Nostalgia

As I teach a unit on media and the messages presented by media to a grade 8 class in Beijing, I can't help but be reminded of my first real gig as a journalist.

I was partway through my third year at St. Thomas University when I got my first crack at an assignment at an actual newspaper. It led to my first full time job the following summer and to what I thought, at the time, would be a long and fruitful career.

This was incorrect.

About a year after the paper opened, it shut its doors.

I'm thinking about it a lot because I've been using stories from my portfolio as exemplars for my students. They are writing interviews and I am giving them my professional writing as examples of format and style.

I have come a long way. My writing and editing has improved ten-fold and I am picking out errors in stories from 2008 that make me groan in 2012.

I am certainly still proud with this work, especially stories like this one where I spoke with Curt Wetmore about his three-week trip to Thailand among others (links will be at the end...in case you would like to peruse my old words -- I have touched them up a tad).

It's interesting to look back and be reminded of something I once felt very strongly about -- and discovering that it may mean just as much now.

Re-reading my long form final piece from journalism school The Death of the Carleton FreePress I recognize some things that I could have done better with it. I should have spoken to Rob Perkins (the former editor from before I arrived) and I should have fought to speak with someone from Brunswick News, and especially Ken Langdon.

Langdon was too busy at the time I was trying to put the story together. He never answered his phone. Perkins probably could have been reached and maybe if I pressed harder I could have gotten someone at BNI to give me his or her perspective on the happenings.

I made a judgment call to write a profile on the staff and how our relationships formed and how it appeared to us as the paper reached its nadir. I am incredibly proud with how it turned out but it could have been more; it could have been something special.

The Carleton FreePress is mostly forgotten now; a distant memory. It's a casual conversation piece that starts with "remember when." I'm not entirely bitter, I swear I'm not...I'm just disappointed in myself that I didn't fight harder for that career.

I've dabbled in it since, and even had a full time gig at the Bugle-Observer in Woodstock and a freelance one at the Daily Gleaner in Fredericton. Something didn't click. It wasn't the staff, they were incredible. Jim Dumville is the best boss I've ever had in my life. Bryan Tait, Jeffrey Bento-Carrier, Peter MacIntosh, Devon Judge, and fellow FreePress alumnus Allison Adair were joys to work with in the editorial side of things. In fact, everyone at the paper with whom I had regular contact helped make it a great working environment.

Before being offered the full time job, and while I was freelancing for the Gleaner, I applied to education school at St. Thomas University...my alma mater. Ultimately, a few months into my job at the Bugle, I got accepted to school and worked my way through the summer looking ahead to change. It was difficult to keep my head in the journalism game as I thought about the impending finish. I still worked hard but had grown to dislike court reporting (which I did every week) and I'll admit my attitude suffered down the stretch.

I hope it doesn't seem like sour grapes, it's just that I am recognizing my own shortcomings at a job where I still have so much to give. Before moving to Beijing, I had started freelancing again at the Bugle-Observer and I wrote one of my favourite articles yet (hopefully I can grab a copy and post it).

Then I was whisked away to a new, mysterious place half a world away. How could I pass up this opportunity? Easy answer: I couldn't...so I didn't.

As I teach this course, my heart swells with nostalgia. I think of the Carleton FreePress and the incredible feeling it gave me at the time. I think of journalism school, which nearly broke my love of the job but prepared me for it in ways I was possibly unaware of until now. I think of my colleagues who have moved on to God knows where (I can't track down Bob Rupert, my FreePress editor). I think of how I was the first (other than Gleaner reporter Adam Bowie) to get a full time job while in j-school and how many never continued in the business.

I'll return to journalism, I know this. The best part is that pursuing my bachelor of education and teaching english and journalism has helped make me a better writer and editor.

For now I'll bask in the glow of nostalgic feelings as I read old work and shudder at rookie mistakes. It was the time of my life.

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Snowfall

It snowed overnight.

Before I came to Beijing I was informed that while the winters get very dry and cold, the snow mostly holds off. Waking up Sunday morning to see the soccer field outside my window with a patchy quilt of snow was somewhat surprising, but also comforting.

I am no fan of winter, or so I've claimed since I was young. I've longed for year-round summers or autumns. I've hoped the eternal chill of December through February would not rear its head. I've wished that global warming would hurry the hell up. And yet I couldn't help but smile when I looked out the window.

Could I be homesick? I've wondered this, and I think the answer is yes...and no. I miss the people, I miss live sports, and I miss movies opening on their scheduled weekend (though never a guarantee in New Brunswick). I know, however, that I would feel like I was missing something. The problem is, even on the other side of the world I still feel that nagging void. I came here to see if this would pacify it; to see if it would help. In some cases it has, and will continue. Seeing the Great Wall, walking the streets of Shanghai, finding a Tapas Bar down an alley that shows old movies on Tuesday nights, losing myself to the call of karaoke each have fueled a joy and I expect travels to Vietnam and Cambodia and possibly Thailand to do the same.

It is an amazing experience that I will never regret. I will see things that many of my friends never will. No matter where I go, no one will be able to take these away from me. I look at those who have built lives here over the years, and while I don't think I'm exactly jealous I do yearn to be able to do the same somewhere. Stability is an attractive concept, and I haven't found it yet.

When my thoughts swirl and I question my existence on this floating sphere, I retreat into the world of movies. Those close to me, and probably everyone who has ever met me for more than a minute, know that I am obsessed with film. In one leg of town, Sanlitun, there is a DVD shop. I don't plan on rebuilding a collection but the price is right. I bought 11 DVDs and spent around $20 Canadian. Good news: so far they all work! This whole weekend, with the exception of a few excursions out and about, has been a movie weekend. Not a bad thing, it's how I cope with life. That sounds depressing, but it's not. Movies, good and bad, help me form connections to the world. They get me thinking about different mindsets and perceptions. Movies are not a break from reality, they enhance it. The casual moviegoer will never get this, and will probably think I'm certifiable. In fact, I feel kind of silly even writing that.

I stood with a coffee looking out the window at the freshly fallen snow. I felt like I was back home. But what, and where, is home? I don't know the answer to that question yet.