What 200 Pokémon Interviews Taught Me (Johto Edition)

I've officially recorded 200 Pokémon interviews.

Even writing that feels surreal. When I first started As The Pokéball Turns, I wasn't thinking about reaching 200 episodes. I wasn't thinking about building a brand, creating a legacy, or becoming a recognizable voice in the Pokémon community. I was simply trying to bring a Pokémon interview podcast into the world.

I didn't have a rubric to follow. I didn't have a team helping me figure everything out. I listened to other interview podcasts, studied how hosts framed their questions, and tried to understand what made a conversation worth listening to.

Everything else came through trial and error.

Nearly four years later, I've learned how to edit audio, build a brand, market a podcast, interview people, and tell stories. I've met people I never imagined meeting, heard experiences I never expected to hear, and discovered just how deeply Pokémon connects people from all walks of life.

But somewhere along the way, I realized something.

The podcast wasn't just teaching me how to become a better podcaster. It was teaching me about myself.

I've learned to appreciate what I bring to the table, recognize my limitations, let go of perfection, and understand that the value of a story isn't determined by how many people hear it.

What better way to reflect on those lessons than through the eight Johto Gym Badges?

Each badge represents something I've learned on my journey to Episode 200. Some lessons came naturally. Others took years, countless mistakes, and some difficult moments to understand.

Here are the eight badges I've earned along the way.

 

Zephyr Badge

When I started As The Pokéball Turns, I thought being a good interviewer meant asking good questions.

I would prepare a script for every guest and write down every possible question I could imagine. I wanted to make sure I covered everything. I didn't want to miss an important detail or leave a good question on the table.

The problem was that I became so focused on the questions that I sometimes forgot to let the conversation breathe.

Eventually, I started giving my guests more freedom to talk. I wanted them to share as much as they felt comfortable sharing. That worked, perhaps a little too well, because I suddenly had two or three hours of raw audio to edit.

I needed to find a balance.

That's when I started applying some of what I had learned from my earlier interest in becoming a writer. Stories have structure. They have emotions, buildup, climaxes, resolutions, and sometimes a glimpse of what comes next.

But stories aren't always straightforward. Sometimes an episode has multiple emotional turning points. Sometimes the most meaningful part of a conversation has nothing to do with the question I originally asked.

I learned to listen for those moments.

One interview that helped me recognize this was my conversation with AdaEnchilada.

During our recording, she talked about losing her dog. It was an emotional moment, and she began to cry. She apologized, and without even thinking about it, I responded,

"It's okay, my audience is used to it."

I said it off the cuff, but I meant it.

Afterward, I reflected on that moment and thought about all the other guests who had shared difficult experiences on the podcast. I realized that As The Pokéball Turns had become something more than an interview podcast.

I was capturing people's journeys.

Their memories, struggles, accomplishments, the experiences that helped shape who they are.

That realization changed how I approached interviewing.

I stopped believing every guest needed to follow the same journey through Pokémon's history. Not everyone experienced every generation. Not everyone connects with the franchise in the same way.

Why should their interviews follow the same structure?

Today, I listen for the details that make someone's story unique. If something catches me off guard, I ask a follow-up question. If a conversation takes an unexpected direction, I'm willing to explore it.

Sometimes those unexpected directions lead to the best moments.

After 200 interviews, I'm still learning how to ask better questions. I'm still trying to recognize when to speak, when to follow up, and when to simply listen.

Sometimes the most important thing an interviewer can do is give someone the room to tell their story.

 

Hive Badge

Have you ever looked back at something you created years ago and wondered what you were thinking?

That's how I feel whenever I revisit my earlier podcast episodes.

My voice will probably always make me cringe. There are questions I've asked that make me shake my head. Sometimes I asked something inappropriate for the moment. Other times, I missed a perfectly good opportunity to ask a better question.

I listen to those conversations today and realize how differently I would approach them.

It's embarrassing at times.

However, it's a good kind of embarrassment.

One of the things I've been doing is revisiting older episodes to create reels and YouTube Shorts. That means listening to conversations I recorded years ago and hearing a version of myself who no longer exists in quite the same way.

I've changed.

My interviewing has improved. My understanding of storytelling has grown. I've become more comfortable expressing myself and allowing my personality to be part of the conversation.

Oddly enough, my old social media posts don't make me cringe nearly as much. I knew I was trying to figure things out. I was experimenting with different approaches, discovering what worked, and slowly building something that didn't exist before.

I didn't have the answers then, and I certainly don't have all the answers now.

That's part of the journey.

Growth doesn't always announce itself. Sometimes you don't realize how much you've changed until you encounter something you created years earlier.

Recording 200 interviews didn't suddenly make me a better storyteller. It was the repeated experience of showing up, making mistakes, listening back, learning something, and trying again.

That's how I improved.

The exciting part is knowing that I'm not finished.

One day, I might revisit the interviews I'm recording today and cringe all over again.

I hope I do because that means I kept growing.

 

Plain Badge

For a long time, I compared As The Pokéball Turns to other podcasts.

Some had larger audiences. Others had more established connections, better equipment, or a team of people supporting their production.

I looked at those podcasts and wondered what I was missing.

When I say I started from ground zero, I mean it.

I had some basic graphic design knowledge, but that was about it. Audio editing was a skill I had to learn. Marketing was something I had to learn. Branding was something I had to learn.

Even building relationships with guests required starting from scratch. Outside of my immediate Pokémon community in Dallas–Fort Worth, most people didn't know who I was.

Meanwhile, other podcasters had years of experience engaging audiences or working with established brands.

I didn't have that background.

For most of this journey, I've been the person handling nearly everything behind As The Pokéball Turns.

For a while, I treated those differences as shortcomings.

I also believed that interviewing well-known people would help establish the podcast's success. After all, people with large audiences often have those audiences for a reason. There are still plenty of recognizable people in the Pokémon community I'd love to interview someday.

But something interesting happened as I recorded more conversations.

I discovered that some of the most meaningful stories came from people who weren't particularly well-known.

People without polished public personas sometimes felt more comfortable speaking openly about their experiences. There wasn't always an established image they felt obligated to maintain.

That doesn't mean well-known people can't be authentic. It means authenticity has nothing to do with someone's audience size.

I began to appreciate that distinction.

I also learned to recognize what I bring to the table.

My podcast isn't simply a collection of conversations about Pokémon. It's a place where people can reflect on their experiences with the franchise and preserve memories that might otherwise disappear.

We often talk about the past with rose-colored glasses. We remember Pokémania, the launch of Pokémon GO, our favorite games, and the friends we made along the way.

But the present will eventually become someone else's past.

Twenty years from now, someone might listen to an episode of As The Pokéball Turns and discover what it felt like to be a Pokémon fan during this period.

What people cared about. What frustrated them. What made them happy. How they connected with one another.

The experiences we take for granted today can easily get lost to time if nobody records them.

That's what I hope this podcast can preserve.

I've learned that my journey doesn't need to resemble anyone else's. Having a smaller team, fewer resources, or a different approach doesn't make my work inferior.

It simply means my journey is different.

I had to learn to respect that process, trust my vision, and appreciate the work I've already done.

What I bring to the table matters too.

 

Fog Badge

There was a time when editing a single podcast episode could take me an entire week.

I'm not exaggerating.

I would listen to the recording over and over, trying to remove every little imperfection.

Every breath. Every stutter. Every awkward pause. Every moment that didn't sound exactly how I wanted it to sound.

I wanted to give the podcast my best effort, and I believed that meant making every episode as polished as possible.

The problem was that it was never enough.

I could spend hours fixing something that most listeners probably wouldn't notice. Even after all that work, I could always find something else to change.

It was exhausting.

There were nights when I stayed awake until three in the morning trying to finish an episode before its scheduled release.

At one point, I even tried releasing two episodes a week. That schedule forced me to reconsider how much time I could realistically spend editing.

I simply couldn't maintain the same level of perfectionism at that pace.

Gradually, I started accepting the small imperfections.

A pause didn't always need to disappear. A stumble didn't automatically ruin a conversation. Sometimes an awkward moment was simply part of two people having a genuine interaction.

When I removed too much, I realized I was also removing some of the humanity.

That was never the point of the podcast.

I still care about quality. I want my episodes to sound good, and I want my guests to feel that their stories have been treated with care.

But there's a difference between putting effort into something and demanding that it be flawless.

I've learned that perfection can become the enemy of progress.

We're often our own worst critics. I still listen to that critical voice because sometimes it points out things I genuinely need to improve.

I just don't let it have the final say anymore.

An episode doesn't need to be perfect to be worth sharing.

Sometimes it simply needs to be finished.

 

Storm Badge

One of the things that surprised me most about podcasting was discovering what people actually connect with.

For a long time, I assumed listeners would notice the same imperfections that bothered me.

Maybe they would hear an awkward transition. Maybe a question wouldn't land exactly how I intended. Maybe the audio wouldn't sound quite as polished as another podcast.

But the feedback I've received has taught me something different.

People connect with experiences.

I've had guests thank me for giving them space to share their stories. I've received comments from listeners who related to something discussed during an episode. Sometimes people share their own experiences after hearing someone else talk about theirs.

Every once in a while, someone recognizes me at an event and says something kind about the podcast.

That still surprises me.

I don't attend Pokémon events expecting people to know who I am. When someone recognizes the podcast or takes a moment to compliment my work, it's a wonderful feeling.

It reminds me that these conversations are reaching people.

Over time, I've noticed how much nostalgia and vulnerability bring Pokémon fans together.

Some of us remember the excitement of Pokémania. Others remember the summer Pokémon GO launched and how the world suddenly felt different.

Many of us also remember the periods when being a Pokémon fan wasn't considered particularly cool.

There were times when people felt they had to hide their interests or downplay how much Pokémon meant to them.

Those shared experiences matter.

But I've also learned that Pokémon can create opportunities to discuss experiences that go far beyond the franchise.

Sometimes guests talk about loneliness, grief, adversity, or feeling misunderstood. Some of those conversations touch on experiences that society doesn't always make room for.

Those are the stories I find myself drawn toward.

Before podcasting, I worked as a caseworker, so navigating difficult conversations wasn't unfamiliar territory. But interviewing people has helped me develop a deeper appreciation for listening and reflecting on what someone shares.

I don't believe every episode needs to become emotional or discuss something difficult.

Sometimes a funny childhood memory is enough. Sometimes it's a story about finding a rare Pokémon card, making a friend, or remembering a favorite game.

The connection comes from the honesty of the experience.

People aren't necessarily looking for perfect conversations.

They're looking for something they can recognize in themselves.

And sometimes, hearing someone else's story reminds them that they're not alone.

 

Mineral Badge

There have been periods when As The Pokéball Turns felt like everything was coming together.

Guests were lining up. Ideas were flowing. Episodes were being released. I could see the podcast growing into something bigger than I originally imagined.

Then there were periods when I questioned whether any of it was worth the effort.

I've asked my girlfriend before, "Am I crazy or dedicated?"

I think the answer is a little bit of both.

Podcasting requires a tremendous amount of work, especially when you're handling nearly everything yourself. There are interviews to arrange, recordings to edit, posts to create, and countless little details that need attention.

Sometimes I pushed myself because I didn't want to let my audience down.

I didn't like stopping. I didn't like giving up. I wanted to see what the podcast could become.

But the most difficult period of this journey wasn't simply about podcasting.

It happened when my personal life and the podcast collided.

I went through an incredibly painful period after reaching out to my aunt and her family during a time when I was struggling with suicidal thoughts. Instead of receiving the support I hoped for, I experienced what felt like abandonment.

For a moment, I wondered whether I was simply too much.

I was struggling emotionally, and my body was beginning to give out on me. I couldn't continue pretending that everything was okay.

I had spent so much of my life feeling as though I needed to be perfect to survive.

Mistakes felt dangerous. Falling short felt like something that could cause everything around me to collapse.

Without fully realizing it, I had carried some of those expectations into my podcast.

I kept pushing, even when I was exhausted.

Eventually, after releasing a deeply personal episode, I took a long, much-needed hiatus.

The interviews stopped.

But As The Pokéball Turns didn't disappear.

I continued writing Safari Ball blogs because I enjoyed them. Writing about Pokémon was something I had wanted to explore, and it gave me another way to preserve stories without demanding the same energy as producing interviews.

I also spent time working on the podcast's foundation and considering what it needed to become.

Most importantly, I began recognizing my own limits.

That's something I'm still learning.

I spent years believing I had to meet an impossible standard. Accepting that I'm human, that I'll make mistakes, and that I can't always do everything has been difficult.

Some days are easier than others.

But I've come to understand that respecting my limits doesn't mean I've given up.

Taking a break doesn't erase the work I've accomplished. Having a difficult season doesn't mean the podcast has lost its value. Making a mistake doesn't mean everything is over.

There is always tomorrow.

There is always room to improve.

Eventually, I returned to recording because I realized the story wasn't finished.

As The Pokéball Turns still had another chapter waiting to be written.

So did I.

 

Glacier Badge

One of the most interesting things about As The Pokéball Turns is how different it has become from what I originally imagined.

When I first started, my focus was primarily on Pokémon GO and showcasing its leaders.

That made sense. Pokémon GO was the community I knew best, and it was where many of my existing connections came from.

But over time, I started exploring other parts of the Pokémon franchise.

I began interviewing people with different backgrounds and experiences. Some connected primarily through the video games. Others found their home in the trading card game, competitive play, art, or community organizing.

I realized there was no reason to limit the podcast to one corner of Pokémon.

Everyone had a story worth hearing.

The interviews changed too.

I've become more comfortable including myself in conversations. For a long time, I worried that sharing my own experiences would take attention away from my guests.

I wanted their stories to remain the focus.

But eventually, I realized that being open about my experiences could sometimes complement what someone else was sharing.

A conversation doesn't have to be one person asking questions while another person provides answers.

Sometimes two people can connect through a shared experience, and that connection helps bring out something meaningful.

I've also become more willing to explore difficult topics.

Adversity is something I understand personally. When someone shares a painful experience, I recognize how much courage it can take to speak openly about it.

I want As The Pokéball Turns to be a place where those stories can exist alongside the joyful and nostalgic ones.

The podcast has also grown beyond recorded interviews.

There are blogs, community initiatives, and opportunities to support Pokémon fans outside of the recording studio.

I want to preserve stories from the past, capture the stories happening today, and invest in the stories that have yet to be written.

That vision continues to develop.

For a while, I stressed myself out trying to figure out exactly what the podcast needed to become. I worried about episode releases, social media schedules, and whether I was keeping up with what other creators were doing.

Then I started asking myself whether I was even trying to accomplish the same thing.

I don't really consider myself a content creator.

I'm someone recording stories.

I'm not chasing virality or notoriety. I'm trying to build something lasting that people can revisit and eventually pass on.

That doesn't mean I don't care about growing the podcast. Of course I want more people to discover these interviews.

But growth doesn't have to come at the expense of the reason I started.

I've learned to give As The Pokéball Turns room to become what it wants to be.

Sometimes that means experimenting with video. Sometimes it means trying a different writing format. Sometimes it means finding a new way to invest in the Pokémon community.

Then, sometimes it means giving myself permission to rest.

The podcast is growing and changing just as much as I am.

I don't know exactly what it will become.

For once, I'm learning to be okay with that.

 

Rising Badge

After 200 interviews, one thing continues to amaze me.

There are so many different ways people love Pokémon.

Some people grew up collecting cards. Others spent countless hours exploring Kanto, Johto, Hoenn, or one of the many regions that followed.

Some found their closest friends through Pokémon GO. Others discovered a sense of belonging through competitive battling, art, or online communities.

For some, Pokémon is entertainment.

For others, it's comfort, friendship, nostalgia, or a reminder of a happier time.

I've come to think of Pokémon as a home for many of us.

We might experience that home differently, but there's something familiar about the way we talk about it.

The smiles, the excitement, and sometimes even the shy behavior when someone admits just how much Pokémon means to them.

I've heard those reactions so many times that I've realized how much we have in common.

But these interviews have also challenged some of my assumptions.

One conversation that stayed with me was with SerAmanda.

During her interview, she shared how she sold her lunch to buy Pokémon. Her story helped me better understand the barriers women have faced when participating in gaming and Pokémon communities.

For a long time, I wondered why women seemed less visible in certain parts of gaming. I hadn't fully understood the obstacles some of them experienced.

Hearing those stories changed my perspective.

It's one of the reasons I want women to have space to express themselves on As The Pokéball Turns.

Their experiences deserve to be heard, respected, and cherished just as much as anyone else's.

That's something I've come to appreciate about interviewing people.

You don't always know what you're going to learn.

Sometimes a conversation reinforces something you already believe. Other times, someone shares an experience that changes the way you understand the world.

I've had both happen throughout these 200 interviews.

That detail is what keeps bringing me back.

Every person carries memories and experiences that nobody else can tell quite the same way.

Some stories are joyful. Some are painful. Others are ordinary moments that become meaningful simply because someone remembers them.

I want those stories to have a place.

Even if As The Pokéball Turns never becomes significantly larger than it is today, I would still consider this journey worthwhile because I chose to pursue something for myself.

I followed a vision. I met wonderful people. I heard stories that might never have been shared anywhere else.

I helped preserve moments that could otherwise have been forgotten.

Whenever my time eventually comes to an end, I want to know I gave this vision everything I could.

I don't want to look back and regret never trying.

That's why I keep going.

Not because I have to reach some magical number of listeners or become an important person in the Pokémon community.

But because I believe these stories matter and I still want to hear them.

 

To the Trainer Who's Just Starting

If there's one thing I hope someone takes away from my journey, it's this,

"You don't need to be important to do something important."

When I started As The Pokéball Turns, I was just a regular person who loved Pokémon.

I didn't have a sponsorship from The Pokémon Company. I wasn't wealthy. I didn't have connections to all the recognizable people in the franchise.

I wasn't an established podcaster.

I was someone with an idea and enough faith to try bringing it into the world.

In many ways, I still see myself as that regular person today.

The difference is that I've spent nearly four years learning what happens when I give an idea the opportunity to grow.

I've made mistakes.

I've had episodes that didn't turn out how I imagined. I've spent too much time worrying about things that ultimately didn't matter. I've questioned myself more times than I can count.

I've also experienced moments I wouldn't trade for anything.

The friendships, the conversations, the laughter, the tears, and the opportunity to hear someone say, "This is my Pokémon story."

I used to think I needed to get everything right.

Now I'm learning that I simply need to keep showing up, respect my limits, and remain willing to improve.

That's not always easy.

I'm still learning to accept that I'm human. That I won't always have the answers. That some days I won't do my best, and that's okay.

There is always another opportunity to try again.

So if you're sitting on an idea because you don't believe you're experienced enough, important enough, or ready enough, I hope you'll give yourself permission to begin.

You might be surprised by where that first step takes you.

If you're already on your own journey, remember that taking a break, making a mistake, or changing direction doesn't erase how far you've come.

Growth doesn't always happen the way we imagine.

Sometimes it looks like earning another badge.

Sometimes it looks like realizing you don't need to prove anything to anyone.

Finally, sometimes it looks like finally giving yourself permission to be human.

Two hundred interviews later, I'm still learning.

Yet, somehow, I'm still excited to hear the next Trainer share their story.

I've earned eight badges, but the journey is far from over.

Now it's time to march toward Episode 300.

Because Every Trainer Has a Story.

 

Your Pokémon Story Matters Too

After 200 interviews, one thing remains true: Every Trainer Has a Story.

Whether Pokémon helped you through a difficult time, introduced you to lifelong friends, or simply gave you memories worth cherishing, your experiences deserve to be remembered.

And who knows? Your story might be the one that reminds another Trainer they're not alone.

I'd love to hear your Pokémon story.

Share Your Pokémon Story