08 February 2007
♥ a startling revelation. [the good kind.]
You know that feeling you get when you do something you love for a really long time, and then you get burned out on it? It's the worst feeling in the world. You feel like you've lost a friend, like you're not a child anymore, like your entire life is changing and you have absolutely no control over it.
Lately I've felt like that with newspaper. I'm sick of all the drama, I'm sick of everyone's creativity being squelched. I'm sick of the whole damn thing.
But tonight, for the first time in almost a year, I remember why I love it. I'm all alone in the debate room, and the lights are off except for my speedy G5. The loveliest symphony you can imagine is playing quietly in the background, and, most importantly, there's no one here to bother me. No noisy underclassmen or bossy peers. Just me and my page.
As nerdy as I know this is going to sound, there's something really relaxing about watching a page come together. I can see the shapes, the words, and right where they're all going to go. My only limit is my own creativity.
When nothing else in my life seems to be going right, this will always be here. I can always fall back on this, my one talent. It may be underdeveloped, I may not use it like I should, but someday, I'm going to make it my life.
I guess my life is stretching out in front of me, and all I have to do is figure out where the hell I'm going. But it's nights like this when I feel hopeful and fresh, remembering all those old dreams and hoping some of them come true. I want to be one of those ground-breaking journalists who makes big changes and whom no one forgets. I want to be like Edward Murrow, Carl Bernstein, Bob Woodward, Helen Thomas. I want to make the news just as much as I want to write it.
With a little luck and a lot of student loans, I'll be writing for a big-time paper someday. For now, though, I'll have to settle for editing the Spectator, and I guess, for now, that's good enough for me.
Tonight will be a good night.
Lately I've felt like that with newspaper. I'm sick of all the drama, I'm sick of everyone's creativity being squelched. I'm sick of the whole damn thing.
But tonight, for the first time in almost a year, I remember why I love it. I'm all alone in the debate room, and the lights are off except for my speedy G5. The loveliest symphony you can imagine is playing quietly in the background, and, most importantly, there's no one here to bother me. No noisy underclassmen or bossy peers. Just me and my page.
As nerdy as I know this is going to sound, there's something really relaxing about watching a page come together. I can see the shapes, the words, and right where they're all going to go. My only limit is my own creativity.
When nothing else in my life seems to be going right, this will always be here. I can always fall back on this, my one talent. It may be underdeveloped, I may not use it like I should, but someday, I'm going to make it my life.
I guess my life is stretching out in front of me, and all I have to do is figure out where the hell I'm going. But it's nights like this when I feel hopeful and fresh, remembering all those old dreams and hoping some of them come true. I want to be one of those ground-breaking journalists who makes big changes and whom no one forgets. I want to be like Edward Murrow, Carl Bernstein, Bob Woodward, Helen Thomas. I want to make the news just as much as I want to write it.
With a little luck and a lot of student loans, I'll be writing for a big-time paper someday. For now, though, I'll have to settle for editing the Spectator, and I guess, for now, that's good enough for me.
Tonight will be a good night.
2/08/2007
