When I was five years old, I wanted to write a book. I made illustrations with crayons and told my mom what words to write below each drawing, then stapled it all together and proudly showed it to my family to read. Later on, I started writing out “worksheets” and assignments on paper that I coerced my poor sister Rebecca to complete. I remember making DIY board games out of frozen pizza boxes and microphones out of paper towel rolls to “perform” at fake concerts in my living room. When I was younger, I knew what I was passionate about – writing, creating and making things. Yet, I never expected these frivolous activities to lead me to where I am today.
When I got to high school, my childhood hobbies had become long lost and I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do or what I was passionate about. I did know, however, that I still loved to write and create, and I wanted to somehow find a way to explore this interest in high school.
Some scheduling issues at the beginning of my ninth-grade year left me unable to take the Journalism Newspaper class, so I was placed into the Yearbook class instead. I found it disorienting to fill up yearbook pages as a freshman who hadn’t stepped foot in the school building and had only remained close with my small circle of friends from middle school during the pandemic. After a year of texting random phone numbers, asking for countless Zoom screenshots, and becoming a pro at using the Jostens platform, I happily said goodbye to the yearbook and entered the Newspaper class.
Fast forward to sophomore year, my first year on the J was filled with Radical Writes, Monica Lewinsky documentaries and AP style. Ms. Zitnik taught us how to write for every section, and I remember interviewing my mom on her Europe travels for my first-ever practice article. While the Radical Write Cornell notes and quizzes made me want to crawl into bed and fall asleep, looking back, I realize that it was definitely a memorable part of the “J1 experience.” By the end of the year, I learned how to write like a real journalist and came to class nervous and excited after writing for the March issue to see who had been published for the first time.
As J2s, we were officially on staff and in class with the upperclassmen. Feeling bombarded with ACT practice tests, homework, and the looming presence of college applications, the J served as my life’s calming and consistent routine. I felt my confidence in writing for the Observer grow as I wrote about left-handed desks and MoCo’s Fentanyl spike where I ended up on the front page for the first time. Staying after school for production each month allowed me to truly get to know the other upper and underclassmen staff members I didn’t usually talk to, and learn the ins and outs of InDesign (even though it still takes me 400 tries to format my photos).
My senior year as a J3 has nearly flown by. It is crazy to say that this is the last article I will ever write for the Observer. This year has been full of lasts and savoring the time we have left at Churchill. No matter what kind of crappy day I’m having, I know that when it’s time for sixth period, and I walk into room 243, I will always feel better. I will miss all the laughs, debrief sessions, photoshoots, college interviews with Kalena, co-writing with George and his Chipotle, wondering where Ananya went, and Clara’s always-amazing advice. This class and these people mean so much to me, and I have no idea what I will do as I move on to the University of Florida next year without my daily 45-minute journalism period in the newspaper room with the most amazing people.
In retrospect, it’s interesting that my childhood passions led me to my journey as an observer and ultimately to where I am today. I would not trade my three years as an observer for anything! To anyone feeling lost and struggling with finding a passion of their own, my advice to you is to start being vulnerable, try something new, and most importantly, ignore the judgment from others. I have found that in the long run, worrying about what others think and trying to fit the mold will only hurt your chances of finding your own passions.
