Is journalism right for me?
I have thought for so long that it’s true.
Any time so one would ask me what I wanted to do I had the answer ready to
Spring out out, quick as a whip.
Ready with a quip
About how prepared I am or how my skill set closely aligns with the profession
Blah Blah Blah
They would always tell me how lucky I am to know.
But do I?
Will I get slumped into monotony, exciting at first but quickly a bore?
You will never work a day in your life if you do what you love.
But do I love it? Would I get down on one knee for it?
Settle down and have a bunch of revelations with Lady Truth?
Or will we last for about two years, have a messy divorce and leave me with nothing
Would she get my passion as well as the house when she leaves?
Barren and alone.
The fruits of my labor are irrelevant in any other position.
A profession measured in results that become useless elsewhere.
My skill set is good for journalism
I am good at what I do
But it is exhausting to never be good enough
But doing it enough will help me learn.
Getting too close to the burning sun of the newsroom can be deadly.
Being there too often will burn me out.
Icarus of the realm.
Balance is key.
My fear is I will be unhappy if I do not have enough vertical movement at the station,
If I see myself falling behind
But the same creeping displeasure will expand
If I am always entrapped within the newsroom fortress.
Maybe I can invest in a canoe
So I can traverse the castle’s moat whenever I please.