Each year, departing editors are given 30 final column inches – “30” was historically used to signify the end of a story – to reflect on their time at The Hatchet, published in the final issues of the year.
In third grade, I heard the word “journalist” for the first time. Right then and there, I decided that’s what I wanted to be. I knew it had to do with writing and I owned a journal, so I figured I’d be pretty good at it.
In high school, I found out that journalists exclusively write about real life. They don’t get to make up their stories. I was quietly embarrassed that I had gone six years telling anyone and everyone I was going to be a journalist when I grew up without really knowing what it was. And I was disappointed that journalists don’t make up the characters and plots they write about. For some reason, though, I stuck with saying I wanted to be a journalist.
It wasn’t until my freshman year of college that I grasped journalism – its style, ethics and importance. When I did begin to truly comprehend journalism, I also understood there was a reason I had blindly stuck with it for so long: Real-life stories are beautiful.
It is The Hatchet where I discovered that reality is greater than fiction. I was assigned articles about fraternities, sustainability and faculty affairs, and for as mundane or as wonky as those subjects seem, I saw a glimpse of vulnerability in each person I interviewed and felt a sense of importance in each sentence I wrote. As I worked my way up at The Hatchet, I wrote and edited hundreds of stories, feeling that same sense of excitement and privilege each time. Some of those stories were about things I couldn’t have dreamt up, but that were fascinating and had impacts on real people.
The art and science of journalism itself that I learned showed me the power of and need for real stories. But what really taught me that real life is dazzling and delicate in its own right were the people I worked with and experiences I had at The Hatchet.
Some moments at The Hatchet weren’t glamorous or even the least bit enjoyable, but they were all real. The lump in my throat and pit in my stomach were real when I learned that everyone doesn’t like me all the time, that ethical calls are tough and that independent student journalism is struggling. But those real-life, hair-tearing moments were accompanied by moments of genuine joy and pride that I had never before experienced – and those were because of the people I was surrounded by.
The characters at The Hatchet were exactly what my story needed. They were caring, wildly funny, dogged and spunky in ways I could not have thought up. They – and the people who supported my fast-paced, intense student journalism journey – are what remind me that the people I encounter are much rounder than characters I could fabricate.
I feel a bit hesitant as I move on to new real-life experiences because I’m not sure any chapter could be as challenging and rewarding as mine at The Hatchet was. But I trust that the lessons I learned and people I met will encourage me to embrace trying, stunning realities, no matter where my story takes me.
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