In 2000, a few big things happened in my life. I graduated from journalism school, and shortly after that, I moved to Guyana with the Peace Corps.
I was terrified.
But I also knew I’d regret it if I didn’t stick it out. After all, I thought at the time, if I’m going to spend the rest of my life telling other people’s stories, I want to have some of my own, too.
That. Was. So. Naive.
The last 20 years have been one story after another. A lot of them are mine. Some I’m lucky enough to get to tell.
I got my first real newsroom job in 2003. I got my first digital job in 2008. I started covering news about the news for Poynter in 2013.
In the last 20 years, I also met my husband (I lived in his village, aptly named Adventure, in Guyana). Had my first kid (he’s now 12 and has a broken arm just in time for the holidays). Had my second kid (she’s now 9 and loves Harry Potter). Lost my dad (he would have been my most loyal newsletter reader, after my mom). Lost my father-in-law (he would have loved coming to the United States for the first time). Moved across the country. Wrote two books about things to do in Tampa Bay. Learned how to keep my sanity on social media. And I visited about 12 different countries.
What have the 2000s been like for you?
What stories did you tell?
What stories were your own?
What have you learned?
What do you want to learn?
I’m not planning to publish your answers, but the end of the year/decade feels like a good time to look back before moving ahead. If this is a good space to do that, then please go ahead.
This has nothing to do with our regularly scheduled programming on figuring out what’s working and what’s next in local news. Except it kind of does. I hear from a lot of you, both here, on social media and in person — how much you love working in local news, how much you believe in that work and how hard you’re working on ensuring its future.
The 2000s have been rough on local news.
But local journalists still told stories that changed laws and lives.
And many people made the job of creating new places and finding new ways to tell those stories their own.
It’s terrifying, but worth sticking out.
A black water lake on the Essequibo Coast of Guyana in September of 2019. (Photo by Kristen Hare)
While you’re here:
That is it for me for the next few weeks. I’ll be back in 2020 and hope to see you then, too. I hope your holidays are special, your stories satisfying and your new year a promising one.
See you soon!
