Well, this is the semester. This is the week for which I have been waiting (somewhat) patiently since transferring from Seattle Pacific University to Mizzou in June of 2011. This is the week I began reporting at Vox Magazine and am officially a journalism student. Since the moment my fourth grade teacher suggested it, all I’ve ever wanted to be is a writer. After about a year of trying to convince myself I should do something else, realizing I didn’t want to, and trekking back to Missouri, I am a journalism student at the University of Missouri. I can’t say it enough times. I have worked hard and jumped through so many figurative hoops to get to this point. I’ve dreamed about writing brilliant profile pieces and hoped one day someone would think of said stories as such. And now, as I stand at the starting line of this journey at the helm of my blog, my hands quiver over the keyboard. I will freely admit that I am terrified. Maybe it’s safe to say I am recovering from fear, but it has had a firm hold on my life this week.
This week has been a constant battle between me and the bubbly nervous feeling swirling around in the pit of my stomach. It’s the kind of bubbly nervous feeling that likes to swirl up and threaten a quick trip to the bathroom. In other words, I’ve spent the better half of this week completely intimidated and fearful of failure. That nervous feeling went away today when I realized that whether or not I am nervous, I will make mistakes. In fact, I might avoid overlooking specific directions if I’m not battling anxiety. I might also be able to save tubes of concealer and avoid caking heaps of it under my eyes if I spend my precious free time asleep and not trying to predict the blunder I will make during my first week at Vox. Basically, my conclusions of the week are that nervousness is a terrible waste of time and sleep is a necessary element of life. Without the former and with as much of the latter as possible, I know life as a journalism student will be difficult but absolutely worth every single edit, draft and moment of doubt. I know this because beneath all those other feelings lies the feeling of certainty that a nine-year-old girl planted there quite some time ago.