Sunday, August 13, 2017

Newspapers are the worst?

CareerCast has been annually compiling a list of the 200 worst jobs, and newspaper reporter has made the list several years in a row. Apparently, they use a number of criteria to determine this. Factors include pay, upward mobility, stress and safety risks. 
Other worst jobs included logger and enlisted military personnel. Weird. I've been in the military and certainly wouldn't call it one of my worst experiences. It beats the hell out of retail with a 10-foot pole, that's for sure. 
I wasn't sure why newspaper reporter made the list, but some other bloggers speculated. They cited stress of deadlines, hectic environment and mainly the fact that the industry is struggling to stay afloat. 
Okay, that last one makes sense.
But stress? Nah.
My job is fun. As a reporter, my job is to go learn interesting stuff and then tell everyone about it. I have an office, but I frequently leave to go chase a story or just to go look for a story. Yeah, it's pretty chill. 
The money isn't great. You don't get rich, but it's far from minimum wage. 
I've even heard it described as a dead-end job, but what is that? What if it's the job you want? Doesn't that make it less of a dead-end and more of a cul-de-sac? What is a dead end if it's right where you want to be?
My grandfather, Forrest Miller, was a sports writer for the South Bend Tribune for his entire career ... and actually, even longer. After he retired, he continued to freelance until he died. That's someone who definitely found his calling in life. 
People who don't like journalism don't go into journalism, and those who do, don't stay. There's no promise of fortune and fame. There is nothing to entice someone who doesn't have a sincere interest in the craft. There is no reason to be over-stressed. If you want out, you simply stop.
I know, because I did. 
I left a newspaper for greener pastures (emphasis on green). I worked a few jobs and even went and earned a barber's license. That was fun, but I never stopped missing my first love. 
Two years later, I stepped into another newsroom and smelled the ink and paper. It was like kissing your ex and realize you never really got over her. I'll never leave again of my own free will. 

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