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Saying goodbye

I wish I could say joining the Talon was my decision, but in no way was it my own. My friends did not tell me to do it, I did not need it for my degree—it was something else. 

Around two years ago, there was a stirring deep in my stomach. I was sitting in my organic chemistry class vaguely listening to a lecture which sounded more like a foreign language than an upper level science class when I thought—what am I doing? Why am I here?

I had to make a change, but what do you do when you realize you chose the wrong major three years into your degree? Panic. All you can do is panic.

I remember calling my dad, asking him what he would do if he was in my shoes. He told me he would not have picked the wrong major to begin with—a typical dad response. Of course, he did not end it there. He did show some sympathy. 

He told me to figure out what I love to do, but I had no idea what that was. I mean, I like sports. I like video games. But what do I love? 

Writing. I love writing. 

So I joined the Talon—a place where the best writers receive scholarships. 

At first, I was terrified. I was incredibly behind and unpolished in the art of AP style. I was a fish out of water, and I am pretty sure everyone could tell I was gasping for air. 

But one article after the other, I got better. I learned from my mistakes. I became more confident in my writing, and I made friendships which will last long after my days at the Talon are over. 

Everything started falling into place.

Two years and two jobs later, my time at the Talon has come to end, and I have a lot of people to thank.

To Dr. Patterson: thank you for being a mentor, an advocate of the truth and a Christian role model. You inspired me to work harder, dig deeper and be the best version of myself I can be. I did not think a job could impact me so much. Interviews forced me out of my comfort zone, aggregating stories made me more publicly aware and working in different sections diversified my writing ability.

To my coworkers, both past and present, thank you for welcoming me into such a tightly-knit community. Each one of you taught me something I did not know, both writing and life-related. I will forever miss 12:40 p.m. on Mondays and Wednesdays—something I never thought I would say. 

 I do not know how the next chapter of my life will unfold, where I will be or what I will be doing. In times like this, I do not know exactly how to articulate a clever goodbye, and I often try to shy away from too much sentiment. I guess I will revert to the old elementary school yearbook tagline—stay cool and have a great summer.  

So long from your favorite co-features editor—sorry Reese, but it is the truth.  

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