Personal Narrative

This narrative would have been completely different six months ago. In November, when I thought of journalism, the first word that came to mind was deadline, and the second was stress. But now, having run the gauntlet that is a news cycle and come out (mostly) unscathed, it's passion. No other class inspires me as much as Journalism does, and that's because there's no other class like it; In the newsroom, I have unparalleled freedom to explore any story topic that inspires me, and as a deeply creative person, that freedom is like a drug. I love to dive into every topic that interests me, from cycling to politics, and the Bark room has become a journalistic Candyland that I never could've dreamed of last semester.  But the path there wasn’t a chocolate-lined road of gumdrops, and my movement down it definitely wasn’t determined by the roll of a die. Six months ago on the night of an assignment deadline, I remember quietly breaking down in a San Rafael Pho shop; I still hadn’t done the assignment, but there I was, bathing in the laughter of two friends across the table from me. Obviously, this meant I would fail the class which would get me rejected from NYU which, naturally, would lead to me begging for change outside of the same pho shop until I died. That trainwreck of thought is easy to laugh at now, but I rode it, until my friends intervened. After a little conversation and a lot of reassurance, I realized at their behest that everything would be okay, even if it didn’t feel like it. I emailed my advisor, found an event to cover for the assignment, and showed up with my camera. Two weeks later, there was another 10/10 in the gradebook. This story encapsulates my journey through journalism class. Initially, the road to my every article was paved with anxiety. In class, my fingers shook when I raised my hand, if it left my pocket at all. I was terrified I was being judged. At home, I spent hours staring a hole in the wall behind my desk, like there was something behind it that could motivate my trembling hands to type. But, eventually, something changed. Supportive friends gave me kind words, and most importantly, I began to give them to myself. I stopped seeing each setback in the process of writing an article as an irredeemable failure, and started seeing it as an opportunity for growth. After this mindset shift, I finally became proud of both my stories and the person who wrote them. This narrative would’ve been different six months ago, but now I wouldn’t change a thing.