Hard to Admit

I realize I have had a severe lack of posts going on.

There are a million factors for my blank thoughts, but I guess the biggest is the hardest to admit.

Life in the city is always moving, last week was as full week at work, with deadline, having a byline (yay!) and then the spring arts preview happy hour at the Daily Grill in Georgetown.  The other intern, Shelle, and I checked people in as important person after important person filed in, dropping their business card for a raffle, then mingling around the appetizers with wine in hand.

Shelle and I split a cab to Foggy Bottom, and I had felt like my first night as a young professional had gone better than I could have hoped.

Gretchen's best friend Amy came up for the weekend.  Although nothing seemed to go right the entire weekend, we still managed to make the best of it and have a good time.

Saturday morning I served lunch at N Street Village with Greg and J.J.  The village is a homeless shelter for women, focused on programs helping the women with drug and alcohol problems, but also assisting in finding the women jobs, and making sure they keep those jobs.

Today Anthony Debarros of USA Today lectured in our morning class.  He is a data reporter, and has been involved in a lot of investigative journalism.  He broke my heart in a number of ways.  He started out telling us that the industry was spiraling away, then he went on to say that journalists need to know math.  No two other statements have ever depressed me more.

One of his stories was investigating school cafeterias, and well the article speaks for itself.

I have always struggled with admitting failure, but at no other time in my life have I felt as defeated as I do now.  (No this is not because I might have to use math at some point in my profession) Why its nothing blog worthy (I have always hated people spilling their feelings via internet), it is something I need to talk myself though, and writing is the only way I know how to organize my thoughts.

I have always considered myself a slight perfectionist, but more importantly have alway had the highest expectations for myself.  When combined, I set myself up for major disappointment and unneeded stress.

An alumni tonight reminded us to never compare ourselves to others, or other's internships.  I'm not too proud to admit that it was something I needed to hear.  I also needed to hear my daddy on the other end of the phone when I called him in an emotional frenzy.

Once again the theme of the semester seems to creep back....

I'm not perfect, and no one expects me to be.

I am surrounded by people that love me and believe in me.