12:00 pm, halfway through the day and almost to the weekend. The halls were packed with folding tables, scattered candy, and upperclassmen who somehow seemed to have everything figured out. After weeks of aimlessly wandering around LASA, there was hope of finding something to do instead of endlessly pacing around the campus. That was when I set my sights on the newspaper table.
It seemed like the perfect high school activity. I liked writing, I liked reading the news, and every Disney Channel show I grew up watching somehow had an episode where one of the characters would join the school paper and dramatically chase down a story. The people at the table were nice, the paper itself was engaging, and the meeting times fit perfectly into my empty schedule. For the first time since starting high school, I thought I might have found somewhere I could belong. Then the first meeting came. I walked down to the 700s hallway, stood outside the classroom for a few seconds, and left before even getting to the doorway. It was all just too intimidating. Everyone there probably already knew what they were doing. I would have to interview people, talk during meetings, and somehow figure out how to be a journalist without making a complete fool of myself. Sophomore year, somehow, I did the exact same thing.
I made it through a whole year of school, and the hallways weren’t as overwhelming. I knew where most of my classes were without getting lost or checking my schedule over and over again. I told myself that this would be the year I engaged with my school community, starting with joining the newspaper. Once again, I walked through the club fair, saw the familiar papers on the table, and imagined myself finally joining. And once again, I talked myself out of it when the moment finally came.
By junior year, I had filled all my elective requirements, finished the signature courses, and had one more empty course slot after signing up for too many APs. While choosing classes, I saw the newspaper in the course guide again. Except this time, instead of overthinking it, I added it to my requests before I could change my mind.
Junior year, the newspaper was one of my first periods, and I was ready. I stepped into the room for the first time, with half of my high school experience behind me, and felt the exact same thing I did every time I tried to join the newspaper. Dread, fear, and expectation of failure, but this time, I had made it through the door, and there was no looking back. I was still nervous during interviews as I stuttered through my list of questions, overthought every email before closing my eyes to hit send, and never could get myself to speak up in class. But at some point between trying to get interviews in time, going through rounds of editing, and writing articles way over the word count, newspaper became one of the most important parts of my high school experience.
Looking back now, I wish I had joined earlier. I wish freshman me had walked through the door instead of retreating. But more than any of those regrets, I’m glad I finally stopped convincing myself I wasn’t the type of person who could belong in the newspaper. High school is full of experiences where you have to pick between comfort and putting yourself out there to try something new, and for half of my high school experience, I chose comfort. Finally, after two years, I walked into room 701 and decided to stay. The place I was too nervous to enter for two years became one of the places I’ll miss most.
