The future of journalism for this wee lass

My father once told me to keep my dreams alive. Keep my hobbies my hobbies and have fun with what I do. He told me not to let money darken the seed of my passion for photography and writing. Biased though he is, he knows I also find a thrill in the working mechanisms inside computers.

I’m not saying that generalists have trouble making decisions for themselves, maybe they just like to learn a little bit about a lot everyday, always. And I do, too, of course. What mind would I have that turns a blind eye on subjects not highlighted in the repertoire of my five-year plan, aka, my Bachelor’s degree? I simply like to record and preserve memories and share them with those I care about.

I’m having second thoughts on this being the ultimate career path for me, however. I wish it were so easy, to make a choice as big as this and walk away, accomplishment in hand. The truth is that I don’t want to develop over time an association between the feeling of rapture I get in writing and the feeling I get when I pay all my bills over the course of a month.

The experienced adults who have allowed me to pick their brains for advice, as a thief picks pockets for change, have told me that money is the root of all evil. I, myself, find pleasure in not having too much of a good thing, if you catch my drift. Taking advantage of the loose tongues of those lousy with Tequila or red-faced on white wine (that’s me!) at the annual Christmas party can be pretty helpful in such matters.

I like the idea of free struggle. This concept where we can kill or be killed, adapt, evolved, grow our bodies to a strength unmatched by others. Or we can pump our brains full of unlikely knowledge, the type that can get a person out of any situation imaginable and maybe even get us into a mindset we might never have thought to agree with before we heard the other side of the story.

I love journalism for this fact. Knowledge is free, but I think the pursuit of it should be as well. All should seek to learn. Aim to know.

The more I reflect on the life that is unraveling before me, like this big red carpet where all of Facebook is calling my name. Every little step I make, beit on digital soil or the tougher stuff that the physical world is made of, seems to vibrate with a resonance that touches everything I know. Every little move I make must make sense.

My actions must be purposeful, as I’ve learned from motivational speeches during a certain student leader retreat in Washington, D.C. Becoming so fully involved in NJROTC in high school only reaffirms my trust in the positive impact on the world.

And that’s what I want to leave behind. I’m not scared to die. I’m not scared to fail. It’s more a fear of success that I feel coursing through my veins when I look at the completely different walks of life that brought my parents together, then forced them apart.

My cousin, in turn, says that I should change my major to something more marketable. I want to build a set of skills, become an asset for any company of my heart’s desire, he says. This takes hard work, lots of studying, a Bachelor’s degree or higher, and a good

On my days off from working at Taco Bell, though, I find myself reprogramming my computer. Looking for open source distributions to wipe my tainted systems clean. Those esoteric philosophy classes are really doing a number on the way I perceive everything, I’ll tell ya.

Does this mean I like computers more than I do journalism? Of course, not! I think I like all my hobbies and passions and intricate little projects just as equally if I fail or succeed in them. The trick is not to panic, Chuck Palahniuk says in his book, “Survivor.”

Maybe I can learn to live like they do, without a care in the world, talking foot-in-mouth, tongue-in-cheek. Jumping at the sight of opportunities.

That’s what this life is about right, improvisation? We’re all just actors on this tiny little stage we call Earth. Just how do we make our play meaningful. How can we make it resonate? Do we leave a legacy for our children to follow or should living on room and board alone, living pious, sailing the high seas as a Navy journalist or riding the waves of the African savannahs via commercially sponsored LandRover be the most morally exemplary way to spread the message that this world is all right.

The Kids Are All Right. (Great movie by Lisa Cholodenko, by the way.)

I don’t think our career choices really affect anyone unless they want to be affected. If you wish to believe what I say and trust in my sources and quotable inserts that I’ve taken, with permission, from real-live-primary-people, then so be it!

Not all of news is a farce. If the masses only knew.

So, for now, dear readers of my life story, (This is probably just my cousin and dad, loving boyfriend, and those hapless Google surfers who find themselves stuck on my page by sheer coincidence) don’t fret! I’m not giving up on my dreams. I want to write! I’ve wanted anything more as a kid, as an adolescent, and now as a young adult.

I started blogging as early as 14 years old, started illegally downloading music at 10, simply because it’s fun. And because my dad was in on it. He taught me to love to learn mIRC and this new frame of mind that built around my love for him really pushed me to grow as a little person.

It’s fascinating. And I think the knowledge and entertainment the world wide web provides should be made free to all who seek it. I’m going to keep on chugging until my gears turn to rust and my flame has died out. I can’t predict if I’ll accept the helping hand of a few dollar bills thrown my way in exchange for my extreme will to explore and produce and write write write.

I promise, though, not to get too caught up in the corruption that spreads like that dreaded peer pressure of my younger years, when it comes to monetary gain throughout the career paths of my choosing.

Thanks for listening, by the by. I appreciate it.

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