After four years of reporting and editing your stories, I can’t believe the time has finally come to write mine. I spent more hours in The D’s offices than the library, FoCo, even my own room — first as a staff reporter, and last year as executive editor. I read hundreds of stories and interviews in my tenure, and it was through this nightly routine that I finally felt invested in Dartmouth. I read your harrowing tales of sexual assault, your efforts to start clubs, your complaints about DDS, your frustrations with the administration and your hopes and dreams. You expressed apathy, passion, excitement, distress, sarcasm, distaste — the list goes on. I learned so much about all of you, but I learned even more about me.
Over the past four years I often forgot how lucky I was to be on this campus, surrounded by so many brilliant and interesting people. Being on The D’s directorate meant more to me than I would have ever imagined. Not only did I discover that I wanted to pursue journalism after graduating, but I learned that Dartmouth is a place worth fighting for, in spite of its imperfections.
I came to Dartmouth assuming I would hop on the corporate recruiting hamster wheel. Many of my friends did, and they have fantastic jobs, so congratulations to all of you for your secure futures and large paychecks. If you had told my freshman self that I would be pursuing journalism after college, she would have laughed in your face. In fact, if you had told my freshman self about the ways I would grow and mature here, especially in Robo, she might not have believed you. I had a very different vision of the kind of person I’d be at Dartmouth — outdoorsy, constantly wearing flair, quirky!
I flirted with quitting The Dartmouth too many times to count. The editors demanded so much, and I struggled to balance writing one story per week with my classes and social life. But by my freshman spring I had somehow eased into the non-routine of being a reporter on The D, and even made some friends along the way. But more importantly, I realized that reporting was a fantastic outlet for what my friends call my “persistent” personality. Being relentless and a little bit annoying actually makes for well-reported stories. I was consistently amazed by what people would say if I called or approached them and said I worked for The Dartmouth. In class I was a shy homesick freshman, but for the one or two days a week when I wrote stories I became courageous and bold. I could approach anyone — students, administrators, professors, politicians — and ask them whatever I wanted.
Fast forward to January 2013, when I made the not-so-smooth transition from staff reporter to executive editor. I was no longer just a student, but a leader and full-time journalist, although for the first few months I felt more like a nocturnal zombie roaming campus. I slept with my phone next to my pillow, ringer on loud, so I would always be ready for breaking news or disaster. Such as at 6:30 a.m. on a winter morning when I received a call that I had messed up terribly in sending the paper to the printer and that our paper deliverers had no paper to deliver. Or when I tried to catch up on my sleep deficit on a weekend night, only to receive a phone call that students had protested the Dimensions show.
Once I joined the directorate, I spent nearly every night of the week in Robo. After finally adjusting to my new sleep schedule, I realized that I couldn’t get enough of breaking news. One of my favorite memories of college was our directorate’s chaotic effort to beat the administration in breaking that classes were canceled following threats Dimensions protesters received. This effort involved a frenzied series of texts and emails, me cornering my professor during a 10-minute break in class to get a final source and a confusing series of headlines as we all scrambled to coordinate while sitting in 2As.
The second floor of Robinson Hall was my home. I met many of my closest friends and mentors in The D’s offices. I made some of the toughest decisions I have ever had to make sitting at my desk in the production room and laughed the hardest I’ve ever laughed during our delirious late nights.
Headlines abound questioning the usefulness of an institution like this one. Why go to college when we can take classes online? Is $250,000 worth it? What is the point of a liberal arts education? After four years here, at the very least I know there are no tidy answers. For me the value of this place did not lie solely in the classroom, although I would be remiss to neglect how much I learned from my professors.
Dartmouth’s value lies in its ability to connect some of the greatest minds in the world, both inside the classroom and out. Most of my education took place in Robinson Hall. The D’s offices brought together hundreds of people with diverse academic and personal experiences, who taught me about journalism and life. It was there that I learned to write quickly and clearly, to be skeptical of people and institutions and to probe deep beneath the surface of ordinary events. I learned to trust my instincts, to ignore people who say something can’t be done and that sometimes failure is perfectly okay.
I am sad to leave Dartmouth but not scared. This place gave me the courage to pursue my passion and a wonderful set of friends who have supported me in doing so. My friend recently explained to me the “leave no trace” philosophy, as it applies to relationships. You should aim to leave someone as good or better than you found them. In my four-year relationship with Dartmouth and The Dartmouth, I think I can say I am better than they found me.
