Hold the Glimmer

Hey there little personal writing adventure I pay attention to every few months, I mean blog. How’s it hanging? Shocked you’re still around? Me too. Shocked anyone still clicks on you? Me too. Here’s to another resolution …

(p.s. Still thinking about you, Missy Elliott. Come back to my life.)

You guys.

Things are a-happening around here! By here, I mean my life and clearly not this blog. I’m working 60+ hours a week trying to keep it all together and pay a bill or two while simultaneously juggling an almost completely non-existent social life and oddly wonderful relationship. Aside from the lack of gym visits and thousands of miles I’ve put on Winnie in the last few months (driving over 100 miles a day is and isn’t the worst thing in the world. Special shout out to the world’s best playlist’er, DJ Amber), I’m pretty damn content with how life is playing out right now. I’m just happy as hell the last few months are over and I’m actually working as a reporter with a publication.

WHAT!

Girlfriend got an internship (PAID!) at a newspaper and let me tell you, it’s pretty fucking amazing.

The last semester at school physically sucked the life out of me. Previous semesters I had deemed difficult feel like a walk at the beach in comparison to those four months of mental carnage. When I walked into the newsroom on the first day, I truly believed everything would be different. I thought I had an incredible group of people who were interested in being the best editors in the world and that we were all going to work together in some form of sick harmony to produce a weekly paper- the best weekly paper the school had ever seen. Clearly, my life is supposed to play out like a Disney movie and you bet your ass there’s a soundtrack.

Listen, there was talent on this team. There is no doubt about the talent that dedicated hours to this paper, but with that talent came the most insane egos. From college kids. From people under (and sometimes over) thirty at a community fucking college. I was challenged, lied to, made fun of and ignored on a daily basis by people who two months prior were friends I was sharing drinks with and planning our “change” to the journalism world through our printed words. I was in a room for 25+ unpaid hours a week (in between the other FOUR JOBS I WAS HOLDING DOWN. Still have NO IDEA how I survived.) with people who questioned my dedication and in return wouldn’t even acknowledge me when I said “good morning.” I was the fool for hoping that in a college setting, people would act professional and leave high school attitudes behind. I was wrong. And I suffered each and every day.

As I left the newsroom on a day where editors wouldn’t respond to my questions even when we were looking directly at each other, my adviser flagged me down in the parking lot before the tears started rolling.

“Are you OK?” -adviser

“No. I’m not OK. They don’t even acknowledge me. Everyone is so rude and they all act like they have everything to give and nothing to learn. I thought we all had something to learn here? Why are they so fucking mean?” -me, clearly

“Tracy, it doesn’t matter.” -adviser

“I lay myself out there every fucking day and it just doesn’t matter how awful they treat me?” -me, again

“Nope. There will always be people who treat you this way regardless of who you are or what you do. It doesn’t matter. You’re not doing this for them. You’re doing this for you. That matters.” –adviser

Then the clouds parted and the sun started shining and a bird flew by singing the sweet sounds of spring. I kid, I kid.

I did have a profound moment though, and at the time thought “Ya. Fuck them. This is for me.”

And it was.

Three years ago, I would have never challenged myself by applying for the editor-in-chief position. Three years ago, I would have never dedicated countless hours or energy on anything that had to do with bettering myself, let alone pursuing my dreams. Three years ago, I would have been bored, at a desk, starting a blog about keeping hope when all you want to do is melt into a pool of whiskey, Xananx and complaints (they go hand-in-hand sometimes.)

Shortly after the pep talk, I heard news of an internship, applied and was hired during the interview. I showed up to meetings I didn’t have to attend, I suggested story ideas and made myself as readily available to do whatever they needed me to do. I’ve been published three times, took photos for two of the stories and can’t even count the number of online articles under my name. I’ve met with the publisher a few times and have some solid hope that I’ll be hired for a staff position.

Now that the semester is over and I’m no longer a part of the newsroom or editor-in-chief, I’ve let go of most of the bad feelings but I do have a regret or two hanging around.

I regret assuming people were on the same path as me. They didn’t assume the leadership position that I willingly took on, I did. I regret taking things personally. In one of my favorite books, “The Four Agreements,” a cardinal rule is to not take things personally. I have the exact mantra written on a Post-It note that’s stuck to my bathroom mirror from the night I read that page over four years ago (tangent- holler Post-It’s! Four years stuck to MY bathroom mirror? Way to fucking WORK.) I took things personally and I shouldn’t have. I’m only responsible for myself and my actions and can’t control others. I regret the time I lost worrying or complaining to my boyfriend or friends when I could have easily taken things as they were and not let everything consume me.

You know what I don’t regret? Working my ass off to get to here. I feel absolutely no regret about how hard I have worked and how hard I will continue to work to be better than I am at this moment. I want whatever it is that I’m feeling right now to last forever.