PERSONAL NARRATIVE
In just my first year on a publication, I've developed an intense appreciation for a downstairs, basement-resembling, sometimes-frigid and sometimes-boiling journalism classroom under building one.
From the second I walked down the stairs to the only classroom underneath the first floor, heading into my first day as a Photo Staffer on The Muse, I knew that I would be spending my fourth-periods here for the rest of my high school career- or at least the rest of my sophomore year. But what I didn't know is that this classroom would give me more than just the operating manual for a Canon EOS R Mirrorless Camera; it would give me invaluable connections and friendships, the opportunity to connect with people around my county and further, and the ability tell stories that matter, as well as grow as a journalist along the way.
I walked into my first class period on newspaper thinking I'd drawn the short straw: all my friends had been placed in different classes and I wasn't close with anyone I saw when I walked through the door. On top of that, I quickly realized that the classroom was filled with students who had way more experience than me. And at that moment, all I felt was that I didn't belong.​
My first day on staff could be described with one word: anxiety, and I spent my very first day counting the minutes until the bell rang, and in the meantime trying to pretend I knew how to adjust my camera's aperture and what ISO is. But this didn't just fill my search history with "how to use a camera"; it instead challenged the idea that I could do it all on my own, and introduced me to what I later realized was the core of a publication: its' staff, and the idea that working together produces work that no one could create on their own.​
I'll always remember the first time I reached out to my photo editor for help. My fingers trembled as I crafted a quick text (that took me an hour to write), before wincing as I hit send. I hated the idea of the words "I need help", and clicking that little blue arrow on iMessage was like a punch in the face, leaving me feeling useless. But after a few weeks on staff and (lots of) help from my editors, it hit me (less like a punch, more like an epiphany): I was a part of our staff. Even though I came without experience and still had (and have) a long way to go, I belonged on the publication. And then, I had another realization: the editors and staffers that I looked up to started just like I did: without experience, and only a passion for journalism and a willingness to learn.
The moment I accepted this and the moment that I accepted the help of other students on my staff, started asking questions, and came with a willingness to learn was the start of my improvement. I stopped being afraid of being the weakest link, and attended workshops, improving my editing skills, learning how to tell stories effectively, developing news writing skills, and learning new techniques to apply to my photography. And by putting myself out there and being ready to learn, I not only developed indispensable skills, but I also made connections with professionals and student journalists around the state of Florida- connections that I could never have made elsewhere.
Eventually, my photography began to see an upward trend, as I applied the skills I had learned to my own photos, and began to challenge myself to try new angles, settings, and experiment with unfamiliar ideas. This is when I began to judge my photos less on a scale of how "good" they were compared to the work of other staffers, but how well they conveyed their subjects' message, and told the important stories that they captured.​
So now, as I reflect on my first semester on staff, I realize that that uncomfortable basement-classroom gave me more than I could ever know. It taught me that you turn the f-stop dial to change your aperture and that ISO is your camera's sensitivity to light, but it also taught me how to work on a staff, pushed me to step outside of my comfort zone, and introduced me to the endless opportunities that you unleash once you let go of a fear of not being the best, and start getting ready to learn.
Now, when I walk down the stairs and through the door underneath the first floor, I don't count the minutes until the bell rings, pretend to know when I really don't, or feel like I don't belong. (And I don't think I drew the short straw, now that I've developed friendships on staff that will last a lifetime.) Instead, I find myself happy to work through the bell, I think of being unsure not as an expression of failure, but instead an opportunity to grow.
The passion at the center of my love for journalism is one of telling stories that deserve to be told, and every photo I take and every article I write is a chapter in my own personal narrative. But even more important, they are the stories of others who deserve to be told.
While writing this, I realized that creating my narrative reflecting on something I had only just begun was one of the most difficult things I'd ever had to write. I'm a first-year staffer, I haven't won any awards for my work, and I'm in no way an expert in anything journalism-related. Sitting at my desk in our basement-classroom, I scanned its walls, picking the names off of the countless awards plastered all around. When I first walked into that very same room, I'd never have recognized success without my name up on a certificate taped to the wall.​
The version of me that our classroom sees today is nowhere near a leader.
But that realization doesn't make me feel like a failure- it lets me know that I have to keep going.