By most standards I would be considered “old” for a newbie, wannabe reporter.
I was already 30 when I decided that my current career choice was an act of settling way below my potential. I knew I had to find a way to do something else. I just didn’t know how or what. It only took one class, news writing, at Las Positas College to figure it out.
From that moment on I was hooked.
For me journalism had the potential to incorporate everything I loved – writing, people, learning, travel, avoiding the mind-numbing dullness of a 9 to 5 existence – into a paying gig. I made journalism my major after the first assignment in that news writing class and I haven’t regretted it – not even after the vast decline in readership or the ever-changing and volatile atmosphere in an industry I’ve come to love.
I know it sounds cliché, but I wanted to make a difference. I want to feel like I have pitched in for the greater good. And since an affinity for writing floats in my very shallow pool of talents and biochemistry does not, journalism was a natural choice in my quest to becoming contributing member of society.
As a transfer student to SF State I had visions of grandeur of being the next Diane Sawyer for 60 Minutes or seeing my byline in the New Yorker or Vanity Fair. Now, on the cusp of graduation, I know that the small stories matter just as much. I would love to have a position as a staff writer on some small community newspaper.
My favorite part of being a journalist in the making is the people. I love meeting someone new and the never-ending well of learning that is always at your fingertips. I just want to discover amazing people and tell really great stories. It doesn’t matter to me if my bylines are seen by the world, the nation, or a town with less than 500 people. As long as someone other than my mom is reading – because, let’s face it, she is biologically obligated to – I’ll feel like I’ve made my contribution.