One more year to go...

I am sitting in the empty newsroom, waiting for my shuttle to the airport. It is lonely without the buzz and chatter of the people who have become my family. The walls are practically glowing with the energy of millions of crises, of late night dance parties and the slamming of doors. My skin crawls with it; the stress, the exhaustion, the joy of working every night to print words that will be read by thousands. 

Two quarters ago I was oblivious to double trucks, CMYK and the proper use of alumni. Managing an entire staff of people — some of the craziest and most creative I have ever met — was not part of my plan. Yelling, threatening to fire writers and snapping at people to do their jobs did not come naturally to me. Being an authoritative figure did not come naturally at all. But I got the hang of it, and now I have to leave that persona for someone else to take on. 

Once a managing editor, always a managing editor, however. Even when we were leaving Thursday night to celebrate, I was the one helping shuffle people into cars. I made copies of the directions and counted heads. My job was done and yet it had become a part of me. Making everything run smoothly, that's what I'm here for. 

I survived the quarter. In fact, I flourished.