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Twelve (!) years ago today, I walked into the Free Press building as a newly minted Arts & Life reporter. And, very much to brag, I had a story on A1 that week.
I like that my workiversary is in September and that it often, as it does today, falls on the first day of school. If August evokes the endings of things, then September evokes the beginnings. And boy, was this a beginning for me. A chapter of my career that is still being written, and has much scribbling in the margins.
I can’t believe it’s been 12 (!) years but also I can because I have written a lot of words. I crunched the numbers once and basically all of us here at the paper write the equivalent of a book a year (more, probably, if you’re Mike McIntyre). And not short books, either. I also will sometimes find articles I have written but I only know that I have written them because they have my byline on them. I have no memory of the actual writing. Destabilizing!
I like doing a yearly reflection — sometimes in writing, sometimes just for myself — because this job has changed so much and I like to think that I have, too.
But a constant is this: being part of a daily miracle — something that is put together, every day, from scratch, by human beings, for more than 150 years — doesn’t get old. This is earnest and cheesy but I’m going to say it anyway; many days, when I walk into the building, I look at the blue Winnipeg Free Press sign above the front door and it gives me clarity of mission. I don’t, like, stand there and have A Moment with it, I just flick my eyes up there and think, “Right, yes, let’s make a paper today.”
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To work for a newspaper is to be part of something much bigger than yourself. A team. An institution. A community. A city’s record. Hopefully, a legacy.
And all of this is not possible without you, the reader.
A debt of gratitude to all of you who read and keep reading and send me (daily! I am so spoiled) emails telling me you liked (or didn’t like) something I’ve written and it truly never gets old that you are reading and telling me at all.
As I’ve written before, working for a daily is a gift because every day is a new opportunity to show up for our readers, another chance to do a little better than we did yesterday. Because we don’t always get it right. I don’t think, “Wow, this is the best thing I have ever written, each word a glittering gem,” every time I file my copy. My editor, Jill Wilson, will tell you that my column frequently comes in with the note: “Is this anything?”
How lucky it is to have so many tomorrows to try again.
I also love the relationship I’ve been able to form with readers over these 12 (!) years — including those of you who have, amazingly, found and sent me ephemera from my great-grandfather’s restaurant. Special shout-out to Cathy who last week took the time to drop off a bunch of Zoratti’s-branded sugar cubes she found in a tea set.
Sugar cubes from Zoratti’s Restaurant (Jen Zoratti / Free Press)
This is also the magic of working at your Free Press: I don’t think this could happen anywhere else.
Anyway, I won’t bang on too long. Thanks for the great 12 (!) years, and I look forward to as many more as you’ll have me.
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