Three years ago, I walked into The Chronicle’s ramshackle office for the first time to speak to James Factora, editor of the Opinion section at the time, about an article pitch which eludes me now. As a spreadsheet of claimed pieces populated on their laptop, I took a moment to sponge up the brown flooring, antiquated computers, mangled chairs and discolored couch cushions the space comprised. Since then, our floors have whitened, the computers have been upgraded, our new chairs have instruction tags dangling beneath them and only the soulless cushions remain on a similarly soulless sofa.
Months turned into years and I don’t think I could have ever guessed the roles I’d fill at The Chronicle, the impact my words would have on those around me or the balanced diet of poignant, peculiar, heartwarming, funny and downright awful stories I’d end up consuming in an array of editorial positions. I’m proud of the vibrant variety of stories I’ve commissioned or edited at the paper, from compelling op-eds and sharp reporting to remarkable reviews and extraordinary spotlight pieces.
Over these semesters, I’ve also learned to better face situations beyond my scope of control. There have been numerous instances when I was unable to get ahold of a writer to clarify a sentence, received a less than favorable grade on an exam or dealt with difficult decision making of some sort. Proaction can be beneficial, but there’s only so much we can do. When things fail to lie within our grasp, or when things are said and done, we should be at liberty to take a deep breath and laugh at the absurdity of it all.
This simple lesson became an especially important one over the past couple of years in a way that nothing I learned about journalistic guidelines or career growth in my classes ever did. None of us could have predicted the pause of the world the pandemic brought about. Before the University closed indefinitely 21 months ago, I remember spending the evening with fellow editors in the office, anxious about what tomorrow would hold. In the months that followed, so many of us struggled in different ways, both as editors and in our personal lives, but in the end, things ended up okay. And with the right blend of tenacity and self-care, I know things will remain so.
There are many people I’d like to thank: Odessa and Liz for sparking my interest in the pursuit of copyediting, Eleni for fueling my compulsive shopping and video game playing habits, Dan for his sporadic, semi-satirical monologues about Greek politics, Antonia and Julia for being extremely funny and Micaela and Jess, who’ve put in lengthy hours to ensure the paper is published in the face of incredible difficulties. I’d also like to thank Taylor, whose unwavering charisma has had no parallel since. And, of course, Brian McFadden, our incredible faculty advisor who’s been there for us through thick and thin, whether through a steady supply of snacks on layout nights or administrative advice in tough circumstances.
As I leave The Chronicle’s office for perhaps the final time, I am not quite sure how to feel. Much of this journey has been an uphill climb, yet I’ve met wonderful people and learned a lot along the way. The past years, although imperfectly chaotic and bittersweet, fundamentally shaped both the paper and myself, and something about that fills me with determination.
