If you were to tell me at 18 that I would confidently call myself a journalist at 21, I would be confused. More so, if you told me I was the Editor-in-Chief of my college newspaper, I would be dumbfounded.

As a sophomore in college, I transferred to the University looking for a purpose — I just didn’t know what that was yet.

I stumbled into one of The Daily Illini’s recruitment nights without a lick of journalism experience. All I knew was I loved to write, and this was an opportunity to channel that passion somewhere.

One thing led to the next, and I entered a world where I learned to pitch stories, approach strangers for interviews and churn out articles overnight so they wouldn’t lose their “news peg.”

I gradually moved up the ranks, finding something new to appreciate every day about the intrinsic storytelling that is journalism. 

Now, I’m the one in charge. I rode this newfound passion all the way to Editor-in-Chief, fueled by an excitement I had never felt before. Suddenly, I understood what people meant when they said it doesn’t feel like work when you love what you do. 

I could see a crystal clear future of a post-graduate life as a reporter. I finally felt like I had found my “thing.”

It wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows getting here, though. It took a whole year of feeling wrong before I even ventured toward the direction of right.

Three years ago, I was a senior in high school, frantically trying to figure out where I would be going to school. I was a wreck. I felt like I was alone on an abandoned boat in the middle of the ocean, stranded and desperate as I watched my peers celebrate and swim to shore.

I took my merit scholarship and ran away to the University of Vermont, looking for something I was convinced I couldn’t find in-state.

After growing up in the same Midwestern suburb my whole life, Vermont felt like a glowing beacon of opportunity to experience something unfamiliar.

I arrived in Vermont ripe with awe at the concept of independence in a state where I could wave good morning to the mountains on my way to the dining hall for breakfast.

But I didn’t find what I was looking for there. Yes, I learned a host of lessons about independence and introspection, but I didn’t feel at home.

It became very clear to me that I needed to try again, and I thank myself for realizing and acting on that every single day I spend here at the University.

Naturally, it took some trial and error here too — with classes, dating, friends and part-time jobs. But never with writing.

No matter what insurmountable obstacles I faced, I suddenly had journalism to fall back on. I could lose myself in telling other people’s stories when the weight of the world got a little too heavy for my shoulders.

It wasn’t just the work, though. It was the people. For the first time in my college career, I felt at home. I was surrounded by a group who felt as excited about covering Election Day from dawn to dusk as I did.

At The DI, I found passion. I found camaraderie and my senior-year roommates. I found experiences that permanently imprinted themselves in my memories. I uncovered my place. 

I truly believe that I wouldn’t have discovered any of this without my time in Vermont. For me, transferring was about continuing to search for myself, and I wouldn’t be the same person I am today without the less successful year I spent pursuing that mission.

I don’t regret anything. If I could go back and do it all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing. Every lesson I learned in Vermont I took back to Illinois, and every lesson I’ve learned at the University has shaped me into the person I am today. The person I can smile back at in the mirror, knowing I tried my absolute hardest. And that effort paid off.

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