When I reminisce on my four years with the Ghostwriter, my mind goes straight to our tables.
I can picture all ten plastic boards lining the room in evenly spaced rows as I walked in on my first day of “Journalism 1” freshman year. I sat in the front right, my back facing my classmates on my own tiny island.
It wasn’t until I traveled to St. Louis for the JEA 2022 convention that these barriers started to break down after getting to know my peers outside of the classroom. I’d find myself frequently visiting other tables, asking for help on projects or simply to catch up after a long day.
By my sophomore year, I knew it was rare to find a community comparable to The WA Ghostwriter. There’s nothing quite like impending deadlines and meetings to bring students together. And once those connections blossomed in the newsroom, pushing tables together, I was able to emulate them in my interviews. Each article was an opportunity to be let into a new corner of my community.
I learned about Central American artisans by covering the Pulsera Project, indigenous cultures from reporting on the town-wide observance, and local politics from elected officials. Not only was I absorbing these stories, but I became an amplifier of them.
I learned that now, more than ever, there’s an urgent need to connect with others. Connect to strangers, holding space for a lush variety of lifestyles. Connect to your team, creating a permanent family from a temporary class. And connect to yourself, using each fleeting story and conversation to deepen and enrich personal beliefs.
When I think back on my time in journalism, I might not remember every project I completed, but I’ll always remember the people that made the class special. I’ll think of lunches where we’d scramble to get our food just so we could eat together in room 250. Of our annual visit to Noodle Street during spring conventions, barely making it back for the next workshop. Of interviews where I’d lose track of time, getting caught up in two hours of conversation and gaining a new friend around the building. But mostly, I’ll think of our giant conjoinment of tables.
I’ll always miss that corner seat—the one where I could see every smiling face in the room.
