Life changed

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.

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?

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.

It's been awhile..let's catch up

Sorry it's been so long since I have written. Life has been happening!

I took a look back at some of my posts, as well as my blog description, and am a bit concerned here. I'm not nearly as negative as my writing may come off. In fact, I think most of my co-workers would be surprised if they saw how much of a negative attitude I was taking with all the changes in our newsroom and within the company.

It's amazing though...at work I function and handle stress so differently than I do in "real life." Stress hardly wears me down, and I am very much the type of person that an editor can throw a story to last minute and never expect to hear a complaint much less an "I can't do this." Everything is taken in stride, and to break me down takes a hell of a lot of bullshit.

Now the second I hit the door, all of the stress piles down on me-pushing my shoulders forward in a permanent hunch and my head into a knotted up mess of thoughts. I'm tired, too worn down to do much more than cook, clean and get a run in here and there and money is constantly on my mind.

I hate how poorly journalists get paid, but I honestly would never leave this profession just because of the poor chunk of change. I honest to god, whole-heartedly, love my life as a reporter.

Anyways...let's get to the point of this blog.

Thanksgiving is around the corner, and undoubtedly the thoughts of thankfulness and reflection back on the year have been a stir in my head. It has been a rough year, but I refuse to allow myself to look back and take note of what went wrong more than what went right.

I lost 20 pounds this year (hell ya!), one of my best friends in the whole world got married (Evrod I love you to pieces) and I feel for the first time in some years that I have solid group of friends who all surround themselves with me for no other reason than to love my company as much as I love there's. My boyfriend and I have continued to stand closely by each other and we are ever so much in love.

Ironically, Evan (the boyfriend) was laid off last week. This is ironic because we always thought I was the one who would be laid off, not his solid marketing gig. But we have been through similar situations before, and frankly I am glad to have him home. Is that bad to say?

I can't help but wonder though where I will be around this time next year. Thanksgiving and Christmas is always my favorite time around the office. The tax and levy stories are done, and the light heartened stories are coming in. Deadlines ease back somewhat and the editors seem to pull off their masks of hate for just a few days.

But this year I have feeling it is going to be a sad reminder of how many didn't make it through the ax of cuts...particularly my most favorite boss in the whole world Jim Pokin. He ran our newsroom like a family- you were yelled at when you fucked up and you were occasionally praised for good work. However, it was never his praise any of us sought. It was knowing we had made an impression on him, which was made obvious in the most subtle of ways. He was no a bullshit type of guy and I have nothing but the utmost respect for him.

He gave me the best advice too. He told me to stay at the paper now to learn most of what I need to learn, then throw myself out there to find what's next. I think next year it is going to be time to throw myself out there, let's just hope the wind leads me to the right seat.

Miss you Pokin....

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. 

Today I was given an expiration date

You know I went into the newspaper industry knowing that it meant little security, little pay, high stress and long hours. I had accepted these things, feeling as though the reward of a byline and knowing people were reading my shit was worth it. 

I remember picking up my first published clip in Pioneer Press. It was on a fall festival and took really no effort at all to write. But I fucking loved reading it in the newspaper that day. On that day, I felt as though I finally mattered. My far from acceptable wages came with the promise that the world was reading what I wrote. And therefore, I was worthy enough to have something to say that the world wanted to listen to. It was a wonderful gift that I was so appreciate to have. 

So to be told that the Chicago Sun Times is damn near on its death bed, which means I will soon have no job, means that my voice is being shuttered closed because of corporate bullshit that can't make it through this economy. Today I was told my newsroom had an expiration date, and suddenly those articles on fall festivals, back-to-school fairs and upcoming park district meant the world to me. They meant I still had a newspaper space to fill and I still had an audience to speak to. I still had a newsroom to come into, an editor to despise and damn good mix of people that feel more like family than co-workers. 

Could we really close though Sept. 29? This is supposedly when our buyer will pull out his deal, unless the union agrees to some serious set backs, essentially closing our doors. Everyone keeps saying some master plan will save us and this will not be a reality to deal with. But really? Is there a saving grace, hail mary pass, top of the 9th full count fast pitch to save us? The San Francisco Chronicle couldn't find it. The Rocky Mountain News must have put the wrong batter in because they are long gone examples of how the world is slowly turning its back to the wonderful gift of newspapers. And to me that is a fucking shame. 

I'm 24-years-old and am about to start my career over before it could even begin. And nothing will ever feel like it does when you are in a newsroom. Because working as a reporter means having a whole lot of respect, a power some too often abuse and the pleasure of meeting some amazing people who put their stories in your hands....trusting you have listened and trusting you have cared. 

I love my job and I hope not mourn its loss.