I was sixteen years old and I had already figured it out. I wanted to be a journalist. I became obsessed with all things news and made it my business to know what was happening around the world and in my community.
I watched shows like 60 Minutes and BCC News religiously, and I cried when Ed Bradley died. I idolized people like Christiane Amanpour and Morley Safer, and did the research to know that the industry is cut throat. I was ready to work in the trenches and do the dirty work – all while being paid a menial wage.
I dedicated the next four years of my life to making Journalism my career, but now that the finish line is within reach a doubt that I have never felt before has set in. In the past four years I have grown more than I ever imagined possible. I built relationships with the wrong people that set me on destructive paths, but more importantly I met people that helped me find my way back.
Now I find myself sitting at my internship wondering how I can do what I love and still have time for the people that I love. I struggle to find a balance and I am continuously discouraged when experienced journalists ask, “Where do you plan to move, Eugene or Medford?” and say things like “Well, learn to love nights and weekends and plan to kiss your holidays goodbye.”
I knew starting out that this was no easy task, but I think what my internship has helped me realize is that these choices don’t only affect me. I never imagined that I would have the ties and need to be close to someone like I do now, and it’s nothing short of terrifying trying to figure it all out.