In the immediate aftermath of the West Fertilizer Plant explosion, I was consumed with continuing coverage, but I had something else to think about: an interview to keep my job. I was the editor-in-chief of the campus newspaper, but I had come into the position at a time of crisis and hadn't been formally appointed. I would have to face the Baylor Board of Publications and have Ken Starr, Baylor's President, officially approve my appointment if I wanted to continue in the position. I wasn't very worried — I had done a good job of managing the paper even despite our crisis with understaffing and I had the approval of my superiors.
I was asked to come up with a plan to restructure the newsroom to increase efficiency (something I'd already been working on) and prepare for my interview. I felt like my plan was a good one. I went into the interview, gave a brilliant presentation, if I do say so myself, and walked out feeling very confident.
But when the glow of totally rocking something fell away about an hour later, I realized something: I was more afraid that I would have to continue in the position than the idea they might offer it to someone else.
I went to my boss immediately and told him I was resigning after the end of the semester.
I needed time to grieve and put myself back together.
I want you to understand something: I loved my job. I got a rush out of reporting, I was a good problem solver, for the most part, and I worked off an incentives model to try and keep everyone swimming along. If something needed doing, I could handle it: I had worked to understand every position on the paper.
But when you do something like cover a disaster, you have to push all of your own feelings and tiredness out of the way until the crisis is over. You deal with it later. I hadn't just been doing that with my feelings about the West disaster, I had been doing that with everything: the drawn-out and unpleasant demise of my relationship with Willie's father, the similarly horrible death of my grandfather (we were very close, and he was very sick), some family problems, the stress of the physical demands of both my job and schoolwork. It added up to a lot of things happening in a short time, and because I was so busy with work, I left it all on the back burner, where it had reduced to a dark slop of unhappiness. I was reaching my breaking point.
Leaving was the best thing I could have done for my health and the health of my team, who would have suffered if I had been compromised (I had been appointed in an ironically similar situation).
So I left the Lariat. I sped up my graduation date. I went back to my hometown to lick my wounds.
I thought that move would be disastrous. I thought it would drive me crazy to be in such close proximity to my family and ashamed that I wasn't ready to re-enter the world of journalism, which I do still love fiercely. I actively avoided telling people that I was taking time away for recovery.
But in the end?
It was one of the smartest things I could have done. I've repaired fractured relationships with my family, relearned how to eat and sleep like a normal human being (no more Domino's on speed dial for me), spent time making Willie happy, and even picked up a few skills I didn't get in college, improving my abilities in digital photography and Photoshop.
And I've spent time at the beach, where my soul is most happy.
I guess sometimes we know more than we know.
So what's next? I've been writing this entry forever — in more ways than one. But I'm starting to feel restless again, a sign that I'm ready to rejoin the world at large. What's the next move? People keep asking. I'm still working on that.
But I'll tell you this: I might not know where I'm going just yet, but it feels good to be lost in the right direction.
Love to all,
Caroline the Adventurer
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