that rosebud girl

an elegy to a career.

Zero hour is near, but the reality of leaving journalism and leaving a daily paper still hasn’t quite sunk in. I have worked at a newspaper in some capacity, at some level, since I was 18. Journalism has been such a large part of my life for so long that this moment is bittersweet.

I know what the current state of newspapering is. It breaks my heart that it has come to this. But me leaving this business had nothing to do with the state of this business or not loving journalism. I just had the proverbial offer I couldn’t refuse.

I still believe in journalism. I still believe in what it can do and I still believe that newspapering is viable. I hope to someday teach a new generation of journalists how to maneuver a rapidly changing media landscape. (If all things fall correctly, I’ll get to be a teacher in a few months.) I still love journalism. I will miss working at a daily newspaper like hell. And that’s what makes this so hard.

I owe a hell of a lot to journalism. It gave me a lifetime of stories to tell people. I have crashed into a snowbank and been cited for speeding on my way back from sporting events. I have watched buzzer-beating shots, big upsets, incredible performances and even a high school kid (who’s now an NFL punter) kick a 60-yard field goal. I’ve nearly been hit in the head by a field hockey ball, been nailed in the ankle by a lacrosse ball and almost been hit by a car (twice!) while crossing the street and dictating high school football stats on deadline on a cell phone. I thrived on deadline and loved the adrenaline rush, whether it was reporting from double-overtime football games or directing the show on a prep football Friday. I will remember all the good and the bad and cherish them all the same.

Journalism let me travel and see places I otherwise wouldn’t have gotten to (even if some of those places were out-there burgs like Pullman, Washington, and Harrisonburg, Virginia). I got to live in three states and experience all four seasons. I went to really cool events, but also enjoyed the small venues, the packed-to-the-ceiling high school gyms and the countless food stands at high school stadiums. (Once upon a time, I could tell you what high school stadiums in Delaware sold the best nachos.)

Journalism made me who I am. It made me steely. You need to be if you’re a girl in sports journalism. As much as you like to think we’re all enlightened and all that, it’s not true. I heard some sexist things, I had people doubt my ability and my knowledge, and I wanted to kick a few men in the balls to teach them a lesson. It taught me to grow a thick skin and roll with the punches. I got yelled at by coaches, players, irate parents, editors I didn’t agree with. (Admittedly, this business is why I can’t really tolerate the idiocy of the general public, but at least there have been times that I’ve met people that remind me that not all of humanity is dumb.)

Journalism taught me to be resourceful and to be creative and to work well under pressure. A last-second shot can render the 12 inches of copy you’ve already written totally useless. Someone famous dies on deadline and you’re forced to switch gears. I once had a designer turn to me 10 minutes from deadline and tell me he needed the NBA page designed. From scratch. (Done. Give me something hard to do.) I’ve had to dictate stories from really weird places, drive through the streets of Queens to find the place of a friend I hadn’t talked to in years just so I could plug in my dying computer and sleep somewhere because of an impending snowstorm, and figure out how to get to places pronto after car breakdowns. I’m really good at doing things on the fly, and I like to think journalism helped me sharpen that skill.

I have met lifelong friends at every place I have worked. I have met all kinds of interesting people. Hell, journalism even got me a husband.

But what I owe most to journalism is that it allowed a snot-faced kid from a spit of land in the middle of the Pacific Ocean the chance to dream big. The chance to chase the dream and sit in press boxes in stadiums whose seating capacity would have easily fit about half the population of the place I grew up. The chance to see in person the games I once could only watch on television in the middle of the night. I was never that kid who wanted to stay on the island and be in a small, comfortable place where everyone knew who I was. I wanted to be the small fish in a big pond. I wanted to expand and escape and wanted the challenge of establishing myself in a strange place, and journalism was my avenue.

Sure, there were lots of things I hated and lots of people I hated. Lots. Enough to make me cry or throw tantrums and make me want to quit on the spot. But in the final estimation, journalism treated me very well, and I feel really fortunate to have the run that I did.

There used to be a time I thought I would leave the building cursing and raising a middle finger on the way out. But I’ve chosen to remember it well. I will remember the glory days instead. I’ll remember raiding candy jars, high school football betting pools, crass jokes, crazy nicknames, random conversations, being tipped for coding a Kentucky Derby chart and having fun on the road after a tournament’s worth of basketball games. No other career will give me the same kind of roller coaster ride. And part of me will always miss that.

It was a career well spent, and I will never regret it.

February 5, 2009 on 2:35 pm | Comments Off