Have you ever thought about how long six semesters are? Probably not. But I’ll tell you. It’s around 540 days, or 1.47 years.
That’s how long I’ve been writing for The Oracle. An hour and a half every day for 1.47 years. But when I think back on my past four years in this newspaper: the multitudes of jobs I’ve had, the 30-plus articles I’ve written – all I can think is, “I need more time.”
As I sit here and write this, there are fewer than 40 days left in the school year; the time I have left is less than 7% of my total time in this newspaper. I can’t help but mourn my leaving, even if it means crossing the stage at graduation and moving on to bigger things.
I started writing for The Oracle in the second semester of my freshman year; my sister was editor-in-chief, and it seemed like a relatively easy class. I remember the first article I ever wrote was about our cheer team’s state title. My first interview went horribly: I was nervous, my recording was too quiet and I forgot almost all of my questions, but despite everything, I truly enjoyed every second of it.
I was (and still am) the kind of person who signed up for everything, not because I truly wanted to, but because I felt like I had to. I put pressure on myself to be the best, whether through top-notch grades or an unholy amount of clubs and extracurriculars under my belt. To speak the truth, I was miserable, and I only felt like I was making those around me miserable too.
Clubs, competitions and awards, it all just felt like another tally. I never felt proud of my achievements, just the tired relief of finally doing what was required of me. The Oracle was never that.
Writing is something that I always enjoyed, and the newspaper let me enjoy it. I could pick what I wanted to write, who I wanted to interview, what I wanted to photograph – anything I wanted, I could do. It never felt like an obligation, or just another tiring activity. Maybe it’s the wonderful friends I’ve made, the upperclassmen of previous years who showed me the way or the best adviser I could ask for; either way, I couldn’t be more grateful.
Every editor-in-chief of The Oracle has done something remarkable, and I wanted to do something great too. Bringing back a print edition after six years is no easy feat. It requires months of designing, negotiating, writing and a small amount of begging. I know when I get my hands on it, when I feel the weight of four years of labor folded into 12 pages that I built myself, I can finally sit down, rest my head for a while and finally allow myself to bathe in the fact that my work was worth something.
While I am not done with journalism, and I hope it’s not done with me, as I head to George Washington University in the fall, I hope that I have made some sort of impact on the school I leave behind.
I hope that I was a good underclassman to my past editors, a good successor to the past editors-in-chief, a good student to my adviser, a good friend to my classmates and possibly most importantly, a good editor-in-chief to my underclassmen. Knowing what came before me, and only hoping to leave the same impression on what I leave behind me is something on my mind more than I’d like to admit.
I’ve had the honor and privilege to work with some of the most talented people I’ve met. Elijah, Ella and Yemi: I’ve become a better person with you all at my side. Mrs. Hornick, you’ve taught me so much, I can’t even phrase how much you’ve impacted my life.
To the class I leave behind: you all are so skilled, so wonderful and have so much promise. I know that you can and will be the best of us. Even if I’m not there to see it, just know I’m always cheering for you.
Before I go, I have one thing I need to ask: Please take care of my paper, one of the only things I truly loved in high school; I hope that it brings you as much joy as being your editor-in-chief has brought me.
You know that song “What a Time” by Julia Michaels and Niall Horan? That’s honestly what being a part of the Athens Oracle feels like.
Four years, 365 days, 12 months and more than 30 days in every month. It all adds up to something that once felt like it would last forever. It’s hard to believe that something so constant in my life could pass by so quickly.
What used to feel like endless deadlines with endless time, class periods and story ideas has now become a collection of memories I’ll carry with me forever into my future.
With fewer than 40 days left in the school year, everything suddenly feels way closer to the end than it does the beginning.
I’d say wake me up because to be at the end of my time with The Oracle, it doesn’t feel real, and to be quite honest, I don’t feel ready. I have more to say.
As I sit here staring at this document, 165 words and so many ideas on what to say and how to say it, but nothing will come out. I’ve written 26 articles, so why am I struggling now? What is so hard?
26 articles later and I’m here, sitting and writing my senior column. Who would have thought I’d go this far with the Oracle? Freshman year, I had no idea why I was there or how I, of all people, could write for a newspaper.
If I could sit with my sophomore self, who realized then and there he wanted to become editor-in-chief and have a say in The Oracle’s day-to-day, I’d tell him that he made it there, and accomplished so much more on his way.
If I could ask for one thing in this world, like most, I’d ask for more time. More time to continue building with the Oracle. More time to lay the foundation for the legacy I want to leave.
March 6, 2023, at 11:46 a.m. That’s the date my first article was published by the Athens Oracle. Looking back, I wish my first article was something groundbreaking or glass-ceiling-shattering.
Am I disappointed in that first article I wrote? Absolutely not. That article got me into journalism. I knew I wanted better; I knew I wanted more, and so I kept with it. Most people didn’t; they dropped it and never looked back. Guess they missed out on four years of memories and a family away from your family.
Sitting here today as a co-editor-in-chief, I hope I’ve made everyone proud. My goal was never to disappoint but to inspire. Make those who came after me feel the same sense of excitement I felt my freshman year in the newspaper.
To the editors-in-chief that came before me, all of them. Thank you. Truly, thank you for your help and guidance. To the now graduated seniors I worked with year after year, thank you.
Thank you newspaper for giving me my best friend, Rose Luck. Thank you for giving me Rowan, Ella and Yemi, the people I looked forward to seeing the most every day. I’ll miss you forever.
To Mrs. Hornick, thank you for giving me a chance to lead within the Oracle. I’ll forever cherish the memories made in your class. You’re more than an adviser, you’re an ally.
To those succeeding me within the Oracle and even within the office of editor-in-chief, I have the utmost confidence in you. I believe you’ll do great things, and I give you my fullest support.
The song “Gilded Lily” by Cults leaves me wondering if I have done enough within the Oracle. Have I given enough? Did I truly do all I could?
As I made the decision to go into the next chapter of my life at UNC Charlotte, I was quite honestly unsure about whether or not I would continue writing in college, and as the semester progressed, I became sure that I absolutely would.
Audrey Hepburn said it best, “and before I’m gone, in gratitude and love, I end. You have truly been a friend.”
As I end, can I ask one thing? Take care of my baby. Take care of The Oracle. Before you know it, your time will be up, so please take care of it. I hope this class brings you just as much joy as it has brought me, if not so much more. It has truly been an honor to serve as one of your editors-in-chief. Truly.
