Rose Kanaley: How joining staff brought a stronger connection to family

If there’s one thing my friends on Harbinger have learned about me over the past three years, it’s that I’ve got a lot of family. 

It’s an ongoing joke that I have a cousin at practically every college since staffers have gotten used to hearing me say “my cousin goes there!” at every mention of a school. My Aunt Sjoukje’s name is written across the wall of the J-room after Tommy found her quilt-making Instagram account and was determined to get one. I always make sure to pick up extra copies of each issue to doll out to relatives around the country.

But the piece they don’t know is that I’m from a family of storytellers — authors, actors, librarians, you name it. And they all have larger-than-life personalities.

Grandma Louise always volunteered to tell stories to my elementary school class with every visit, and each time I saw my uncle Big Mike, he sat me down to share a different tale of Billy the Kid, American outlaw from out West.

And family reunions aren’t really family reunions without every “true” story being exaggerated just the right amount — although they’ll never tell — and Uncle Tommy pulling out the infamous Irish accent after a few drinks to recount a story that leaves our stomachs aching from laughter.

They’re the most dramatic, rowdy, blunt group of people I know, and I love them for that. But growing up, I never thought I fit into the family dynamic. All of my parents, grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles seemed to have the art of storytelling mastered while I was left behind, searching for any way to get onto their level.

Until I walked into the J-room.

The J-room: the coveted home to The Harbinger staff. Lined with desktop computers, LED lights, empty Starbucks cups and — usually vulgar — writing scribbled across the white boards. The J-room is where I spend every day sitting next to my co-editor Catherine in our unassigned-assigned spots working until either Tate leaves and we’re forced to leave with him, or until we’re kicked out by the janitorial staff for attempting to stay longer. It’s where I hide out from the classes I don’t want to go to and take a quick cat-nap on the black leather couch when I’m especially sleep deprived from a deadline of PDFing all night.

It’s where I joined the rest of my family in the way I’ve always longed for: I became a storyteller too.

I learned to share other people’s stories. The outspoken girl practicing witchcraft. The nice, quiet guy who was actually struggling with depression. The former teacher-turned-traveler. The sisters working to start conversations about racism. I’ve even shared a few stories of my own.

Of course, it’s a commitment. Stress and caffeine power me more than sleep, and Catherine sees me more than my parents, but joining Harbinger and doing what others assume must be a living hell (which it sometimes can feel like) was the best decision I’ve ever made.

And in finding my place within my own family, I’ve become part of a new one as well: my Harbie family. The 70-person staff is big enough to feel like my real family — and loud enough, too.

I became a true member of my family thanks to Harbinger — I’m no longer an observer watching them, but a storyteller alongside them. Maybe it really is just in my genetics, but either way, I owe you a big thanks, Harbinger. My newfound place in my real and Harbinger family won’t end with my time on staff. 

Thank you for showing me family.