The Ides of March are on the precipice, and I am out of a job.
Like a warm spring breeze to winter’s calloused face, I am full of feels for the job I occupied for three years. With the completion of my senior year at Olivet College, I will no longer be the editor of our school’s paper, The Echo.
It is a job I occupied for more than 1,095 days; it’s a passion I starved for. It’s too bad I am not full -- just yet.
As a baby-faced freshman, I longed to be the next Pulitzer, the next Hearst. I wanted to change a dying art form – print – and create an audience which looked forward to its weekly reads.
Fast forward to my senior year, with a clock playing tyrannical Tom, and I am no longer stationed in the bottom of the Kirk Center, the college’s cafeteria. I will no longer be dazed by the bright lights of the cramped, four-computer office. The production room that smelled like stale chips, tabloid papers and burnt coffee burps is going to be but a distant memory.