Thursday, 13 January 2011 20:28
When I was contemplating higher education and career paths in highschool I felt drawn to the world of journalism. Storytelling is one of my natural gifts - I love to relive the moments and memories and to understand the nitty gritty details that often lie hidden beneath people's outer actions. Extreme journalism, war journalism, photojournalism and stories of poverty drew me in and I felt as if I could take a place amongst those who bravely step into the very known dangers and script the stories so that those who will never go to those places will begin to understand.
Though journalism did not end up my career path I still consider myself part journalist, part anthropologist, part sociologist and part pyschologist. At any given time the books on my reading list cover this broad spectrum of human studies. I live to understand the motivations of people different from myself, the heartache of those in different situations, the pride and price with which we live and breathe.
Sometimes, when I am reading or studying or dreaming, I ache a bit for the experiences I had hoped to have. To travel! To taste new foods and places! To meet interesting people and to touch the lives of those I encountered! And to carry stories like burdens - to make sure they are heard. Then, on days like today I realize I have been given these chances. I am living this life. My days often involve listening and learning about myself and others. Almost always I am carrying someone's story close to my heart. And here, in the midst of my comfort and my MUCH I have seen those with little. And I am charged with carrying their stories, to affirm their sorrows, to give honor to their past, their presents, and to champion their futures. I am a journalist now, while I am a mom. I am a storyteller now, while I make my living other ways. And I am here in the nitty gritty, desperately dirty and trying to make sense of it all.
