I adore what I do for a living. As I watch others who are unhappy with their job or looking for the next great career opportunity, I find myself incredibly thankful to be right where I am. Growing up, I was the kid who didn't have the faintest clue what I wanted to do with my life. In the sixth grade, I declared what I wanted to be a singer. I am proud to say that there was a year or so I wanted to be a writer — unfortunately, by high school I ruled out that ridiculous idea. I was going to be a youth minister. No, a missionary. Being a missionary is good and vague. All you have to do is move to a foreign country and love God. Surely THAT is the job for me.
I've been a full time journalist for over four years now and still feel the need to pinch myself to see if it is real. Someone pays me to write and put stories and photos on a page? REALLY?
In college, I remember aspiring writers joining the newspaper staff and complaining about how boring newspaper style was. "You can't even use adjectives — where's the creativity in that?"
Is there something more creative than climbing into someone else's brain and digging around to learn how they view life? (And look, Mom — no adjectives!) I enjoy writing about people — figuring out how to express on paper the essence of a person. I haven't figured it out yet, and perhaps that is what keeps pulling me back to the next story. And, of course, everyone has a story to tell. And I've learned that often the most fascinating people are the one's who don't think they have a story.
So I hate to break it to you doctors, lawyers, teachers, singers and, yes, missionaries. I have the best job in the world.
Charlottesville: Naming our Demons
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