My j-cation

I haven’t been able to push ‘Publish’ on anything lately. That is, I couldn’t until I got this comment on my lonely blog: “post one picture of where you are right now… right now.” Even half a country away, my friend Audrey can put a smile on my face. Here you go – me and my white flag. Read on.

 

——-

 

It’s nearly August – and I’m a terrible journalism student.

 

I’m not reading the papers.

I’m not anyone’s intern.

I’m not filing copy from a scrum.

 

If you’re keeping score, take note: for the last month, there’s been more celebrity gossip than Canadian politics in my Twitter feed.

 

I’m j-laxing. I’ve . . . j-lapsed.

 

I’m a little sorry – it’ll be hard to retrieve my newshound habits in September – but I’m mostly relieved. The bottom line? Not fitting journalism into my present is helping me understand how journalism is bound to fit into our futures.

 

This was a sticky year. Like my classmates I was hauling around television equipment that tested my upper-body strength. I was constantly willing my cell phone to ring with a call from a missing source, and often ignoring making plans with people I’d labeled friends. Related: I’ll respond to your voicemails soon, Grandma.

 

When exams ended and a bus took me up to northern Quebec I didn’t know what to do with myself. So when I wasn’t sleeping like a housecat, I was dancing until I could barely walk, or blissfully collecting freckles. I was too busy trying to keep new French verbs in my brain to refine my interviewing skills.

 

Then back in Ontario, reality hit mercilessly. My [rediscovered] Carleton friends and I exchanged a novella worth of messages, all with the same two themes:

 

How are we going to refill our sad, sad bank accounts?

 

and

 

Why are we living like housewives?

 

It took a long time, but somewhere between honing my obsessive-compulsive exercise habits and elevating my domestic-diva levels, I found three (three!) jobs. Thankfully, the only reporting-related hours of my days don’t involve the words: “Hi there, my name is Carly Pender and I’m a journalism student. Can I ask y–- no? Really? Okay. Bye.”

 

Along with my cell phone I’ve turned off certain parts of my journalist brain – the obvious ones, I guess. I’m not constantly on the hunt for a story. I don’t think up ledes when I’m in the shower, and I’ve almost completely stopped stalking people at their offices.

 

Still, being listless, penniless, and all those other great adjectives left me with a lot of time to think about what I will be taking with me from this program, besides a lot of random electronics. Journaling (and the predictable thinking in circles that comes with journaling) has made me realize two nice things:

 

1. I can come to a lot of swell conclusions if I just keep writing, writing, writing.
2. Most of these conclusions are ones we’d already come to in a reporting class. Oops.

 

I know we’ve all had them: Moments in the field or in sweet, sweet St. Pat’s that have made us see why people would bother asking questions and writing news. I still swear Dave Tait changed my life in 10 minutes when we explained that we do journalism to help people understand each other. I guess I’ve spent the last three months trying to understand myself.

 

I’m so confused when school lessons creep into my personal life. You planned that all along, didn’t you Dave?

 

As I plan new adventures, I can still see the sexiness of a byline, but chasing empathy, compassion and undying curiosity before I hit the big ole world as a working girl is one of those side projects that is worth some attention.

 

This j-cation is getting me ready for the last eight months of Carleton life. I’m relaxing, comforted by the fact that I can now laugh at many of this year’s most hectic times.

 

More comforting still? I know I’m not the only one who hasn’t been tuning into NewsNet.

 

See you in September, journalism.

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