I spent four years in the journalism program doubting I would pursue my degree post-grad, but now my feelings have changed
I vividly remember my first day of journalism school. I took the train an hour early, and hovered around the building I needed to be in to avoid running late. I knew a couple people from orientation and recognized a girl who went to my high school, so I wasn’t totally lost while searching for a familiar face to sit with in class. As we went through the syllabus, we talked about how to be a journalist in today’s society, and we were introduced to the basics of breaking news (the inverted pyramid would become the bane of my existence). Class let out early, so I walked around campus for the first time, soaking in the commotion of each corner of the campus. At some point, I found a cotton-candy station on Gould Street, which I happily lined up for. As I ate my bright pink cotton candy I thought, “I’ll be OK.” Well, I was in for a treat.
For most of my time studying journalism, I didn’t actually like journalism at all. Throughout the summer leading up to me starting university, I had doubts about studying it, but was told by almost everyone in my life to calm down. My feelings were premeditated, and I didn’t have any reason to believe J-school wasn’t the right fit for me. As I navigated my way through my first semester I realized a couple things: I had major interview anxiety, I didn’t want to write breaking news stories, and I genuinely didn’t think I fit in— I wasn’t bright-eyed and bushy-tailed like some of my peers. I didn’t grow up thinking being a journalist was my “calling” and going to journalism school was not something I had dreamed about for years.
The aforementioned cotton candy, and the first photo I ever took on campus. (Heather Taylor-Singh/The Ryersonian)
When I decided I wanted to study journalism in university, it was the fall of Grade 12. A classmate (see above) said she was going to apply to a handful of journalism programs, and of course, Ryerson University was on her list. Her comment stayed with me, and the gears in my head were turning: journalism school. Could I be a journalist? I liked writing, but I didn’t think of writing as a career. Ever since Grade 6, I had decided I wanted to be a photographer or graphic designer and wanted to go to art school— I hadn’t entertained other career paths. I don’t know how my whole post-secondary plan got turned upside down so quickly, but being a journalist seemed more practical than art school (key word: seemed). I applied to a few communications and journalism programs, including Ryerson. A few months later, I was accepted.
While it seemed like a bold decision at the time, growing up, there were clear signs I was meant to study journalism to become a writer. In elementary school, I enjoyed writing short stories and kept a weekly journal to capture my life through a youthful lens. In the spring of 2015, I became a contributor and then a beauty and lifestyle editor for an online magazine I found through Twitter. I wrote about clean beauty, ethical fashion and film— all topics I still enjoy writing about today. I ended up staying on the masthead as a section editor for three years before leaving in early 2018. Throughout high school, I watched The Carrie Diaries and Gilmore Girls, lusting after the lives of both TV show’s female protagonists who were journalists. At one point, I had three print magazine subscriptions at once – Nylon, Teen Vogue and Seventeen, – and I would read all of them page-to-page each month. I didn’t come to these revelations until recently— it was so clear I was meant to be a writer.
Despite this, I sulked through my first couple years of J-school. Throughout my time in the program, there were moments which accurately reflected my visceral feelings towards the experience — having consistent late-night conversations about how I would never be a writer, dropping two of my first-year mandatory courses in an attempt to take control of my studies (but shortly re-enrolling), starting the art school application process at least seven different times yet never going through with it. I didn’t want to hear anyone tell me I wasn’t giving journalism a “chance,” or I was being melodramatic. While I was tired of hearing the former, the latter was kind of true.
While it seemed like a bold decision at the time, growing up, there were clear signs I was meant to study journalism to become a writer. In elementary school, I enjoyed writing short stories and kept a weekly journal to capture my life through a youthful lens. In the spring of 2015, I became a contributor and then a beauty and lifestyle editor for an online magazine I found through Twitter. I wrote about clean beauty, ethical fashion and film— all topics I still enjoy writing about today. I ended up staying on the masthead as a section editor for three years before leaving in early 2018. Throughout high school, I watched The Carrie Diaries and Gilmore Girls, lusting after the lives of both TV show’s female protagonists who were journalists. At one point, I had three print magazine subscriptions at once – Nylon, Teen Vogue and Seventeen, – and I would read all of them page-to-page each month. I didn’t come to these revelations until recently— it was so clear I was meant to be a writer.
Our group won an award for our magazine, Follicle – from left to right: Rosemary, Julia, me, Catherine – (Sophie Diego/Ryerson University)
It wasn’t until third-year when things started to look up for me, and I developed my voice and writing style, which I had been struggling to find. Our course selection was broader, and I realized I could have more freedom in my writing. I slowly got over my interviewing anxiety, and I wrote about topics I found interesting, while still adhering to journalistic practices. I experimented with opinion writing and feature writing. I also took a magazine editing course, which was one of the most fulfilling experiences. These were courses I genuinely found exciting and challenged me as a writer. I learned how to structure an argument, how to be an effective longform storyteller and how to build a magazine from scratch with a team. These concepts shaped how I viewed my writing and made me realize what I wanted to do post-grad: magazine journalism.
A couple of friends told me I should be in the magazine industry, but I brushed their comments off because I didn’t see it. I was so busy complaining about how much I hated journalism, I didn’t even want to think about working in the industry. I wanted to get as far away from writing as possible. When I started taking courses I genuinely enjoyed, I was more receptive to the comments my friends made. I even told a friend of mine a couple months ago, I wanted to go into magazine writing. “I already told you that,” she said. While it took me three years to get there, I’m now secure in my interests and feel confident in my writing.
However, I still didn’t feel fully satisfied. In fourth-year, on a whim, I decided to take a graphic design course at OCAD University, which had been my dream school since high school. I walked into the main building every Wednesday and finally felt like the art student I craved to be. I absorbed every last bit of knowledge from the professor and my peers, and I’m glad I had pursued this experience in my last year. While I don’t intend to be a graphic designer anymore, it was bittersweet to immerse myself in a world I had dreamed about for four years.
A prime reason why you don’t crop headshots, but I didn’t lose my OneCard in four years. (Heather Taylor-Singh/The Ryersonian)
My memories are the strongest when I remember the emotional attachment I had to them, which is why I’m able to recount my J-school experience so clearly. I wonder if this is why we all hang onto memories, no matter how they made us feel, because we know the feeling won’t last forever, and at times, we just want to feel something. As I write this on April 7, 2020, at 2:31 p.m, I’m sad my time in university is rapidly coming to an end. I learned so much about myself, and while I felt like switching programs on many different occasions, I’m grateful I made it through the past four years in journalism. This is the ending of an era, and onto another one which is less certain and kind of scary. I want to say thank you to everyone who listened and believed in me. I was in the right place all along— it just took me four years to realize it.
