A new chapter

Ever since I was probably about 10 and taking my first several Taekwondo classes.

I was told that we never say the naughty four-letter word that starts with the letter q – quit.

And even before that, I had considered it a naughty word. It means you gave up. It means you made a decision to give up before moving onto something better. It means you refused to try to make it work and didn't try to find a solution, something of which I still believe you can always find.

That's what I've been dealing with for the past year. The fact that I gave up that hard-to-get job in journalism and decided to move on.

"I wish you would have fought it just a little bit longer. It's always the good ones that leave too early," I was told on multiple accounts before leaving Gillette, Wyoming, a place I have absolutely zero desire to head back to and, in fact, wish I could just erase from my past.

Both of the newspapers I worked at in Wyoming had extremely high turn over. From about mid-September until about two weeks before I left, I was the one and only reporter and photographer for the Wright High Plains Sentinel. We had a secretary who worked in the office part-time, but otherwise, I was pretty much it.

I've gone over it over and over again in my head trying to figure out where it went wrong, and I honestly think I just got burned out. I always used to joke with people that I worked the 6 a.m. to midnight shift, but that truly was the case, and in other cases, I didn't get home from Wright until the early hours of the morning with a story that still needed to be written.

I made the decision and told very, very few people. Some hints were dropped and others, well, I figured they would find out eventually.

I felt just awful. I felt like I had failed at the career I had worked so hard to get. I felt I had lost.

"What is wrong with you?' seemed to cross my mind a lot. I had gotten the journalism job I had fought so hard to get. All those sleepless nights in college seemed like such a waste. I didn't understand why I wasn't happy; I thought it was just all supposed to work out. Hey, I had gotten a job in journalism, and I wasn't just writing obituaries day in and day out. In fact, I was a crime reporter.

But the truth was far from that.

The truth, when it really boiled down to it, was that I lived each day in dread of my job. I was always terrified of coming into the office and finding something on the fire or police report that was just awful. Sometimes chasing those stores was so much fun, and the people I met were so grateful I wanted to tell their story – and more importantly, tell it right. But most of the time someone was hurt, threatening to harm themselves or had already killed someone.

Chasing those stories is a bit more difficult. Law enforcement is a bit more picky about giving out information for something that will end up in a courtroom. You have to dig for that information. And be sure you know the law that gives you, as a journalist, the right to that information. Even if it's something as simple as a name on an accident report, they will still try to tell you that they can't give it to you because of HIPPA – false.

I had started trying to get to the office earlier and earlier to read the fire report for the main reason of being able to call and get any relevant information on the big calls before that crew went home and I was having to wait another day for that information. I also had wanted to be sure I went through the Wyoming State Patrol call log before I left on rounds to the local sheriff's office and police station, again leaving myself enough time to call and write up blotter and any other relevant stories before our 10:30 a.m. deadline. There 's where that 6 a.m. came in. And some mornings, it inched closer to 5 or 4 a.m.

They say you should follow your gut. Well, on my first trip up to Gillette before I had accepted the reporting job, I probably should have listened better. Once I was done with my meeting with the editor of the paper, my mom and I had stopped at the Burger King in town just to get something to drink and use the restroom before heading back to Fort Collins, but I had a really bad headache and was supposed to be the one to drive the first leg back. My mom got back in the car and started telling me to drive. I turned and looked at her, saying, "I don't feel so good."

She then said something along the lines of go inside if you think you're gonna be sick. Right after that, I opened up the driver's side door, leaned out, and lost every amount of what I had eaten that day. We parked the car three parking spots over, I got into the passenger seat and slept all the way home.

Maybe I should have listened to my gut and turned down the job. My body was obviously trying to tell me something. But, then again, the Wyoming Adventure would never have happened.

I'm glad it's over and I can't say that I really want to go back. But I don't regret it either. The only direction to move is forward – the only decision you have to make is what type of attitude you will have as the journey continues. The past year has been a rough one, but when I look at where I was and where I am now, I know I was exactly where I was meant to be.

I now work for a great company with wonderful, caring people. And what about journalism, you may ask. Well, that's a topic for another post.

Stay tuned.