MEGHAN GUATTERY
Managing Editor
Confucius once said, “Choose a job you love, and you will never have to work a day in your life.”
My dad has probably reiterated these words to me 1,008 times.
I always knew what he meant, I could just never really figure what I love.
I have never had a job that I didn’t love at least a little bit, even if that was just the actual thought itself of working.
I have essentially been employed since I turned 16: feeding barn animals, selling jewelry and busing tables. I have done it all.
I thrive on the thought of having a jam-packed schedule every day. I love waking up in the morning and having to scroll through my calendar to be able to see all the things I have to do for the day. Free time drives me nuts and remaining stationary for more than five minutes makes me twitchy.
After sitting at a desk for half my summer interning with a marketing company in Manhattan, I have assured myself that I will never spend my days working at a desk (or in a “cube farm,” as my dad likes to call it).
The world moves far too quickly. If you can’t keep up, you will get walked all over.
Journalism is quite literally the following of the world. Perhaps matched only by the stock market, it changes and moves quicker than just about any other profession. You’re reporting what the people need to know in as timely a manner as possible.
One minute, you’re covering a middle school soccer game. The next, you’re running across town to a house fire.
If you’re late with a story, you won’t get readers. If you don’t get readers, the paper doesn’t make any money. If the paper doesn’t make any money, you don’t have a job.
It took me longer than I would have liked, but I found what I love.
The work never stops, and, to be completely honest, I love it. I thrive on it.
Of course, there are days where I want to stop, when I want to slow down and take a breather. Even on days where I do get to take some time off from working, I’m still thinking about it.
I’ve spent countless nights at parties and bars being harassed by my friends to tell them what’s wrong with me.
Nothing is wrong. I’m usually just thinking about all the things I will have to do the next day and how I will get them done — because I WILL get them done.
I am the definition of a workaholic.