a final “journey paper” for Media Ethics course, written August 28, 2025

            This whole thing was born out of a sense of profound weariness; it was my panicked answer to a year of continuous failure, my attempt to avoid further ego death. Or, perhaps, it was the spark of spirit that survives that death and peeks its head out of its own ashes before taking flight as something new. Maybe it was just the culmination of a premature midlife crisis and economic slump that made me do it. Regardless – here I am: back in college at 38 years old. Not just college, either, but, specifically, a journalism major. Once upon a time, when I was young and ambitious, I dreamed of a career in journalism. Or law. Or politics. “It’s all the same thing,” my high-school best friend said when I called her about my existential crisis (“Which thing should I major in, though? Which thing was I best at when we were young?”).

            It’s all the same thing. Journalism. Law. Politics. Me, now, and who I used to be, and the me I was along the way – we are all the same. The same ambition that won me the then-prestigious National First Amendment Award for my work as a high school newspaper editor is the same that led me through a career of founding all these nonprofits . . . and it is the same ambitious spirit that pulled me off my knees when I lost funding, helped me secure work, and forced me to enroll in UMPI.

Unfortunately, along with that ambition comes a hefty dose of PTSD, thanks to a clinically traumatic childhood. So, the circumstances surrounding my decades-ago dropout and my current re-enrolment are heavy and sad, and they have heavily and sadly influenced my work thus far.

This course, an introduction to Professional Communication and Journalism, has been a mentally harrowing trial, which is a stark contrast to the enthusiasm and joy I brought in and hoped to feel. Rather than jumping in and flying through coursework, I was bogged down with troubled thoughts and weeks of anxiety-induced inaction. My first article attempts were ill received and poorly written – an early failure that should have catalyzed my characteristic resilience but instead paralyzed me.

When I finally regained momentum for this course, I added it onto a Summer Session with the attitude of a last-ditch effort to get myself together. It is a testament to that inner spirit spark that I was able to draw to myself candid, intimate, inspiring people to interview for my first two Milestones of four University Times articles. These interviews and the subsequent encouragement from the friends and loved ones who saw my efforts revitalized me.

My primary mental struggle this “season” has been hopelessness: why bother? My therapist says this is because I never imagined I would live so long. She’s probably right.

As I raced and rushed toward the finish line, toward the end of Summer Sessions, dread resettled around my faculties. I realized I had to drop my other Communications course because it required a series of real-life focus groups (which I very much wanted to conduct alongside my nonprofit coalition work, which wouldn’t convene until Fall Sessions). My Biology course was shockingly more involved and workload-heavy than anticipated, and I was teetering on the edge of dropping one more course during Final Draft Week. I felt like I had failed at life (again) and knew that if I couldn’t achieve at least one A (or, for goodness’ sake, a passing grade at all, perfect GPA be damned) this summer, I would not be able to forgive myself.

This was the state of the inside of my head when the feedback from my Milestone 2 articles rolled in. The warm reception and encouragement heartened me a final time. I had hit my stride – it was confirmed – if there was one thing I historically, logically knew I could do, it was write my way across the finish line.

At this point, it’s fair to say that I was resigned to finishing this course, but the motivation to do so was directionless. I was, as I had been for weeks or months, disassociated about it. Doing it . . . but not really in it.

This was until I reached Milestone 3, wherein had to watch All the President’s Men and Spotlight, plus the Pulitzer photojournalism short films. These movies roused my spirit-spark. They reminded me of younger me all dressed up in a suit to argue a case before a judge as captain of my Mock Trial Team. They reminded me of the version of me that delivered speeches, won awards, and cared a lot about what went on in the world. I saw myself in the characters on the screen and was moved to actual tears looking back at the history of award-winning photographs. My written reactions were visceral and passionate pre-manifestos that sounded like matured echoes of ambitions long forgotten . . . I was remembering why I want to write, and it took the reminder of what is wrong with our country to jolt me there.

From there, the First Amendment Essay for Milestone 4 was a labor of love. I had already become familiar with the University Library System and had begun thinking quite a bit about Freedom in preparation for a different English Composition course. I appreciated the specific guidance of this prompt because it dramatically narrowed the scope of my research and brought me to an intuitive couple of sources whittled from a larger list of favorites. My process was to roughly frame the paper (four freedoms, each with interpretations, famous cases, and importance sections) and then scour my reference books’ introductions, selected chapters, and indexes to find meaningful quotations that explored my thesis and supported my confirmation bias. Once I had a ton of content mapped out, I began writing – again, an intuitive process – and crossing out the sources as I used them. While I was crafting the paper, I kept exclaiming things like “Oh, man! That is so good.”

I was impressed not only by how well the work came together and was received, but also, even more so, at how perfectly the references spoke to my own inner longings. My not give a fuck was on overdrive, but somehow the exact readings I chose for these final milestones inspired me to care – not just enough to finish the papers, but to lose myself in visions of future Pulitzers . . . something that has not happened since my “once upon a time.” It seems my fucks were hiding in the First Amendment.

Earlier today, or yesterday, rather, as it is now after 1 a.m., I researched and wrote the last paper on Media Ethics for Milestone 5 in this Intro to Journalism course. Again, I was humbled or validated, moved or inspired, pleased or blessed by the selection of references I used. Each one spoke to my intimate concerns – to infringement upon our personhood and freedoms and what we can do about it – in such a perfect way that it almost felt like the paper wrote itself. Maybe my research was that good, or maybe I continue to be disassociated. It is the middle of the night, after all.

My approach to Media Ethics was the same as to the freedoms paper: start with an intuitive search for sources, frame the paper with meaningful quotations, and then weave the pieces together. My search for an academic source led me to a book on the ethics and implications of “Nudging,” or using media to influence the thoughts and behaviors of individuals on a personal and collective scale. What I learned about The People’s Republic of China will haunt me – it will haunt me and it will motivate me. In China, the government has implemented an inescapable, citizen-wide digital monitoring and social currency system . . . and it would make George Orwell clutch his pearls.

The book diligently pointed out that nudging could be used to any end (not just malevolence). The authors urged vigilance and robust practice of exercising free will and freedoms. They seemed to challenge me, personally, not just to continue being “aware” of media-manipulation, but to take control of the narrative. Through this process, I realized or remembered that I already have the skills to nudge us in a different direction, and I am being called to start doing so right now.

As I reflect about the journey of this course, started in Summer Session 1 and withdrawn, only to be chaotically and hopefully finished at the last minute of Summer Session 2, I am asking myself several things: was it worth it, what have I learned, am I proud of what I’ve done, and what will I do now?

Yes. It was absolutely worth the push to the end; though I am tired, the weariness now feels earned, instead of hopeless. It’s a tired-from-trying kind of empty, rather than a too-tired-to-care kind of empty. I have learned a lot about the functionality of the First Amendment and my avenues of change and will be placing a renewed emphasis on being a government watchdog now that I have been reminded of the history of triumphant reporting in our country. I am proud of myself for wanting this again, and more so for understanding it in a new way.

Had I finished college twenty years ago on the heels of my impressive academic life and depressive personal upbringing, I would have missed twenty years of becoming. As strongly-held and seemingly liberty-driven as my early ambitions were, they lacked real-life maturity and motivation. I knew the world was broken and I wanted to change it with my words – but instead, I spent twenty years living in it with my ideas, actions, and projects sometimes winning and sometimes losing. I learned firsthand what bureaucratic overreach and endless red tape looks like, I can feel a media nudge like a sledgehammer, and my anti-war sentiment is now armed with the power of motherhood.

What will I do? Hand in this final project. March myself through the rest of the academic year whether or not I wake up sad, lonely, or apathetic. I will remind myself that it’s all the same thing, and that I was meant for this. My career isn’t going to change overnight this time, and that’s okay with me. It has to be okay – this type of work, legacy work, heart work, world-changing, risky, loud work, takes some endurance. Endurance that is, slowly, book by book, source by source, course by course, replacing my weariness.