On the very first day of summer, I’m sure that the greater majority of HHS students were celebrating this newfound freedom with an honorary “sleep-in” to kick off the holidays. Well-deserved, I might add. Congrats on making it through these last several months of thinking.
I, however, woke up, once again, at six in the morning.
Now, this was not on purpose, and so I quickly, and happily, fell back to sleep, ignoring the engrained habit of waking up before the sun. No, instead, I went back to sleep, woke up about an hour later, and then got ready for my first day of work.
Let me preface the following account (and the others that I’m sure will come) with the fact that I adore my job. I work as an intern at the Daily-News Record, where I also worked last summer. I drive over to a vintage-looking, red brick building everyday (where, if it’s a Tuesday or Thursday I can smell fresh pastries wafting over from the Farmer’s Market) and punch in the door code to let myself in (feeling rather like a secret agent, or someone important), pick up a copy of the paper, and see my name, in bold and in print. It’s the best feeling in the world, writing articles.
Here’s a picture of the DNR: You might imagine a newsroom to be like something from ‘All the President’s Men’; papers flying, people bustling, phones ringing off the hook, a handsome Robert Redford character scribbling things importantly.
The DN-R is not like that.
It’s quiet, first of all. Everything is hushed, muted. My desk is right in front, so on occasion, I can squint through the blinds covering the windows and peek at the tops of the trees lining South Main. The ceiling is low, the air conditioning is always on, and it smells cold. My neighbor’s desk in covered in exciting paraphenalia, like a lava lamp, flowers, a cactus, a fish bowl, and a statue of a bee. She’s really cool. Seriously, though.
But I digress. My first assignment was to go cover Steinway pianos being dropped off at the new Forbes Art Center on the JMU campus. I did so, with much enthusiasm. And then I came back, made a few phone calls, wrote a story, edited it, rewrote it, and then went home. (Where I proceeded to finish off a tub of raspberry ice cream while watching seven straight episodes of The Office.) All before one in the afternoon. It was sublime.
Here’s the thing that is amazing about journalism. You get to tell other people’s stories. You get to share with the world what’s going on; you get to (if you’re good) tell a story that no one has ever heard and make a difference. The glory that is most important is not the fact that the author’s name is subheading the piece (though that feels good), but in the pride that you were there to give someone a voice. Now, perhaps I’m being a little too romantic with this notion, but this is what I love.
This summer, I’m going to challenge myself to make a difference. And I can’t wait.
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