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A journalistic musing.

It is once again 3 a.m., and I was thinking about journalism. No, not the Sagebrush or internships or the future or classes.

Just journalism. What it means. Why it exists. What my role as a journalist really is.

I haven’t thought about it in those terms in quite a while. Since last summer, actually. For the past four months, it’s always about getting the job done and attempting to make deadline…so much so that a person can forget why they’re doing it in the first place.

It’s not about a byline. It’s not about a clip. It’s not about winning awards. It’s not about advancement in this crazy field.

It’s about telling the story. It’s about learning how to best tell a story so not only does the reader understand it, but feels some sort of emotion because of it. The stories we write, the photographs we take, the designs we layout…they all mean something to someone out there. It’s more than just a job.

It’s a calling.

I think people forget that. They get lost and preoccupied. I think that when they do, it’s what makes them cynical about it all. In a Time article, it said that about 50 percent of journalists are satisfied with their jobs. I wonder what is going on with the other 50.

So, the point of this post was…don’t forget why you do it. Don’t forget why it’s important.

And maybe I’m too optimistic. But for now, I’d prefer it to stay that way.

Sidenote: I’m in a Dawson’s Creek kind of mood right now, and so am attempting to find the final 10 minutes of the show on YouTube. It doesn’t exist.

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