Of all the editorials I’ve written, writing this one has by far been the most daunting. That is, naturally, because it is my last—my last time penning my thoughts on paper as a college student; sentimentality might be hard to avoid. Endings seem to demand some sort of closure. But closure is perpetually evasive—the harder you seek, the dimmer the tempting prospect grows. Perhaps that is why it is well into the wee hours of the morning (deadline fast approaching) and I’m still struggling to spin my rambling thoughts into one cohesive article.
I’ll begin with the most important: I’m proud of this paper. I began this year with a request of the student body to please write. And, to my great satisfaction, so many of you have. Bravely, you have put yourselves down on paper and contributed to making this one of the most historic years in Observer history. Our readership has skyrocketed—an issue can attract up to 10,000 readers on our website, numbers that far surpass anything we’ve seen before. We have reached far beyond the Stern community. Our readers have come to expect quality and diversity in our articles. Our print issues have steadily increased in page count, with more and more articles to include each month. I have no doubt that the Observer will continue to progress and accomplish.
I have personally learned a tremendous amount from serving as editor in chief. For three years, I’ve never missed an issue of the Observer. I did not keep any sort of journal during my undergraduate years, but the articles I’ve written have traced my development with equal accuracy. I can watch my thought processes change and adjust not just from one year to the next, but from one article to the next. This recognition replaced fear of being judged for my opinions with acceptance that these opinions might very well change. One who is not afraid to re-evaluate his/her opinions need never be hesitant to voice them.
I’ve learned not to be afraid to make mistakes. Those who view writing as a destination are bound to fear wrong turns. Those who view writing as a journey allow missteps to chart the road. It is liberating to realize that you’re allowed to later disagree with an opinion you’ve previously voiced. While the written word is more permanent than most mementos, it does not preclude reassessment.
The ability to reexamine goes hand-in-hand with the ability to gracefully respond to criticism. Over the course of these three years, I’ve been criticized, called a threat (that was an exciting moment, I must admit), compared to the former Soviet Union and countered personally many times. While I think ad hominen attacks unfortunately base, I do not resent criticism. I have been challenged to clarify, defend and sometimes alter my position. With those who disagree respectfully, I have had fruitful and rewarding conversations. With those who disagree bullheadedly, a conversation was never their agenda in the first place.
A powerful aphorism that has greatly impacted my journalistic ethic is this: only care about gaining the respect of those you respect. Many will disagree. Some will scoff. Others will taunt. Most will misread or misunderstand. But if what you intended to say is clear to you and to those whose opinion you respect, there is no need to falter. Even if later you reevaluate, if you stand behind the words you write when you write them, you won’t regret printing them.
Perhaps, on the precipice of that thing thus far referred to as “real life,” I am naïve and idealistic. But, truth be told, I would not want to leave my undergraduate experience any other way. I do have the rest of life to become cynical and wry. I am sure I will look back on what I’ve written over these three years, this editorial included, and laugh. But each piece is a testament to who I was and I am a different person for having writing it.
While I am pontificating (and I guess it is only my right as this is my last editorial), I’ve like to share one more realization that has little to do with writing, and everything to do with the undergraduate experience. My undergraduate years have shown me that college is more about community than education. College is the place to create friendships and make connections; the forum to spin a network of peers as sinewy as a spider’s web. Yeshiva University, and especially Stern College, has provided me with a web of exceptional security. If just for the community alone, I’m glad I attended this university.
To conclude (and with sadly little closure): thank you, Stern community, for letting me serve as your editor in chief. Thank you teaching for me to be courageous and vulnerable on paper. Thank you for reading what I’ve written, and responding. But, most importantly, thank you guys for writing. It’s not always easy to put yourself down on paper for the world to judge and criticize. But take it from a girl who has never missed an issue: when you look back, it’s always worth it.