The Dream We're Sold. The Reality We Get.

In college, I studied the dying science of print journalism. 

I’ve always been a self-starter and a go-getter, but journalism school magnified those traits to a near fever pitch. Everywhere I went, I was looking for story ideas or opportunities. My junior year, I worked for the school newspaper AND a local weekly paper (because one part-time job wasn’t enough for a full-time student). 

I don’t regret the hustle, but my life is slower now. Settled. And I miss the excitement and busyness of college, the behind-the-scenes pass I got as a student reporter. 

I actually started my first full-time job before graduation. The local daily paper hired me as a copy editor/page designer. I laid out the pages of the paper and copyedited everything before it was sent to the press. The pay was laughable. The hours, dismal. But I was proud of myself for landing a coveted role in the journalism industry. 

At the same time, I was finishing up my senior honors thesis, planning my wedding, emotionally supporting my fiance through the police academy, preparing to move permanently from South Carolina to Central Virginia, and wrapping up my degree. There was so much concurrent change, and I realized I didn’t want to be working second shift or getting paid less than what I’d make at a retail job. 

A few weeks into my training, I accepted a marketing job that paid nearly twice as much as the paper. Insurance premiums wouldn’t consume nearly half of my paycheck. I would work regular business hours, and I wouldn’t have to work on Thanksgiving or Christmas (the news never sleeps!). 

So I talked to my supervisor and let her know things weren’t working out. She understood and was incredibly kind about the whole situation, despite me feeling terrible about leaving just two weeks into the job. The editor of the paper who hired me was less than pleased. My journalism professors gave me a little bit of a hard time, and I don’t blame them, but I do blame the college, maybe even higher education in general, for selling a dream. 

As a student, I dreamed of spending every day in town, tracking down interesting stories and having conversations with interesting people. I didn’t anticipate being in a windowless office until midnight, working weekends and holidays for pennies. 

In school, we learned about the greats like Bob Woodward, Carl Bernstein, and Nellie Bly — journalists who made a big difference in their field and changed the world through their investigations and dedication to truth. We went on field trips to the Newseum in Washington, D.C., and watched films like All the President’s Men and Spotlight. I had opportunities to write stories about events on campus as well as in the community. At one point, I even interviewed the mayor of the city. 

And if I’d stuck with the job at the paper, I probably would have been able to work my way into a reporter job. Maybe move to a larger market and make a bit more. Fulfill my dreams of becoming a world-changing journalist. But at what cost?

I would have started my marriage working second shift, which would have conflicted horribly with my husband’s rotating schedule. We would never have seen each other. Not to mention the financial aspect. 

At the end of the day, I chose my marriage, financial security, and comfort over an exciting career in journalism, and I’m glad I did. However, from time to time, I feel disillusioned about the whole thing. 

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For the first eighteen years of my life, I prepped for college. I went to a school with the sole focus of preparing students for academic success in higher education, and all but three of my classmates went straight to college after graduation. (They took a gap year but still ended up going.) Then for the next four years, I studied to become a journalist. But more than that, I studied to change the world. 

I went to a large Christian university that prides itself on “Training Champions for Christ,” and a secondary motto of the university is, “if it’s Christian, it ought to be better.” And I’ve lived my life that way — as if I ought to be better because I’m a Christian. And while I’m ashamed to admit it, this way of thinking grew in me a superiority complex I still wrestle with. 

College is a unique time in life because you’re trying new things and exploring the world, but life after graduation isn’t like that. There's a sameness to each day that I’m still trying to get used to. Oftentimes, I feel like I’m doing something wrong when I’m not trying new things and meeting new people each day. Like my world is too small and I’m not a big enough “Champion for Christ.” I’m not changing the world from my corner of Central Virginia. 

The more I sit with my feelings of disillusionment, the more I realize it doesn’t matter if I’m changing the world or being a “Champion for Christ” or bringing my absolute best to every moment of every day — that's an impossible standard. Futhermore, God doesn’t call us to do those things. He simply commands us to love him and love other people. 

[Jesus] said to him, “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the greatest and most important command. The second is like it: Love your neighbor as yourself. All the Law and the Prophets depend on these two commands.” — Matthew 22:37-40

If we love God and love others, everything else will fall into place. It doesn’t matter what industry I'm in or how successful I am. God doesn’t care if I become an award-winning journalist or climb the corporate ladder. He doesn’t care if I publish this blog on time or finish my book. None of my accomplishments impact his love for me. Nothing I achieve will make him love me any more or less than he does right now — enough to give himself up so we don't have to be separated by sin and Godlessness and death. God gave everything for me before I ever took my first breath. There is no more love for him to give or me to earn because he has already and is constantly pouring out his bottomless love. Christ's love is in a state of perpetual overflow.

My husband and I are practical and frugal — both good traits to have. But they don’t make God favor us, and frankly, God doesn’t care. If we aren’t loving him before anyone or anything else, we can’t abide in him. Only when we abide in him do we begin to see the sameness in each day as a canvas for opportunity. Only when we abide in him do we become the best version of ourselves, aligning more closely to the person and character of Christ. Only when we abide in him do we begin to change the world — not through our own power, but his. 

We are vehicles for the love, grace, and mercy of the Lord — a reality that can’t be oversold and will never result in disillusionment.