Like everyone else, I’ve always hated the feeling of regret. So when a close friend encouraged me to join the The Appalachian student-run newspaper, I figured, why not give it a try?
At the start of my junior year, I pitched a story at my first Arts & Culture desk meeting. Quickly, I realized student-journalism was a place I could — without fear of judgement — talk about the one thing I love most: music.
While my editors enjoyed my enthusiasm to pick up a last-minute pitch or write yet another album review, what they loved most about me was clear; welcoming my chaotic, humorous and energetic character week after week.
Despite repeatedly crying in the practice rooms of Broyhill Music Hall and listening to “Both Sides, Now” by Joni Mitchell, I looked forward to each Thursday night where everything went still as I sat with my fellow Arts & Culture reporters.
From there, the opportunity to serve as the Arts & Culture Editor seemed to fall right into place. While leading desk meetings and assigning deadlines, I noticed a familiar sense of stillness in some of my reporters. The ones who attended meetings not to necessarily pitch a story, but rather to simply exist with me, reminded me of every reason I continued to show up.
Without realizing, I had created a similar environment to the one I first fell in love with at The Appalachian. The gratification this fills me with is worth more than any words I could write, and I owe it to every member of the Arts & Culture desk I had the pleasure working alongside.
My entire life has been surrounded by artistic communities, and yet I have never experienced one quite like the newsroom. Perhaps its unexpected nature made it so significant, or maybe it was just the people, but what I do know is good things aren’t worth taking the time to rip apart and figure out — they’re fleeting as it is.
Ultimately, I am still like everyone else with more regrets than worth counting. Even then, I know my decision to join The Appalachian will never be one.
