I’m a Reporter

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It’s strange to think that I’ve been in this business now going five years full time. There’s been some pretty hard days, but then again there’s been some pretty great days too.

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about my career. Where I want to go, what I want to do, who I want to be.

A few months back I spoke with some high school students on the value of being a reporter today. Ironic, since I’m going to graduate school with the intention of pursuing other career options.

But talking with the students made me feel like maybe this journalism thing is a higher calling, so to speak. No, I’m not a preacher or a prophet. But I am a professor of truth.

It almost makes you forget about the lousy pay, terrible hours and little to no thanks.

I guess this post is my musing. Who am I if I’m not a reporter? It’s all I’ve ever done, at least as an adult.

I think it may be all I know how to do.

After years of working in this business I no longer can have normal conversations with people, including my own parents.

My mother told me a story about a student who got into the attic and the only thing I could think about was calling the paper to tell them about a great little story we could pick up.

Even outside the office when I’m talking to people on the phone or in person I automatically have a pen and paper in my hand and am taking notes. I don’t think I can focus without doing that now.

I’m quick to not trust and quicker to look both ways when I cross the street.

I guess, five years later, I really am a journalist. No longer a newbie. No longer wading through the unknown.

I’ve become one.

Hello. My name is Angel and I’m a reporter. Nice to meet you.

 

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