigned to me. It’s like meditation in some ways. There’s no ‘pressure’ to be me. Just to get a job done. The way I cast requires me to open myself up to an audience in a way a normal job doesn’t. It’s something to think about, for me.

That contrast is not something that would have me shy away from more actively pursuing a career in front of a camera, but it’s something that this experience has given me insight to that I didn’t have otherwise. I’m glad to have that insight now.

The world around me here feels like an invisible mirror. I guess reading that sentence back makes it sound like a pretty dumb observation, or even nonsensical but I swear there’s a logic to it.

This may as well be Mars. I’ve said as much before I could announce where I was going or why. I’d say I was getting ready for my trip to Mars. When you are removed from everything that you know and everything that’s comfortable for you, the challenges and nuances of the new environment makes the equation to distill what makes you you that much easier.

Stepping onto that stage the first night after rehearsals and hearing the producer say, “Queue,” and knowing that we were live and that I had to be ready to host was the moment I realized I was away from everything I knew and the only thing that was consistent was what I brought here. Me. There was no misconception. The world, at the moment, served as a mirror to where I could, effectively, see myself for what I was. And what I wasn’t.

Since that realization, it’s been difficult to see every other experience and interaction I’ve had here any differently. You learn about yourself when you venture outside of your comfort zone, in short.

And I’ve been learning a lot.

Casting has always been, in a lot of ways, a selfish endeavor. It’s my way of putting myself out there into the world, and this is the biggest avenue I’ve had the chance to do that by far. It can leave me feeling raw sometimes, the amount of myself I’ve had to ‘put out there’ since I’ve been here. I’ve made friends, acquaintances, and formed bonds with colleagues in a way that feels very uncomfortable for me. When I go into a new environment, I am very quiet and observant at first. Then I start to branch out.

I am fortunate enough to have been lucky to have folks who have been very accommodating and accepting of my quirks. I feel right at home on stage now, and I honestly didn’t think I’d feel that way so soon. So, to anyone that’s been a part of that, thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

This experience so far has been bittersweet in that I know it will eventually end. But I will be glad to get back to my routine and my cats. To get back to what I know. But by then I’ll have gotten to know this as well. This will have become my routine. And then maybe home won’t feel so much like home anymore.

And I’ll just be stuck in some kind of weird limbo. I don’t know.

In coming here, I’ve learned more about what areas of my life I am happy with and what areas I would like to expand on or work on. Some of those realizations have been bitter pills to swallow, but all of them have been necessary if I’m to take steps toward being the best me I can be.

It can be lonely sometimes. And at the same time the isolation can be absolutely enthralling.

Maybe someone will read this and think that I’m not enjoying my time here or that I wouldn’t want to do something like this again. To that, I’d say I am overall very much loving my stay in California and the reasons why I am here. It is truly a blessing and it’s been amazing.

I just try to take my life’s experiences and ‘get’ something from them. An experience like this is monumental on that front, and it’s given me a lot about myself to process.

There are parts of me I’d like to embrace, some I’d like to work on, and some I’m best served letting go.

If there was one thing to take away from this it’s that there are more layers to me than what is seen of me when I cast, yet at the same time when I am casting it’s 100% me to the best of my ability to express myself.

I will forever be under development, and that’s not something to feel bad about.