The other day, my mom forwarded me a copy of my fifth grade newspaper. The Bulldog Bulletin was a monthly club that I eagerly joined at the old age of 11. My parents were likely the only readers, but it was my first introduction to student journalism — a world I would not escape for the next 11 years. I dreamt a lot about who I might become as a journalist, what stories I might uncover, what truth I would speak to power. From then on, I was always a part of some sort of student publication, joining my middle school newspaper and my high school yearbook. My next step was natural and I joined the Chronicle the second month of freshman year of college. What I’m trying to say is, I dreamed of being a journalist for a very long time.

Generally, I’m a big dreamer. I used to lie in bed and fill my head with all the hypotheticals of what life could be, imagining my future husband and family, wondering what it would be like to get into my dream college. Once I joined the Chronicle, a new dream formed: I wanted to be the Editor-in-Chief. 

Slowly but surely, I learned to let some of these things go. When I realized I was gay, I knew the family I had dreamed of and the religion that gave me that dream was no longer accessible to me. I took my college rejections a bit harder than most people likely do — I sobbed for days.

At the Chronicle, I spent three years on the news desk, making incredible memories, amazing friends and I hope at least decent work. However, through my time as a writer and desk editor, I realized how absolutely taxing journalism was. I felt constantly on edge, like I was missing a story. I couldn’t enjoy being a student because every event I attended, I felt I needed to cover, and I was constantly tired. Even student journalism was riddled with burnout and stress. I simply did not want to sacrifice so much for a potential career. At the news desk, I let go of my dream of being a journalist. 

Through everything, somehow, I got to be Editor-in-Chief. While it was the result of years of hard work and dedication, a year later, I’m still surprised that I accomplished one of my dreams. 

Honestly, It’s been a really hard year. I’m not convinced I’ve fulfilled a single goal I set out to accomplish. I have disappointed people, forgotten deadlines, struggled to handle conflicts and shed a lot of tears. It was nothing what I dreamt it would be. As the year progressed, I became less amazed that I achieved my goal and more burdened with the depth and breadth of things I had to handle as if this was my full-time job. It was unlikely and unrealistic for me to do all the things I dreamt of. I did not revolutionize the Chronicle — I can only hope that I left it slightly better than when I found it. 

In many ways, although I initially achieved it, I had to let go of this dream too, and in doing so, I found so much more than a single position could ever give me. I realized that I was valuable and worthy despite my accomplishments or lack thereof and that joy and rest were ultimately more important than anything I would put on my resume.

Sure, I have dreams still, but they look more like having a job that ends at five and going on long walks during spring. They look like nurturing my friendships and letting myself be creative without judgment. In letting go of my dreams, I have found that my productivity is the least important thing about me, that I do not need to move to some crazy big city to be happy and that life should be simple and calm. Sometimes dreams are meant to be just that, only dreams. 

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