Like most students who want to get into a good college, I was desperately looking for another extracurricular to add to my slightly-lacking resume. Sure, I played lacrosse and kept good grades, but my parents were pushing me to consider a class that would force college admissions officers to take a second glance at my application.
Enter: The Harbinger.
The only thing I really knew about the newspaper — besides it winning national awards — was that I would be one of four guys on staff, which wasn’t exactly a pull factor for me. I was extremely shy and soon realized I may have bit off more than I could chew with the amount of work it takes to be on staff.
I started as a writer and designer, staying up until 2 a.m. finishing articles on a deadline night or skipping a math test because it was the only hour my source could interview. I kept my head down, only working with my classmates when I needed edits or help with an InDesign task. While I felt good about my stories, my design work sucked. And in an unintentional turn of events, I eventually got kicked off design staff.
My first year of staff left me feeling burnt out. Not because of the workload, but the anxiety of being on staff. I didn’t feel like I was contributing to the paper as much as everyone else. I almost dropped the class during that summer, but since I’d become close with two upperclassmen, Hassan Sufi and Tristan Chabanis, I decided to stick with it for my junior year.
Now just a lowly staff writer, I wanted something else to fill my time and find my niche. Thankfully I joined the video staff and it was there that I finally started to feel as if my stories matter.
With this new found purpose, the KSPA awards started piling up, Tate used my stories as examples in class and I finally received my greatest honor while on Harbinger — Chuck D. Goldstein — a gold chain given after every print cycle to someone who contributed the most.
This year, the question of whether or not to return didn’t even cross my mind. I can confidently say joining Harbinger was more than just an item on my college resume, but a magnificent experience that I wouldn’t trade for the world.
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