Telling other people’s stories is difficult enough. Where do I even start with my own? I’ve always said I write better than I talk, and in terms of sports, the two I’m best at are bowling and disc golf (and that’s being generous with the definition). So there was sports journalism, an endeavor I succeeded in, failed at, and accomplished everything in-between these last four years with The Daily Iowan. 

My time at the DI was an absolute privilege. Traveling across the country, from College Park to Pasadena, to cover football and basketball games are opportunities that not enough professionals have these days. It’s astonishing to list off all the stadiums I’ve reported from. I don’t have an exact sports fan bucket list, but I’ll have plenty of items checked off before I begin. 

Covering a white-out game at Penn State, a football Big Ten Championship at Lucas Oil Stadium, a March Madness game from the sidelines — despite all the datelines, it doesn’t seem real. Yet in the moment, I always try to act like I’ve been there before. There’s no cheering in the press box, after all. But beneath the suppressed emotion is pressure. Not the same one athletes and coaches feel —  they’re trying to win.

 The result doesn’t matter to me, even if it involves the team I’ll cheer on forever. I’m more concerned with telling the best story possible, accurately and compellingly explaining what happened, who someone is, or why such a thing exists. This aspiration scares me at times. People give me the time and trust to speak for them, and while I’m grateful, I’ll question how I can live up to that responsibility. 

I’ve felt out of my league interviewing future professional athletes and legendary coaches, but what pushes me past my doubts is humanity. No one is out of reach, and with enough time, everyone can be understood. I want every story I write to be a human one. 

The reporting aspect of journalism is certainly social, but the writing aspect definitely isn’t. I would love to say I love writing, but it’s lonely. I throw my phone on Do Not Disturb, lock myself in the library, and listen to past conversations that the other person probably forgot about. Traveling to cover football sounds glamorous until you’re staring at a blank screen and blinking cursor alone in a hotel room well past midnight. At those tiring, frustrating moments, you wonder if it’s worth it. Until you find reason to keep going. I still remember Logan Jones’ mom thanking me for the profile I wrote on her son. To her and everyone who appreciated my work, it means so much knowing what I do makes a difference. 

I don’t tend to remember actually writing a story, but that makes sense because memories aren’t made alone. My time at the DI is only special because of who I shared it with. From road trips where I subjected too many to classic rock, Star Wars, and questionable driving skills, to countless unproductive hours of conversation and jokes in the newsroom, I couldn’t have done this job without my coworkers, many of whom I’m happy to call my friends. The DI was a place I always felt welcome. If I was looking for a laugh or searching for a smile, I always could find one with y’all.

There’s too many people to thank, but to those who came before me, I learned so much. And for those who are sticking around after me, I hope I taught you something. I’m so lucky to have people who believe in me, especially my parents. Mom, I’m not sure if I’ll ever write a book. Dad, I don’t think I could ever be a lawyer. But with the kindness and work ethic you instilled in me, I know I’ll be alright wherever my future leads me. 

As the timeless Tom Brands once told me, “Print that.”