freshman year of college in the dormitory, looking for my calling and meaning, i find an inspirational website by some lifestyle coach. he says get a piece of paper out. write down a single sentence.

i want to ______.

fill in that blank with whatever you want. read it out loud to yourself. read it again. did you cry?

cross it out and try again. write a new sentence. repeat this step over and over until when you read the sentence you cry.

i entered college studying graphic design because it was what i invested the most time into during high school. but i didn’t know what i wanted to do. i always loved video games, but was there really anything i wanted to do with them that could actually make me cry? like… give me meaning?

i tried a few sentences. nothing stuck.

i thought about being a kid, playing one player games alone for hours, wishing i had someone to play against. maybe i wanted to make better AI, or create endless challenges for people like me.

but that felt off. too broad. and i wasn’t interested in building systems like that.

maybe it was online play, being able to connect people. but games were already moving in that direction. it felt like something that would solve itself.

so what was i really after?

my favorite game was obvious. super smash bros. melee. i played it alone a lot. i imagined what it would be like if it could be played online, but back then with CRTs, lag, and the internet… it felt impossible. it wasn’t meant to be played online.

it was meant to be played in person. that’s what i was really after.

i went back to the paper with crossed out lines.

i wrote: i want to spread the joy of melee.

i read it out loud. and i cried.

—

i didn’t pursue it perfectly. i got distracted. i stopped playing for periods of time. i didn’t always know what “spreading the joy” actually looked like.

but whenever i had the chance, i talked about melee. i brought it up to friends, to classmates, to anyone who would listen. and when people showed even a little interest, i wanted to go deeper with them. i wanted them to feel what i felt.

i started hosting small tournaments in my parents’ basement. then bigger ones. i gave lessons. i commentated matches. i traveled to events across the country. i met people who loved the game the same way i did.

i started an organization called “melee everyday.”

it wasn’t balanced. it wasn’t casual. it was everything. and i loved it.

i loved playing it, hosting it, talking about it, teaching it. i loved seeing someone understand it deeper and deeper. i loved seeing them get better. i loved seeing rooms full of setups and people who cared.

i wanted as many people as possible to experience that.

so i did what i could.

—

over time, the game grew.

people built better tournaments. more organizers stepped up. new tools came out: practice modes, save states, rollback online play. things that used to feel impossible became normal.

chicago continued to be a strong city for melee. tournaments kept happening. majors came through. things i used to do, like national events for unranked players, started existing without me.

i moved away not knowing what it would look like. it turned out fine. better than fine.

the game doesn’t need me to spread it anymore.

—

if i were to write that same sentence today “i want to spread the joy of melee” i wouldn’t cry. because it’s no longer something i need to do.

i spent years pursuing it. imperfectly, but honestly. i found ways to live it out. and along the way, things just kept getting better and better. the work was picked up by others. the game became more accessible than i ever imagined.

the joy spread.

—

i still love melee. i don’t think i could ever love a non-living thing more than melee. but i don’t need to spread it anymore. that part is done. and i’m grateful i got to be a part of it.