There’s been a number of things keeping me quiet for the last few weeks, chief among them my overly-ambitious work schedule for this semester and a growing sense of frustration with my progress towards my degree. I won’t talk too much about the latter here, as I still have my fingers crossed that the situation will resolve itself in time.
But here’s a story I do want to share: today I was sitting in the journalism lounge when a soft-spoken girl approached to ask if my name was Elle. Before answering, I prepared myself for battle, assuming it was a student coming to complain about the recent test in the class for which I TA. Instead, the girl told me that I had been her tour guide two years previously when she’d come to visit MU. She’d decided to come here because of the attention I’d paid to her and her family, staying long after the tour to answer their questions and even walk them across campus to their next destination. I’m sorry to say I don’t remember her. I was a Journalism Ambassador for five semesters, the longest almost anyone ever serves, and I often made time for perspective students and their families. That little exchange – it lasted no more than 30 seconds – not only brightened my day, but it restored my outlook for the next several months.
I can’t take credit for bringing this girl to the Missouri School of Journalism. The program here is unparalleled and speaks for itself. But there was a story I used to tell when kids asked me where else I applied and how I made my decision. The truth is, I didn’t want to come to MU. I practically had to be dragged here kicking and screaming. I wanted to go to school on the coast (everywhere else I applied was at least 1,000 miles from home). I thought I had my ticket out when I got a partial scholarship to Emerson College in Boston. But when my FAFSA package came up woefully short and my dad refused to help me pay for college if I went out of state, I wept bitterly as I mailed in my acceptance to MU. Coming here was contrary to the advice everyone but my parents – my friends, my favorite teachers, my guidance counselor – offered me. It was also the best decision I ever made.
Sure, I suffered through the litany of general education classes. (Most of them left me wanting to gouge out my eyeballs.) But then the stars aligned – really, my AP credit came through – and I surpassed most of those liberal arts classes. Once I got into the j-school, I never looked back. I found professors that cared, students whose passion for journalism rivaled my own and professional experience to which the other programs I had considered paled. And even though I’m usually the first to call PR bullshit what it is, I joined the j-school tour team to tell in-state students it’s okay, your neighborhood university really can provide the education you need.
A few months ago, recent convergence grad Juana Summers wrote a glowing endorsement of the School of Journalism. Her words echo my own feelings beautifully, and I see no need for a repeat blog. But here I want to preserve that little moment where a perfect stranger thanked me for changing her life, and in turn, changed mine.
