Reflecting on My Journalism Degree and How It Helped to Define Me

It is definitely a Friday. I've been very reflective lately, which, to be honest, hasn't done a lot for my creativity or productivity. If anything, it just has made me think about all of the goals I want to accomplish and lament how fast time seems to be flying by. Time is the great equalizer of life. We all have it, yet it is never guaranteed. How people choose to spend their time often ends up defining who they are. Some people are very intentional with their time, dedicating themselves to passions and meaningful things. Still, others just let time pass, not thinking much about short, or longer-term goals. Let's be honest; some folks are just trying to survive to see another day. No matter what the situation, I think that there is one question that every human being strives to answer. The question of, Who am I?

I am asking that question in the most meaningful sense it can be asked. Not who am I in terms of personality: funny, intelligent, loving, generous, impatient, witty, or a great cook. Nor am I asking it in terms of social or gender roles: woman, mother, wife, sister, aunt. And lastly, not even in terms of titles: student, manager, secretary, CEO, taxi driver, nurse, construction worker, etc. Rather, who am I, in terms of what impact am I going to have in the world? How am I using my life for influence or change? As a humble servant of humanity, one of the billions, I know I am simply an individual participant of my community, my own little part of the world. And yet, I still ask myself, what is my legacy going to be?

I heard some sad news this week. One of my favorite college journalism professors, Pete Steffens, passed away. Pete was someone who you would call a character. By the time I had the privilege to be his student, he (by his own admission) should have been retired three times over. Yet, he just couldn't hang up his red pen. I had him as staff advisor for my time serving on the school newspaper and again for my senior internship. He loved teaching journalism so much. And you could tell. I am convinced newspaper ink flowed through his veins.

Thinking about where I'm going in life has me thinking about where I got started. Against the advice of most college counselors, I declared my major in journalism pretty early in my undergraduate education. By the third quarter of my freshman year, I felt my call for writing and reporting. I was better than average at writing, and I had the curiosity that a good reporter needs to be successful. I got off to a bumpy start, though. My first class was Reporting 101, and I did horribly at it. My professor, Lisle Harris, shredded every story I submitted. I ended up getting a C+ out of that class along with another healthy dose of advice that perhaps I should reconsider my major. "Go and try something else," he advised. I was devastated. I didn't want to do anything else. Journalism was something I really loved and wanted to pursue as my major, and hopefully, as my career.

I don't know if the grading and advice I received from Lisle was standard hazing for newbie journalism students or not, but I didn't care. While he may have felt I couldn't write a strong enough lead or construct my inverted pyramid correctly, what he didn't know about me was that I'm not one to give up easily. I'm a hard worker, used to earning A's, not C's, incredibly stubborn, and most of all, I love proving people wrong.

So I stayed with journalism, and with each new course and different professors, never second-guessed my decision. And finally, when it came time to be Pete Steffens' student later in the first year of my major, I found in him a professor who taught by mentoring his students, not tearing them down. Don't get me wrong; he shredded my stories too. But he critiqued them in a way that made me want to be a better writer, not in a way that made me feel worse for being one.

Pete gave me a lot of confidence as a young journalism student when I needed it most. I had come into the program a fairly decent writer. I always earned good grades on my composition papers in my other liberal arts classes. But what I quickly learned is that the structure of reporting is an entirely different style of writing. Traditional writing includes a strong opening thesis, paragraphs with topic sentences, a supporting middle, and a conclusive end. In reporting, you have the lead, supporting quotes or facts, and filler at the end. You have to get to the point quickly because a) you are trying to capture the reader's attention, and 2) when copy desks edit inches to make stories fit on the page, they will cut from the bottom first. This learning curve shook my confidence big time. I hated earning poor grades, but more consequentially, I wondered if I had what it took to succeed in journalism. Pete showed me that learning how to be a good reporter is more of a skill than a craft and that if I worked hard, took his notes seriously, my writing would improve with experience, and as an aside, so would my grades.

And you know what, he was right.

As it happens, though, I didn't put my newfound education to use right out of college. I minored in English creative writing, so between reporting and essay writing, I was burned out of writing by the time I accepted my diploma--big time. Needing income to pay the bills, I went and got a temporary job at a company that built and designed tradeshow exhibits. I eventually got hired on full-time doing account manager work for clients who attended trade shows all over the country. I liked who I worked with, and it had its fun challenges at times, but it certainly wasn't my dream job.

It was about three or so years later when I decided it was time to see if I was really cut out to be a reporter. So I applied to be a reporter for The Daily Citizen, a small newspaper in rural Wisconsin. My beat was crime and county government. It was exciting to put to use what I had learned in school. Although I have to admit I was a little rusty at first. But with stories like covering city council meetings, I wasn't exactly writing Pulitzer Prize-winning articles. I remember how proud I felt when I went to a local mini-mart, and I saw my name on a byline on the front page of the Citizen for the first time. I know you don't earn grades in the real world, but that feeling was better than a dozen A-pluses combined. That rush only carried me so long, though. After about nine months, I had to face two harsh realities: 1) I hated reporting and 2) working full-time was too hard on my health. The editors hired me as a full-time reporter, and that is what they needed. We parted ways very amicably. I really enjoyed who I worked with at the Citizen, and I loved being in the newsroom. There is so much about the field of journalism I love. It's just the life of a reporter is a tough grind, and you have to have a lot of drive to do that job well.

Reflecting on my time as a reporter, a part of me wonders if maybe Lisle was right all along. Perhaps he saw something in me that I didn't see in myself. And I let my stubbornness cloud my judgment on whether journalism was the right fit for me after all. It is somewhat a painful self-reflection. A part of me will never admit that he was right. Besides, most students do not end up in the career that was their college major. So in that respect, I'm not so different. And at least I can say I tried it, so there are no lingering "what-ifs" about pursuing a journalism career.

This brings me back to where I started this blog post. I don't think there is one right way or only one thing that gives someone a sense of purpose in their life. I think it is a collection of experiences. And purpose, of course, can (and I believe should) be tied to more than just one's career. Questions about the meaning of life are big ones to answer-- bigger than I can ever try to address in a single blog post.

As for today, the answer to the question of who am I hasn't meant landing in a single place, but rather, has been more of a moving target. It is impacted by where I am in life and influenced by the evolution of my experiences. When I was in college, just starting out, having professors like Lisle and Pete, who tested and reassured me, was preparation for facing similar situations in the real world they knew I would face time and time again.

So while I am still figuring out what my legacy will be in the world, what I know for sure, is I am a part of Petes.