I’ve been told I can write complete and utter nonsense for this, and I would, except I feel like it ruins the spirit of it a little. I also don’t fancy reading this back twenty years from now and cringing away in embarrassment. I probably will anyway no matter what I write, that’s how it is with getting older, but I might as well do my utmost to prevent it. 

This year has been completely typical and yet absolutely unguessable. I’m glad we came back to in-person for my last year, no matter how hard it was at the beginning to deal with the constant need to wash my hands (although to be fair, that’s always been around). I’m glad because I actually got to make memories. I’m not good at memories; I always end up forgetting them by the time Monday comes around, but I hope I can remember what The Liberator was like. I hope I remember the trials and tribulations of Bagel Bite microwaving, even if that means remembering the total and debilitating torture of not being able to get final story edits right. I hope I can remember the people, the fun, and, yes, even the occasional bouts of interview-induced terror that newspaper introduced me to. I want to remember the deranged rattling of the heater(/cooler?), those first few weeks we suffered through a brand new old building, the mouse in the ceiling that was actually a chair we had to banish, and the unstoppable chaos of running around downtown Austin armed only with a press badge and camera (which proved themselves to be free passes to quite a bit) during SXSW. I want to remember being recruited along with Katie to become interior decorators and make the newsroom ours (I’m still very proud of our poster wall), and there may not have been much going on during the Zoom year, but I also want to remember the kindness of the previous editors while I found my footing during my first year on The Liberator. Basically, I hope I remember everything, the good, the bad, and the InDesign shortcuts.