Random links that don't fit anywhere else, but you should know about.

Maybe some actual writing in there. Maybe.

“Hiring reporters works — in the short term. What about top digital strategists? Those who can bring in and build new and sustainable revenue? Product builders able to wield the smartphone for the benefit, not detriment, of local news companies? Staff who know how to connect with audiences, socially — and in the community. Difference makers? How do you hire those, who in John Thornton’s words, “move the needle?””

“As Americans, we are at a crossroads. We have to decide what is central to our identity: Is the importance of our performance of national unity more significant than our core values? Is it more meaningful that we understand why some of us support the separation of children from their parents, or is it more crucial that we support the reunification of these families? Is it more essential that we comprehend the motives of white nationalists, or is it more urgent that we prevent them from terrorizing communities of color and those who oppose racism? Should we agree to disagree about the murder and dismemberment of a journalist? Should we celebrate our tolerance and civility as we stanch the wounds of the world and the climate with a poultice of national unity?”

Put your money where your mouth is.

Editor’s note: I had a very refreshing talk with some college students at the University of Nebraska in Lincoln and they said tumblr is still being used so, here I am, starting this up again.

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 In #personalnews, I am joining the Arizona Republic as a director, focusing on breaking, audience and innovation.

Here’s why:

I believe in local journalism

Local is where I started my career and local is where I wanted to return. I’ve had a lot of time off to think and I missed creating relevant news that people used every day and that changed lives. 

I have watched local journalism in Los Angeles get decimated. One of the largest cities in the US and I can’t figure out what is going on down the street from me, unless I check NextDoor. This is a problem.

I believe in impact

I kept getting asked why I would leave the beautiful world of startups to go back to traditional media. 

Frankly, as much as we tried at reported.ly, few people saw our work. It was hard work to put out journalism that people saw, and that changed something. Many startups open minds, but I want to change the circumstances, not continue to report the same school shooting story in the same manner.

If I’m going to work at another startup, next time it has to be one that I believe will change things, or one I run myself.

I need to breathe

I’ve been covering breaking news for most of my career. I love it. I love the pace. 

However, it was starting to kill me. My health was taking a downturn and let’s not even get started on my mental health. I want to stay close to reporting, and I want to help stories get better and reach more people, but I could also stand to sleep a little.

About this job

During my conversations, I’ve been wholly impressed by the way the process was conducted and the potential of this organization. Greg Burton, the new editor, is a stellar human being. John Adams is a great journalist who also cares about local. This is a publication that won a Pulitzer, that covers a state that has been through a lot and actions in Arizona, like California, often have national repercussions. 

I’m excited to lead the social and breaking news teams. I’m doubly excited that there was true belief in experimenting with new storytelling forms and reaching new audiences. 

About job hunting

I could write you a novel on this, but I will save most of it for The Middles

What I will say for right now is that it’s been challenging, and inspiring. I’ve seen some fantastic newsrooms and talked to some people I hope to work with later in my career.

I am privileged to know many people. I am lucky to be on the board of directors for ONA. But many people wouldn’t have the access I have to get this level of position. And even so, there were surprising hurdles I thought would not exist anymore. 

“People down here smoke because of the stress in their life,” Seals said. “They smoke because of money problems, family problems. It’s the one thing they have control over. The one thing that makes them feel better. And you want them to give that up? It’s the toughest thing in the world.”

“When the era of racial terror and widespread lynching ended in the mid-twentieth century, it left behind a nation and an American South fundamentally altered by decades of systematic community-based violence against black Americans. The effects of the lynching era echoed through the latter half of the twentieth century. African Americans continued to face violent intimidation when they transgressed social boundaries or asserted their civil rights, and the criminal justice system continued to target people of color and victimize African Americans. These legacies have yet to be confronted.”

The middles

Since the end of 2016, thoughts on leadership have been rolling around my head. I was lucky enough to be part of the inaugural class of Poynter-NABJ’s Leadership Academy for Diversity in Digital Media, alongside some amazing people, in December, around the time I was really starting to feel the crunch from freelancing while considering my options. Several of us were “in transition” as we kindly called ourselves (read: laid off or forced to leave a job).

As part of that, and other discussions, I got feedback on who people saw me as, what my strengths were, etc. This is what I’ve decided to do with that.

  • * You’ve made so many risks with your career intentionally
  • * You’re a sounding board who needs to suffer fewer fools
  • * You lead, now you just need to learn the day-to-day of managing
  • * There’s a large group of of you in leadership roles already, but need support

We’re “the Middles.”

The group of people who came up during turbulent times (in our industry, in our nation). A time of innovation, technology and a lot of indecision from the people above us.

We decided to create “horizontal loyalty” and mentor ourselves because there was no one who had done this before. There were no benchmarks, no people who had done this before. We were it, because of luck or talent, it doesn’t matter, but we ended up there.

We made the best of it, secretly filled with anxiety and imposter syndrome, we forged ahead and survived.

Somehow, we get to leadership positions. We might have job-hopped our way there, gotten promoted into it, stumbled into a small company that grew and we grew up with it — however it happened, we’re here. We think. In private conversations with other “middles” we all admit we have no idea what the fuck we are doing. There is no template for this place. These companies, these jobs, these challenges, they didn’t exist before.

You could say the same about other groups, but the world is also moving faster. Failure has become cool, so we fail fast, in public, with blog posts, because branding matters.

For my part, I’m just now reconciling with being part of this group and understanding that no, it’s not likely I’ll have a female, minority mentor who I have weekly meetings with but small moments of mentoring that add up.

I must learn to slow down, to think things out. To let go.

I thought I was mean, and seen as tough and even rude to people under me. It turns out, people think I’m pretty nice, and radical candor should be my new thing. 

Here’s the thing

Part of what I want to do for 2017 is pick fewer projects and sticking with them.

I want to do something for “The Middles.” Right now, that idea is to have a newsletter that I can share things I’ve heard and learned with other “middles” and give a place for people to give support. Job leads, tips on managing, thoughts from other middles, recommendations.

Will you subscribe?

I cannot stop. I must stop.

“What would it mean if you do have PTSD or trauma?”

I don’t know, was my reply. I love my job. I have never been more fulfilled, never felt more like I make a difference. I get to tell the stories that are brushed under rugs, that are too difficult, too sad, too “unimportant” for others to tell.

But it hurts.

I had a panic attack, a small one, about the effects of my job as a journalist last week. What does it mean that I felt numb after the attacks in Istanbul and Baghdad? What does it mean that my automatic response is to find the story, put it out, and then continue? Does it say something horrible about me that when verifying a photo that was actually from the Brussels airport attack, that I had forgotten that Brussels had even happened?

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We have hard jobs that are even harder on weeks like the one we’ve just had. We soldier on, we have a glass of whiskey, we pop a pill. We must tell the stories. It’s the only thing we know how to do.

I have been trying to live and work with empathy this year. It helps me but it also means I have to open my heart every time. For every death. My heart opens, is hurt, heals and then must open again the next day. It makes me better.

But it hurts.

It becomes a physical pain, after time. It’s not just heartache, but a slow headache you cannot get rid of that spreads. A weight. It is the burden of being a witness, of being a storyteller. Not a metaphorical weight, this is not the weight of the world on your shoulders. This is a weight that actually makes you heavier. You may eat less or more, depending on how you process. You walk slower, you think slower. You forget things. My hairstylist is currently unhappy with me because I forgot an appointment. I don’t forget things like that. Usually.

Sometimes, the weight is behind your eyes, a slight burning like a coal in your eye sockets because you cannot cry anymore after watching video after video, after hitting pause, squinting, taking a screenshot, rewinding and hitting play again. I stopped wearing my contacts to work because they get so dry from not blinking.

Other times, it actually is your shoulders. You go get a massage and the Thai woman who you usually see literally gasps as she touches the rocks that sit next to your neck, holding in every ounce of stress.

But we bear it. I have held more weight than I ever have imagined I could. I get DMs from strangers, asking if our team is OK. The answer is yes, but no. We are weary. I am weary. I don’t sleep well, I cling to the few things that make me feel better — yoga, my fiancé and our pets, writing. They lift the weight an ounce at a time, just an ounce.

I bear it because I have to. Yes, there are thousands of other journalists in the world who could do this job. I am in awe of many of them and friends with others. We take the blame for whatever the “mainstream media” is doing wrong that week, and we console each other, mostly in private Slack groups and texts these days. But I need to do this. This is the thing I know how to do. This is the only way I have of contributing.

When I was in college, the measure our professors gave us of making impact was “hey, honey.” You did something right if at the breakfast table, Mr Jones says to Mrs Jones, “Hey, honey, did you see this?”

One person at a time.

An ounce at a time.

We are the bearers and storytellers. So what does it mean if I have trauma and PTSD? What will happen then? I don’t know. But I will bear it.

Edited after a painful yoga class to add in the empathy part.