I don't really know where to begin with this post because of how much life changed since the last time I wrote. Well first things first, Evan is into his second week of work at his new job! I couldn't be happier for him and the job seems to be an amazing fit for his wonderful creative mind.
What's even more ironic is just one day after he got his job offer, I got one too! I am now working at another newspaper and left my job last week. I started work today for the first time and I feel like so many amazing opportunities are possible at this new company. However, with that said, it was incredibly hard to leave my old job. I worked with such a wonderful team of people who taught me so much about myself. I felt like I grew so much with them over the 2 1/2 years I was there, and was in near tears when quitting. But I knew I had to leave. Even though I care about so many of them so deeply, there just seemed to be no chance in growing or advancing as a journalist within that company.
Looking back though, I couldn't have asked for a better place to begin my life as a working journalist. It is such a shame how much that placed changed because of circumstances out of my editors' control and... let's face it, out of a lot of people's control. I am incredibly excited to be starting at this position in my life, especially considering that I get to do it alongside Evan. I can't believe how much life has been falling into place for us lately.
These past couple of months have been nothing short of exhausting. We've had such little money, and my salary was only shrinking. The stress between us was so great some days as we waited for yet another company to not call either one of us back to update us on a position one of us had interviewed for. It was a lot of waiting, budgeting and trusting.
Still, it taught me so much about Evan. I couldn't believe how incredibly strong he was...even when I wasn't. He managed to get through the situation with so much positivity and I envy him for that. I rarely saw Evan down about himself, and I doubt I could have handled myself the way he did.
I just feel so blessed right now. It feels like all the wait of just needing something to change is over and I only hope to continue to see our lives move full speed ahead--in an upward only direction.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Monday, February 15, 2010
Another roadblock
Do you ever have those days when you feel like you are walking in place? Like no matter how fast you move your feet and run, the world simply won't move with you?
That was my Monday. I hated my Monday.
For the past year now I have been trying to figure out where I am going with my career. I want to be a writer, don't get me wrong, but there are so many parts of being a journalist that wear you down. The hours are long, the pay is shit and your acknowledgement is nothing more than a silent reminder that people read what you write.
What is depressing though about these things is I knew they would all be part of my career, I just used to think it was cool. I thought there was something so slick about not caring about the pay or gratitude. Back then, to me, it meant that I was only in this job for the job. I wanted to write. I wanted people to read what I wrote. And that was all I needed at the end of the day.
But then the 15 hour days started to add up, more time was taken away from my family and friends and everything started to feel unaffordable--no matter how simple or inexpensive.
It's been hard for me to find my place as a journalist as well.
I like to write beyond taxes, TIFs, bond issuances and referendums. I like to write what makes me feel like I have done something that fucking matters when I get it down on paper. I like to feel emotion when I write. I like when I have so many thoughts going through my head that my biggest problem isn't writer's block, it is getting my fingers to work fast enough with my mind.
Maybe that's why I keep coming back. I like to write about the kid down the street that just learned what it feel likes to run for the first time because his legs never worked the way they were suppose to. Or to tell the story about the homeless man who sleeps in the train station and everyone thinks he is a drunk but really his family left him when he was just a teen. I love absolutely love community journalism I guess is what I am getting at. And I 100 percent by paper is one of the best community papers out there for a starting journalist to be at.
But are people really listening to those stories? Or are they like all the other tainted individuals who pass up emotional stories because they have heard them all before and having no attention left to give them?
I find myself asking this over and over again. WHO IS REALLY LISTENING?
That was my Monday. I hated my Monday.
For the past year now I have been trying to figure out where I am going with my career. I want to be a writer, don't get me wrong, but there are so many parts of being a journalist that wear you down. The hours are long, the pay is shit and your acknowledgement is nothing more than a silent reminder that people read what you write.
What is depressing though about these things is I knew they would all be part of my career, I just used to think it was cool. I thought there was something so slick about not caring about the pay or gratitude. Back then, to me, it meant that I was only in this job for the job. I wanted to write. I wanted people to read what I wrote. And that was all I needed at the end of the day.
But then the 15 hour days started to add up, more time was taken away from my family and friends and everything started to feel unaffordable--no matter how simple or inexpensive.
It's been hard for me to find my place as a journalist as well.
I like to write beyond taxes, TIFs, bond issuances and referendums. I like to write what makes me feel like I have done something that fucking matters when I get it down on paper. I like to feel emotion when I write. I like when I have so many thoughts going through my head that my biggest problem isn't writer's block, it is getting my fingers to work fast enough with my mind.
Maybe that's why I keep coming back. I like to write about the kid down the street that just learned what it feel likes to run for the first time because his legs never worked the way they were suppose to. Or to tell the story about the homeless man who sleeps in the train station and everyone thinks he is a drunk but really his family left him when he was just a teen. I love absolutely love community journalism I guess is what I am getting at. And I 100 percent by paper is one of the best community papers out there for a starting journalist to be at.
But are people really listening to those stories? Or are they like all the other tainted individuals who pass up emotional stories because they have heard them all before and having no attention left to give them?
I find myself asking this over and over again. WHO IS REALLY LISTENING?
Thursday, January 14, 2010
This is a hard one...
I lost a really good friend this week. A really good teacher. A really good journalist. A really good man to know.
I know I want to write about this, but this is hard.
On Sunday evening I went to a funeral on Chicago's South Side to say goodbye to Jim Sulski--an adviser at The Chronicle who was the first to steer me in the right direction while studying journalism at Columbia.
It's a strange thing about my relationship with Sulski. I wasn't one of the students who frequented his office or kept in much touch with him once I graduated. But when I found out he was dying, something just clicked inside of me. Something just said I needed to say goodbye.
So along with a few of the other Chronicle kids, I drove to his house Wednesday evening. A Christmas tree was lit in front window of his home when I pulled up, and suddenly memories flooded into my mind of how just last year I was at this same house, throwing back delicious bottles of pop that he got from a factory nearby with this kids. His wife, Jo, filled the kitchen with a spread even the most talented chefs would be envious of. I ate so much that night I got sick.
We found out Sulski had cancer our last year at the paper. I remember exactly where I was sitting when I found out. I remember holding back tears. I remember wondering if he would pull through.
But he did pull through that year, and the next, and the next.
We walked into the front entrance of his home only to find out he was just moments away from forever leaving this world he impacted so greatly. Jo hugged us. All of us. I could feel her breaking in my arms. But even in that moment, she was gracious as always. I couldn't imagine knowing my husband was near moments from death and still having the courtesy to come to the front door and say hello.
When we walked back outside into the cold, all of the emotions rushed out of me. It was as though all of my anger, all of my sadness was pouring out so quickly I almost couldn't breathe. I wasn't just crying, I was sobbing.
It was strange though. I was almost embarrassed because I wasn't as close to Sulski like the rest of my Chronicle friend. I felt guilty that I couldn't hold myself together when they could. But death and cancer hurt. They bring out the deepest of emotions that are buried so deep, even we are surprised when they are exposed.
Eventually we made our way to a bar not far from Sulski's house where we spent the rest of the night talking about our favorite memories over some beers (or a diet coke in my case). It was hard though. I am not one to share after death. I don't like how everyone can so quickly switch into the "he is no longer here" mode.
I lost my grandpa to cancer a week before I graduated high school. I don't remember my last day at school. I don't remember saying goodbye to any of my friends. I just remember thinking over and over and over again about what it was like to be by his side when he died. It was the most beautiful and most painful thing I have ever experienced.
So when we went to Sulski's funeral on Sunday, I wasn't ready to go through the remembrance process just yet. I had to work that day, so I came alone at a time that I knew all The Chronicle kids would be there. I said my hellos, caught up with old friends I hadn't seen in awhile, and eventually made my way to his coffin. I didn't cry when I saw him, in fact I could barley keep my thoughts straight.
Then I watched Cyryl. He knelt down, grabbed Sulski's hand and said a prayer. That moment was just so powerful to me for some reason. I again became overwhelmed with emotion, grabbing a tissue from a box sitting on the seat next me. I could hear the quiet cries of the man sitting next me and was surprised to look up and see it was John Kass-- a great columnist with the Chicago Tribune.
Kass started his career in journalism alongside Sulski and to me, he is a celebrity. We shared some kind words before he left for the evening. I later saw Richard Roeper- a famous columnist with the Chicago Sun Times--embracing who I think was Sulski's mother.
You knew some powerful people Sulski. I envy the life you led. You never took life seriously. You loved hard. You were an constant example of how to reinvent yourself only to become more happy.
I miss you. I really do. We all do. Thank you for everything you gave me.
I know I want to write about this, but this is hard.
On Sunday evening I went to a funeral on Chicago's South Side to say goodbye to Jim Sulski--an adviser at The Chronicle who was the first to steer me in the right direction while studying journalism at Columbia.
It's a strange thing about my relationship with Sulski. I wasn't one of the students who frequented his office or kept in much touch with him once I graduated. But when I found out he was dying, something just clicked inside of me. Something just said I needed to say goodbye.
So along with a few of the other Chronicle kids, I drove to his house Wednesday evening. A Christmas tree was lit in front window of his home when I pulled up, and suddenly memories flooded into my mind of how just last year I was at this same house, throwing back delicious bottles of pop that he got from a factory nearby with this kids. His wife, Jo, filled the kitchen with a spread even the most talented chefs would be envious of. I ate so much that night I got sick.
We found out Sulski had cancer our last year at the paper. I remember exactly where I was sitting when I found out. I remember holding back tears. I remember wondering if he would pull through.
But he did pull through that year, and the next, and the next.
We walked into the front entrance of his home only to find out he was just moments away from forever leaving this world he impacted so greatly. Jo hugged us. All of us. I could feel her breaking in my arms. But even in that moment, she was gracious as always. I couldn't imagine knowing my husband was near moments from death and still having the courtesy to come to the front door and say hello.
When we walked back outside into the cold, all of the emotions rushed out of me. It was as though all of my anger, all of my sadness was pouring out so quickly I almost couldn't breathe. I wasn't just crying, I was sobbing.
It was strange though. I was almost embarrassed because I wasn't as close to Sulski like the rest of my Chronicle friend. I felt guilty that I couldn't hold myself together when they could. But death and cancer hurt. They bring out the deepest of emotions that are buried so deep, even we are surprised when they are exposed.
Eventually we made our way to a bar not far from Sulski's house where we spent the rest of the night talking about our favorite memories over some beers (or a diet coke in my case). It was hard though. I am not one to share after death. I don't like how everyone can so quickly switch into the "he is no longer here" mode.
I lost my grandpa to cancer a week before I graduated high school. I don't remember my last day at school. I don't remember saying goodbye to any of my friends. I just remember thinking over and over and over again about what it was like to be by his side when he died. It was the most beautiful and most painful thing I have ever experienced.
So when we went to Sulski's funeral on Sunday, I wasn't ready to go through the remembrance process just yet. I had to work that day, so I came alone at a time that I knew all The Chronicle kids would be there. I said my hellos, caught up with old friends I hadn't seen in awhile, and eventually made my way to his coffin. I didn't cry when I saw him, in fact I could barley keep my thoughts straight.
Then I watched Cyryl. He knelt down, grabbed Sulski's hand and said a prayer. That moment was just so powerful to me for some reason. I again became overwhelmed with emotion, grabbing a tissue from a box sitting on the seat next me. I could hear the quiet cries of the man sitting next me and was surprised to look up and see it was John Kass-- a great columnist with the Chicago Tribune.
Kass started his career in journalism alongside Sulski and to me, he is a celebrity. We shared some kind words before he left for the evening. I later saw Richard Roeper- a famous columnist with the Chicago Sun Times--embracing who I think was Sulski's mother.
You knew some powerful people Sulski. I envy the life you led. You never took life seriously. You loved hard. You were an constant example of how to reinvent yourself only to become more happy.
I miss you. I really do. We all do. Thank you for everything you gave me.
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