Thank You

When I leave, you will probably not know how much you inspired me. You will have no idea that I remember small things you said, and that I will probably think about your words for a long time. You won't know when I say goodbye that you have helped change me, but one day I hope you do. And if you do know that this is about you, then this is me saying Thank You.

Touristy Weekend

This past weekend I played tourist in my own town. I live on capitol hill, yet have not fully embraced where I live this semester. So, this weekend I embraced tourist season. I bought a sweatshirt went to four museums and watched people do yoga on the National Mall. It was pretty typical.

Friday our class went to the Newseum. I was really excited about this opportunity. A whole museum on my profession and the first amendment just sounds exciting to begin with. It was even better than expected. My only criticism is that junior high students were flooding the place.

I was completely inspired though. Journalism has been my dream since I was five. I wanted to travel the world, write about people’s problems and document life as it happened. This has always been important to me.

My insecurity and hesitancy to challenge people has been my downfall though. Until recently, I was scared to death to interview people. This semester has proven interviewing has been the least of my worries, since people on Capitol Hill love to talk.

I got over that fear of talking, but then the thought of being published and having words set in stone on the internet created a whole new kind of uneasiness. That’s why I sometimes stop blogging my life.

The Newseum reminded me of why I love journalism. It changes people and informs us. Even the industry of journalism has a story to tell. It is fascinating and has changed the way we live. Through freedom of press debates making information available to the public and social media creating protests in countries, journalism is a huge part of the world.

In the Newseum there is a map of the countries with free press, some free press and no free press. The map reminded me how easy I have it and that there is no reason for me to be scared of practicing my first amendment rights.

The Pulitzer prize photos were amazing. They were mostly devastating and depressing pictures, a couple who lost there child in the ocean, a lynching in Thailand, Columbine shooting students hugging, people jumping from buildings to escape fires and a decaying body in the grass. Images that you cannot easily erase from the mind.

The stories behind the photos were the most intriguing part of the exhibit. Walking through you first only see the images with some dates and locations. Some of the photographs are pretty self-explanatory, and others need additional stories to really explain the concept. I first say the picture of the African child with a vulture on the wall with all the photos, and then I saw the picture alone with its story.

The photojournalist, Kevin Carter captured the shot during a famine in Sudan. All the journalists had been told not to touch the because of disease. The child was curled up in a ball, a vulture had landed behind them. The photojournalist snapped the photo and then chased the vulture away. In response to the photograph, people asked, “why didn’t you pick up the child?” Soon after receiving the Pulitzer Prize, Carter committed suicide.

Depressing, but it makes me realize the type of courage journalists need to have. It also shows the lack of clarity between journalist and compassionate human. That is a challenge, especially as a Christian.

Then there was the 9/11 museum. I watched a documentary on the journalists who covered the report. They had to change from journalists to people. They cried in their interviews and had to stop filming and start helping. I cried the whole time.

I know the 9/11 story in and out. I remember it as if it was only a year ago, not 10. The Sudanese famine, I didn’t know. It’s journalists who bring awareness. It’s journalist who run towards the fire, go to the refugees, stay awake during earthquakes and keep asking why until they know enough to share. That’s what I love about it.

Afterwards, Emily and I went to see the National Archives. I was slightly unimpressed with the faded John Hancock, it was still something I am glad I got to see before it is completely invisible and faded.

We then went off to our last official taco night at the National Press Club. There were a gazillion other events occurring, so I just watched as other journalists came in and did there official business wondering what they were doing with their lives.

Saturday, Emily, Jenny and I got in line for out Holocaust Museum tickets. We weren’t going to get in until later though, so we went and bought souvenirs and took photographs with the beautiful cherry blossoms. The explosion of pink was the best.

Emily and I ended up at the American History Museum and got to see Abe Lincoln, boats and trains. It was a much more happier than the Newseum and the Holocaust Museum.

Then we went to the Holocaust Museum. Depressing. The worst part for me was the shoes. It smelt like leather and dirt. The voices of the survivors also made for some tearing up. It never ceases to amaze me that this was happening not even 60 years ago. It is even more hard to swallow that genocide still exists in parts of the world. People continue to treat one another like animals.

This also plays into the role of my desire to do journalism. Report all of the disturbing and troublesome things that happen in our world that we have the potential to change.

That night I went on another adventure with Josiah and Chris. We tried to meet up with people for fireworks, but a late bus, crazy lady and lack of communication hindered our original plans.

We get on the bus after waiting awhile and then a crazy lady comes on. She sits across from Chris and I in the back of the bus. She kicks her feet up and down pulls a piece of something in a plastic bag and starts hitting it against a pole that was right next to Josiah. She was speaking in Spanish for awhile and then was cursing out the United States and the three of us. Then she started playing the air piano and proceeded to pull something out of her bag, which may have been a knife or wrench, or some other type of metal object that could kill you. We got off as soon as possible.

We then tried to venture towards our friends who were on the other side of the water. We ended up at the fish market and were cold and lost. We then went and got food and walked home. Of course we managed to stop at some rocking chairs, and Josiah and Chris started singing and talking about grandma’s pie. I got it all on video, so I don’t need to dwell on their crazy ridiculousness.

Sunday, was much less mentally exhausting. I didn’t obtain too much more facts about the world or anything about museums. Kelsey and I went to Starbucks and discussed life, boys and our dream futures in DC.

This weekend just really enforced the fact that this is where I belong. This is what I need to do with my life, and I need to continue to pursue my goals. The people in my life are amazing, I live in a dream city and I get to write for my life. So, now I just need to figure out what’s next?