Why I Can Never Be a Journalist

I started at St. Thomas University wanting to double major. That hasn’t changed. What changed was the major that I was going for. I was going to do English and Journalism. It seemed perfect. I love to write. I still love writing. I’ll always be a writer and there’s no way I’d ever give up my English major. I did decide to give up journalism. It isn’t about the writing. I love taking words and piecing them together. I love when people have a reaction and I love that my words can resonate and perhaps someday make a difference. Even if that difference is small – it’ll be worth it. I know that I want my words to change the world but I am no Martha Gellhorn. I’m not going to chase war and the atrocities that haunt our modern world. I want to change the world but I don’t know how I’m going to become comfortable with its demons. There are good things out there, and there are bad. This is why I cannot be a journalist. The great journalists of history all have something in common. They are the messengers. They bring back words that need to be heard. They translate history and they serve it to you on a plate you can digest. I don’t want to do that. I am not impartial. There are too many horrors in this world. Whether it is the way our government acts in Canada, or the treacherous outbreaks of governments across the world. There is too much death and destruction. I feel we have lost too many great writers to the stinging of impartiality and the business of the media. I went into this class with a great respect for reporters. I still have that. I learned along the way that this is not what or who I am. I think that’s okay. I think it’s okay that I’ll never shut up about what bothers me. I’m not Walter Cronkite, nor am I ever going to be. I am simply this: a girl who cares for this world more than one should. I haven’t given up on humanity yet. Maybe tomorrow.

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