2008 Woodie Awards
Good night, and good luck - no, really
NO MORE BURRITOS FOR AT LEAST A YEAR
Melissa Lewis
Issue date: 3/20/06 Section: Opinion
I was one of those kids who knew what they were going to be once they became a big person. From when I was on training wheels to when I was flunking out of high school, journalism was the only certainty I professed.
When I took up the position of editor-in-chief here at La Voz last fall, I momentarily wondered if it would ruin me of everything I had dreamt journalism would be. We've all heard of those deflated dreams people come home to at the end of a day filled with repercussions and responsibilities they never expected.
I say "momentarily" because a moment was all I had between when I first sat in this cozy orange chair and when I was wobbling nervously on the edge of the Stelling parking structure to take the cover photo of my first orientation issue.
My predecessors, Steven Cabana and Luke Stangel, joked about "no social life" and "caffeine overdoses" and warned me that it was a difficult job.
I thought that was really funny until I recycled my 50th Red Bull can.
Here's where you hear the inevitable "it was worth every sleepless night" part.
It was.
La Voz and all of its trappings - my fellow editors and reporters, the junk food, the streams of obscenities we call banter and the ubiquitous red pens - made the past six months the best and most rewarding of my life.
When I momentarily wonder now, the thought is always "Did I do a good enough job?"
Sadly, when you are your own worst critic the answer can only remain uncertain at best.
This publication and the talented people behind it prompted me to grow up. When we work on something so much bigger and so much greater than ourselves and are wise enough to realize we are, we forget to be egotistical about it.
This has never been my newspaper. The thin sheet under these letters will rot and the words will fade from everyone's memory, including mine.
All that I hold as my own from the past two quarters is the family I know this staff has become, however dysfunctional (I blame the token conservatives - you know who you are).
My rewards are simple and perfect. I am walking out of this lab with the unshaken certainty I had when I walked in. And that certainty has come from every person who helped me along the way.
Once I see what the world looks like during the daytime again and know what it is like to sleep more than four hours a night, I'll be satisfied that it's over.
But for now this is a hard goodbye - to my family, my coworkers, and the cozy chair.
When I took up the position of editor-in-chief here at La Voz last fall, I momentarily wondered if it would ruin me of everything I had dreamt journalism would be. We've all heard of those deflated dreams people come home to at the end of a day filled with repercussions and responsibilities they never expected.
I say "momentarily" because a moment was all I had between when I first sat in this cozy orange chair and when I was wobbling nervously on the edge of the Stelling parking structure to take the cover photo of my first orientation issue.
My predecessors, Steven Cabana and Luke Stangel, joked about "no social life" and "caffeine overdoses" and warned me that it was a difficult job.
I thought that was really funny until I recycled my 50th Red Bull can.
Here's where you hear the inevitable "it was worth every sleepless night" part.
It was.
La Voz and all of its trappings - my fellow editors and reporters, the junk food, the streams of obscenities we call banter and the ubiquitous red pens - made the past six months the best and most rewarding of my life.
When I momentarily wonder now, the thought is always "Did I do a good enough job?"
Sadly, when you are your own worst critic the answer can only remain uncertain at best.
This publication and the talented people behind it prompted me to grow up. When we work on something so much bigger and so much greater than ourselves and are wise enough to realize we are, we forget to be egotistical about it.
This has never been my newspaper. The thin sheet under these letters will rot and the words will fade from everyone's memory, including mine.
All that I hold as my own from the past two quarters is the family I know this staff has become, however dysfunctional (I blame the token conservatives - you know who you are).
My rewards are simple and perfect. I am walking out of this lab with the unshaken certainty I had when I walked in. And that certainty has come from every person who helped me along the way.
Once I see what the world looks like during the daytime again and know what it is like to sleep more than four hours a night, I'll be satisfied that it's over.
But for now this is a hard goodbye - to my family, my coworkers, and the cozy chair.