I was in New Orleans to interview a professor at a university when the talk came up about the Times-Picayune impending layoffs.
"It's very depressing," I told a PR. "I interviewed there last year. I was upset when they didn't hire me, but now I get it. There was a hiring freeze."
The PR said indeed, it was depressing. "This is the only business in which people will just give their work away."
Really? "What about actors? Musicians?"
He: "People pay for tickets to see a play."
Perhaps.
I said goodbye, walking down that hot, muggy Canal Street despite having 1.25 left over for the street car. Suddenly, I was nervous that in my profession, without watching each penny I'd soon be on the streets.
---
Since leaving my last full-time job in Jan. 2008, at least three of my girlfriends have been laid off or "downsized." Some have reinvented themselves beautifully: launching magazines, web sites, radio programs, freelancing for prestigious science magazines. Even I have pulled off some neat tricks: two stories in Scientific American, being asked to speak at an oil spill conference with reporters from NPR, the New York Times and CNN, and reporting on fuel cell vehicles in a TR article. I've had great relationships with my freelance bosses, whether at tce today in Rugby or The Prague Post in, well, Prague.
I could not have enjoyed the range of experiences I've racked up since 2008 were I still chained to my desk as an editor in Lower Manhattan.
That said -- I miss the chain.
I think I knew in my heart I'd miss the chain the night before I left. I remember crying suddenly when it was time to finally check out of my cubicle. I used to relish the feeling of having my own space, eating a sandwich at my desk, asking Charlotte behind me if she'd had a good weekend.
When I look back, I kick myself (two or three times) for whining about losing my camera en route to a business trip....in Vienna. That's right--Vienna. All expenses paid.
These days, I cry over losing a quarter because I'm out of bus fare.
---
I am not sure what the way forward is for my profession, though I think blogging is a pretty good idea until we figure it out.
On the street car en route to my interview, a nice African American lady smiled up at me when she heard I was a reporter.
"I wanted to be a reporter," she said softly. "Then I got pregnant."
For the first time in my life, I felt pretty lucky to be childless.
"Well don't give up! Got a computer?"
"Yes."
"Start a blog tonight....about being a mother. Lots of people will be able to relate."
She grinned from ear to ear. "Thank you. I will."
But what had I just told her?
When I mentioned the incident to the journalist later he said, yeah but that's not journalism.
I said of course, I know that.
But do I?
----
The point of becoming a journalist was to communicate the world through the special lens we call our own. We are supposed to be objective, but every journalist has what is called in the trade "a voice."
And forgive me if I was wrong, but my suggestion to the nice lady on the street car -- and to myself -- was to never forget, let alone squelch, that voice that lies deep within.
