Reassurance

It was a good weekend this past weekend.

Every few months I get together with all my college newspaper friends and I was glad when another meet up was initiated. We went to the place we would go to every Friday after laying out the paper to throw back some beers and relive the enormous amount of stress one college newspaper should not be capable of creating.

We are all in pretty different places than each other right now. Some have solid gigs, some are freelancing, others are part-time or haven't even come close to figuring what exactly they are going to do yet. However, regardless of where we are all, it was so nice to laugh about those college days. Layout was horrible, all of us hated each other at one point, and yet every week we enjoyed the company of our college newsroom.

I am so lucky to have had that experience.

I wonder how long it will take for these reunions to stop though. So many have already stopped showing up or others are simply not invited (I guess those days of hating one another has continued on for some), and yet we keeping hoping others will show to grab a beer, talk about conversations only journalists would enjoy and lose ourselves in the memory of The Columbia Chronicle that truly helped shape us as writers.

Regardless, it was a reassuring meet up. I loved the company of my former colleagues who know me for nothing but being a writer and my personality inside a newsroom. We rarely spend time together outside of The Chronicle get togethers, but when we are together all of our personalities just jive together in this mess of political banter, drunken memories and laughter.

Oh the laughs...

They are so unique just to that bunch and for that, I am reassured that even if journalism does fail me, it has brought me the company of some amazing people.

Today she cried...

Today a source I was interviewing cried through the entire interview. 

It wasn't a story on anything too deep. In fact, going into it, I didn't think too much about it. She was training to run in a marathon in honor of her husband, a navy veteran of 29 years who is still living. It seemed like a simple story to write--woman trains to run, husband is her motivation, others can feel inspired about it. 

But to her, having me write her small, 20 inch story in the local paper meant more than just another article filling that week's paper. It meant people were going to read it, know what she was doing, and therefore there was more pressure than ever to complete the marathon. 

Telling my fellow reporters about her emotional breakdown gave the newsroom a bit of a laugh, but that woman really gave me something. She reminded me that people read what *I* write, and therefore other people matter in this community. 

Journalists lose sight of that often I think. We get so caught up in deadlines, breaking news and late night city council meetings, that we begin to forget that no matter how insignificant a story may feel, we are not the ones opening the paper every Thursday with the unknowing expectations of what was going to fill that paper's pages. 

It's been a busy past couple of weeks and surprisingly some of the most important in my career. We moved offices, ( a much smaller space with hardly any personal space to do interviews) our sister company was bought ( securing my job hopefully until Christmas) and I was turned down a job at a radio station. 

It was all a bit hard to take in to be quite honest. The office move has required quite a bit of adjustment, yet no longer having empty offices reminding us of what our newsroom used to be is a welcome change. And knowing that we have secured a buyer is fantastic, but I worry for how long we all be able to breath before he continues with lays off. My paper is so understaffed as is, I don't understand how we continue to put papers out. However, she reminded me that there are always going to be stories to tell, and I have the most beautiful gift to make sure voices are heard and the smallest of stories are read. 

So thank you Mariann. I appreciate the reminder I felt through your tears.