Journalism: Is this it?

As a frustrated, busy, out-of-time, write-to-deadline journalism student, I must wonder, is it really me? Is it for me? And better yet, am I for it?

To report takes courage of a kind I didn't know I possessed. It requires making appointments with strangers. It requires not always getting faces to put with the words you might receive over email. It means fumbling words, awkward laughter, sweaty palms, and time constraints. It means weird hours, anxiety, a job never done, and a job sometimes done well. Other times, not so much. 

It requires you put your life aside so you can ask others' about theirs. And if you can't listen, you can't be a reporter. If you can't write, you can't report. If you can't read, you can't ask good questions. 

Journalism means stepping out of a comfort zone I loved all too much. It means embracing the awkwardness, being forced to get out of your element, and put yourself in a world you've never known before. And do it all over the next week. The next day. The next email. The next text. 

Sometimes I wonder if this is really what I want. Is this really who I want to be? Do I really want to be reporting all the time? I'm very introverted. I get nervous around new people. And while I'm not so sure that I want to do this for the rest of my life, while I may or may not consider changing my major or taking other classes, while I may or may not ever come to a conclusion about this journalism dilemma, I do know one thing: Journalism is a good thing to experience. I have confidence emailing anyone I need to email. I've been forced to step outside of my bubble, and I haven't tried to go back. So I don't know what I want to do. I don't know how I want to grab a paycheck. At least journalism gave me one of the best character building experiences of my entire life.