Boiled down to a business card, I’d be condensed into one word — journalist. I’ve studied and now work in this field called journalism, yet it feels strange to adopt a title so decisive and succinct when I feel anything but.
If life was jello, I — along with the rest of my generation — would still be waiting to set, waiting to see how I’ll turn out and who I’m supposed to be in this world. As for the 20-somethings who have it all figured out, I applaud you and block your Facebook updates.
It’s not that I don’t love journalism. I do. We are so lucky to be able to step into other worlds, to come face to face with hundreds of others who call this planet home, to meet all kinds of people — people who delight us, enrage us, baffle us and change us. We hold authority accountable and give a voice to the silenced. We get to ask that question nobody wants to say out loud. We are so incredibly lucky.
But I am more than my job. We all are.
We’re cloud-watchers and doodlers, dog people, cat people, llama people and people people. We’re cartwheelers, tree huggers, shower singers and self-taught dancers. Each of us unique. Each of us purposefully knit together and loved by our Heavenly Father.
So yes I work in journalism, but I’m first and foremost a child of God. And I’m trusting Christ to take every breath I have in this broken, wonderful life and make it worthwhile.