I’m Ready to Be Honest

For whatever reason, I’ve always felt inclined to be honest with people and reveal personal aspects of my life.

I’m not referring to the “don’t cheat on the test” type of honesty; that’s the boring kind. I’m talking about the “hey, read my blog post about my professional, personal and romantic issues over the last year” type of honesty. That’s my market.

The 16 people who end up reading this post will probably wonder, “why would anyone divulge such boring/personal details about their life?”

I have a couple theories:

1. I’m a complete narcissist who feeds off attention (most likely explanation).

2. I’m insecure (also very likely).

But you can’t deny there’s something magnetic about honesty. All of my heroes — comedians, radio hosts, writers — are people I perceive as brutally honest — to the point where it often gets them in trouble.

Honesty has rewarded me with great opportunities; it led me to fall in love with sports writing. Following a boring finance internship three years ago, I promised myself I wouldn’t create excel reports for the rest of my life, which led me to write for the college newspaper. It’s attracted smart friends and deterred me from bullshit.

Honesty has also gotten me into lots of trouble. I was basically fired by a Portland-based website two months ago when I wrote a column suggesting the Trail Blazers should trade one of their two best players. People think they want honesty, but when you tell them they’re overweight and have coffee breath, they quickly realize they’re more comfortable with something in the middle.

I’m loyal to very few things, but honesty is one of them. I want to be completely forthright with this post because for most of the past year, I was dishonest with myself. I tried to convince myself of something I knew wasn't true.

Just over one year ago, I graduated from college with a finance and economics degree — two subjects I’m mostly indifferent about. I picked them because my grandpa had success in business and I wanted to live a comfortable life like he has. I didn’t realize how much I loved sports media until it was too late to make a switch.

Also around the time of graduation, I fell head over heels in love with a girl. It was the first time I've ever truly been in love with someone. I followed her to Portland after graduation, and I lived in a tiny office in my friends’ house for $500 a month.

Before I moved in, that was the dog’s room. I slept on a blow-up mattress for months before buying a small enough bed.

I don’t regret taking a chance on love. There is nothing like it in the world, and it doesn’t come around often. I understand why guys move across the country to be with their girlfriend or why couples try to do long distance. Love is one of the few things that’s worth it (OK sorry, I’m done).

The big mistake I made — and the thing I regret more than anything — is I successfully convinced myself I didn’t really love sports media and I would be content getting a corporate job. But of course, deep down, I knew I loved writing about sports, I knew I was decent at it and I knew I could make it if I tried hard enough.

After being unemployed for a couple months and starting to panic about the prospect of calling my parents for money, I accepted a finance role with a consulting firm in downtown Portland. It was the same nauseating routine: cubicles, Joseph A. Bank dress shirts and Microsoft Excel. But I was getting paid better than the average college graduate and I had a great personal life. I was lying to myself, but I was comfortable.

The ironic thing about working in finance is that it’s not even something I’m good at. I interned at Amazon as a financial analyst in college and they chose not to offer me a fulltime job. Same thing with the consulting firm — I was painfully average at my day-to-day role because I didn’t care. I felt like I was good at being a sports writer and I enjoyed doing it, yet I avoided it.

After working at the consulting firm for four months, I accepted a similar role with Adidas. I lied to myself again; this time I thought “at least you’re working for a sports company now!” Adidas is an incredible place for a young person to work. They treat their employees great, it paid well and I was given ample opportunity to succeed. But it’s not what I wanted, and I was too stubborn to admit it.

I understand why a lot of people don’t end up pursuing “their dream.” I think most people are afraid their dream is unattainable.

For example, pretend you’re a movie nerd and you have dreams of being an actor one day. At this moment, you've never taken an acting class or participated in a school play. Right now, your dream is really just a fantasy. It’s as perfect and unscathed as it ever will be. It’s like the good-looking girl who sits in the back of your sociology class that you've never talked to. She’s perfect right now, but when you finally decide to talk to her, she laughs in your face and rejects you. What if you find out you’re terrible at acting and your dream is just that: a dream?

Around September, I started to go a little crazy. I was waking up every morning and wondering how long I was going to be able to manufacture passion for a career I didn't care about. Some people call it their quarter-life crisis. I needed to start talking to that girl in the back of the sociology class again.

I sent my resume to every sports blog I could find. A small website based in Portland responded to me and said I could write a weekly column about the Trail Blazers. It was unpaid, but I didn't care; it was an opportunity to start writing again.

I wrote most of the columns during the weekend and sometimes after work during the week. It took a few weeks to shake off the rust, but it felt great to do something creative. For me, writing isn't some euphoric experience where vague ideas magically form into beautifully constructed paragraphs. It often feels like labor, and I spend most the time second-guessing every word I type. But the most rewarding thing about writing is that it’s yours. You come up with the idea, you generate an opinion and you decide how to communicate your idea to the audience.

Portland basketball fans are a sensitive demographic. The city has one major professional sports team, so fans tend to be delusional about the team’s talent. They’re like the youth soccer mom whose kid obviously sucks, but if you make a sly critique she’ll murder you with her bare hands because she lives for that kid.

I felt the hipster wrath of Portland pretty quickly. After writing a column about Blazers’ rookie Zach Collins being one of the worst lottery picks in recent memory, my editor was flooded with emails demanding that I be fired. I received a bunch of hate on Twitter also, but I didn’t care. Honestly, I enjoyed it. I told you, I’m a narcissist.

The following week I wrote a column discussing the possibility of the Blazers trading one of their two best players. When I submitted it to my editor, he told me he was uncomfortable posting it because it might provoke outrage from fans. Despite driving tons of traffic to the site and working for free, the editor was holding my column over my head like a six year old. I figured that was probably my cue to start looking elsewhere.

In December — two weeks after leaving the first website — FanSided hired me to write about the Blazers. Again, it was an unpaid position, but the audience was much larger and the content was better. I came home from work almost every day and wrote about the NBA. I was inching toward my dream of being a full-time sports journalist.

The same day I was hired by FanSided, I got dumped by my (then) girlfriend. Technically, I agreed to the breakup (is that what all guys say when they get dumped? Shit, I think I got dumped).

Breakups are miserable. I envy guys that are able to internalize their feelings and quickly move on from heartbreak. I’m not one of those people. Instead of internalizing, I allow every emotion to surface until I’m in the fetal position. I don’t know how to turn that part of my brain off. I’m like Jason Segel’s character in Forgetting Sarah Marshall.

But that’s the contract you sign when you fall in love with someone; more likely than not, you’re going to be sick to your stomach and heartbroken in one year. It’s absolutely still worth it. And in a weird way, experiencing heartbreak is sort of amazing because it means you were truly invested. I’m lucky to have suffered (OK seriously, I’m done).

After I emerged from the fetal position, I had one priority: get a fulltime job in sports media. In the span of three weeks, I probably filled out over 100 applications for jobs in Los Angeles, Chicago, New York, DC and San Francisco. I applied for roles with newspapers, TV networks, websites, local radio stations, sports leagues and teams’ public relations departments.

And then, while I was sitting in a coffee shop filling out applications, I got an email back from Fox Sports. They were looking for two production assistants to work in their highlights department in Los Angeles, and they wanted to interview me. I tried not to soil myself while executing a 2003 Tiger Woods fist pump.

I prepared for that interview like Bill Belichick prepares for opposing offenses. The interviewer could’ve asked me about my thoughts on the Nunes memo and I would’ve had an answer. I tried to disguise my desperation by asking questions and facilitating normal conversation, but I was nervous.

Four days later — on a Saturday night — I got an email back with a job offer. I belted out “oh shit!” and delivered a 1998 Tiger fist pump.

In 11 days, I’ll pack into my 02’ Camry and drive 965 miles from Portland to Los Angeles. I’m moving in with my tremendously kind aunt and uncle, who live about 50 miles from the Fox Sports studios. I have seven months left on my lease in Portland, and I’m going from making good money for a 23-year-old to good money for a 13-year-old.

But if LA traffic and a little discomfort is the price of honesty, then I’m in. It’s a price I should’ve started paying 13 months ago when I graduated from college. Instead, I wasted time trying to convince myself I didn’t need to be passionate about my job.

I’m done lying. I’m ready to confront the cute girl in the back of the sociology class.

Hopefully she doesn’t reject me.