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Goodbye, Ryan

One of the last things I ever said to Ryan Davis in person was “this must be the line for assholes.”

I was making my way to a PR check-in on the last day of E3 2013, and he was already waiting at the desk for what was probably one of the last of many appointments that day. As I walked up, I fell into the same pattern I always had with Ryan, which was to fuck with him. I had to — it would be the only chance I ever had in any particular conversation with him to get the upper hand. After that it would always be a back and forth that would inevitably lead to a tacit acknowledgment that he was funnier and that I was totally ok with that. I think that meeting at E3 ended with a handshake and a see you soon. I laughed when I was back in the same spot an hour or so later and Alex Navarro walked up behind me and said “this must be the line for assholes.”

I’m not sure what I have to add to the chorus of notes and well wishes that have been written today in the wake of Ryan’s passing last week, which many of us only heard about this morning. I didn’t know Ryan well, exactly. I saw him a fair few times the last couple of years, because we ended up at a lot of the same events. This industry is full of acquaintances — people you meet that you know at “work,” that you come into frequent enough contact with that you learn their names and maybe cluster with for a few moments during those times, whether out of some kind of defense mechanism or desire to not be “that guy” in the corner, not talking to anyone, desperately staring at your phone, hoping to be given purpose by some stupid piece of busywork.

Ryan was not that. Every time I saw him, we managed to carve out a decent amount of time to bullshit about … whatever. Nothing. Everything. I would ask him how things were at Giant Bomb, he would ask about first Joystiq, then Polygon. We would talk shit, we would bust each other’s balls. Talking to him, I felt genuine warmth and concern and caring and humor in a way I do not get from many people, and reading so many comments today, I was not unique in this regard. Most people, I think, want you to like them. Ryan always seemed to want to make people feel welcome. Even if that meant merciless taunting. Especially via merciless taunting.

Others have pointed out today that Ryan had the ability to make you feel like the most special person on the planet for a brief, wondrous moment via giving you some laser-guided shit. He was a master of poking your ego without really hurting your feelings. and part of that was his willingness to be on the receiving end of that loving abuse. This went beyond the easy cliche of the big party animal desperate for laughs. Ryan knew what to do for the hardest, most important, moment-defining laugh, and he did it constantly.

Maybe he was doing it for himself. I don’t know. It never felt that way. It always felt like he was trying to make everyone’s time better. And hanging out at events, talking, bullshitting, talking shit, it felt like we were friends. I always looked forward to that. I was always thankful that in a sea of mostly dudes who are mostly jaded and mostly antisocial or maybe just awkward, Ryan was always a source of laughter and comfort and joy. And I realize how corny that sounds, but it was true. He was rightfully one of the most well-liked members of our weird extended and often vitriolic family.

I say all of this as someone who saw Ryan a couple dozen times over the course of a little less than three years. I cannot fathom the grief and sadness that those who he was truly close to are experiencing right now. Not his new wife, not his immediate family, and not Patrick, or Brad, or Drew, or Dave, or John, or Jeff, or so many other people whose hearts are broken right now. I’ve had water leaking from my face off and on for most of the day since I found out, and I just cannot wrap my head around that sadness. To all of you that knew Ryan, that loved him, I am so very sorry. I wish I could do more than offer platitudes and my own paltry thoughts on his passing.

To everyone else, to all of my friends and the people in my life, this is a harsh reminder that I don’t say this enough: I love you. Even if we don’t speak often or ever. Even if I never see you. I love you. I would miss you if you were gone, and I have never said it enough. I’m sorry for that too. And Ryan, we only sort of knew each other, via work, via twitter, via the internet. But I’ll miss you too.