A journalist (almost) by accident

I’ve always thought I was a pretty good writer. Or, at the very least, a pretty decent writer — better than most, I suppose. At least that’s what I’ve been told. I’m still waiting to find out if it’s really true.

It started in second grade. My teacher, Mrs. Bosquet, an older woman with a messy jumble of curly black hair resting atop her head and a curious attachment to stretch pants, asked us to write a Christmas story. I didn’t work exceptionally hard on it; I just wrote what I thought sounded like a pretty good tale about Santa Claus and the reindeer saving Christmas. And the next morning, after our spelling lesson, Mrs. Bosquet said she wanted to read the best story to the class. It was mine. My face turned red; I was embarrassed but secretly thrilled. I decided I liked writing stories, and I started telling people I wanted to be a writer. At some point around eighth grade, somebody suggested I become a journalist. I didn’t really understand what that entailed, but I knew it involved writing, and that was good enough.

High school was more of the same. I wrote essays; teachers read them aloud. I continued to claim I wanted to be a journalist, still without really understanding it. I thought I was pretty smart and good at writing, especially when compared to the other 163 students in my graduating class. But I always had a sneaking suspicion that once I got out into “the world” — anything outside Mexico, Mo. — reality would kick in and I’d find out I wasn’t so smart after all.

Through a series of unfortunate events and the strong-handedness of my parents, I wound up at MU. And, because I had shown an interest in politics and law, it was decided that I would be going to law school after receiving a prestigious degree in journalism. At one point, I tried to switch to interior design. But my parents quickly shot that down, saying I wouldn’t make any money in interior design. Apparently, they didn’t know much about journalism.

My first reporting class was absolutely terrifying. Our first assignment was to interview five strangers and write about them. I walked up to my first stranger, opened my mouth, immediately spun around on my heels and walked hurriedly back to my car, where I sat and cried on the phone with my mom. I could write, but I couldn’t report. Or, rather, I couldn’t force myself to report. I wasn’t sure I had “it”— whatever it takes to be a journalist. So it was with great trepidation and utter fear that I entered the Missourian the next semester. I fully expected it to be the worst summer of my life, and I was terrified that I wasn’t going to make it. Even more, I was terrified of what I would do if it didn’t work out. I’d been saying I wanted to be a journalist since eighth grade, and in my mind, there didn't seem to be any alternative.

But somehow, I went in to the Missourian and just did it. Something clicked in me. I got it, and I did it. Eventually, it got easier, and by the end of the summer, I felt fearless. For the first time, I really got into it — journalism, that is. I was excited about it. I changed my sequence from Magazine to News Ed. And I fell in love with newspapers.

Despite my newly discovered journalistic talents, I still had law school hanging over my head. So in August, I started getting ready for the dreaded law school application process. I had a top-notch GPA and excellent recommendations; I was certain I could go to Northwestern or Georgetown or wherever I wanted to go — or wherever my parents wanted me to go. But then there was the LSAT. I took a practice exam a month before the exam date, but I didn’t do so well — about 15 points not so well. I thought I was smart, and I couldn’t figure out why I couldn’t do it. I just didn’t have it. For the first time in my life, I didn’t have it. I was terrified that I was a failure and that I was a huge disappointment to my parents and to myself.

Eventually, it dawned on me that I was getting into law for all the wrong reasons. I didn’t have any real desire to be a lawyer; I just wanted to prove I was a big shot and to make my parents happy. I had gotten into journalism almost by accident, and that had worked out pretty well. But what if law didn’t work out so well? What on Earth would I do then?

So it occurred to me: I’m getting a degree in journalism, a field I’ve been lucky enough to fall in love with. And I’m going to The New York Times, so I must be doing something right. So I’ve decided to do some journalism for a while. Of course, I’m afraid I might find out I’m not as good as I think I am. I might be too shy, too neurotic, too afraid of failure or just too inadequate. But that’s OK. I’m determined, and I’m a perfectionist, and I can work at it. I may have fallen into journalism almost by accident, but it’s worked out pretty well for me. I’m staying in it for the right reasons. I just hope I have what it takes.