Starting Again

It’s a fluke that I am currently on the verge of graduating from the School of Journalism. It’s as simple as that, a flat-out fluke. I am convinced it will turn out to be the luckiest fluke of my life.

A little over a year ago, I walked into the office of Bill Dawson, the head of the English Department at Mizzou. (At least, I think that is his name, it’s not really important). I was done with Journalism. Or, at least, I was done with this journalism school. I had registered in the good ole’ “Reporting for the Missourian” class that fall, and was quite disappointed when I walked into Orientation and picked up the little slip of paper that said what beat I would be working on. “General Assignment”, it said. Not sports, not even entertainment, or government, or health, but general *expletive deleted* assignment. A couple months later when, frustrated at my inability to get stories and with the attitude of my editor (among other things), I decided to drop the class, I told myself that it just wasn’t the right beat for me. But, truth be told, I probably gave up the day I received that slip of paper, a day before the school year even started. Nonetheless, I was convinced there was no way I was going to survive the School of Journalism at Mizzou. So, there I was, walking into an office asking to change majors. “Tell me what I need to do to change my major officially, I just want to get out of the journalism school as soon as possible,” I told him. Bill told me that all I would need to do is fill out a graduation form, and that most students don’t do that until a semester or two before they graduate, so there was no need for me to rush anything. I left his office that day unhappy. I wanted to change my major, and I wanted to change it right away. But, I continued on into the next semester officially as a journalism student, a journalism student that was only taking one journalism class. I took 3 English classes that semester. I hated them all.

I went home for the summer, and in a place I had lived my whole life, I felt completely lost. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. I felt like a failure. My parents, who are far from rich and struggle to pay their bills these days while trying to put me through college, had paid out-of-state tuition for three years so that I could attend the “World’s Best Journalism School”, and here I was, about to drop out of the J-School. They had practically begged me to stay in-state, to go to the University of Illinois or to Illinois State, but journalism was my dream, and I’d be damned if I was going to let some silly state border hold me back.

You know, it’s actually pretty funny that I almost gave up on this dream so easily. Everyone told me not to go into journalism. Sure, it was cute when I was 5 and could rattle off the current stats of everyone on the 89 Division Champion Cubs. Yes, it was pretty cool when my uncles, all sports lovers themselves (a couple of them even played college sports), would turn to me for opinions on sports when I was still in grammar school. It was great when my high school teachers would tell me how great of a writer I was, and when I aced the English part of the ACT. All that was nice, but journalism for a career? Surely, I should go into something more practical, something guaranteed to bring in some money. I watched as my cousins were graduating with engineering degrees and medical degrees. I watched as, seemingly overnight, they went from living with their parents to living in huge houses and going around the world. Follow in their footsteps, I was told. It seemed like a good idea. Besides, was I even good enough to be a journalist? I still remember a day in sixth grade when my best friend, standing with me in the playground across the street from Queen of Apostles middle school in Riverdale, Illinois, turned to me and said that I would “never be a sportswriter.” To him, as to most, it seemed like an unrealistic dream. Yet, I pursued it.

Somehow, in the months leading up to the summer of 2006, I had lost that determination to follow my dreams. Then, in another chance occurrence that has had a huge impact on my life, and will continue to do so whether I spend the rest of my life in journalism or not, I met someone who brought it all back. She convinced me that I could succeed in whatever I wanted to, she gave me confidence in myself (something that I often struggle with), and most importantly, she was there to be my crutch when I doubted myself and worried about the future. I made up my mind to give this whole journalism thing another shot, and when I walked into J4450 orientation for the second time, sports was on the beat slip. I was still scared to death when that semester began, I admit. But, I loved pretty much every minute of it. I loved it enough to register for advanced reporting, and when Greg Bowers told me I was going to be in a “general assignment” role for the sports section, seeking out my own stories, I no longer dreaded it. I saw it as a challenge that I looked forward to taking on. I still doubt myself way more than I probably should, and I worry about the future. But, I’m thrilled that I am giving my dream another shot.

In the fall of 2006, I got the chance to start all over again in journalism. Thank goodness for dumb luck and flukes.