For the next 600 words I will be addressing the 32 incredible people sitting in the newsroom with me. Sorry to the rest of the school, but I know them a bit better than the other 2,780 sitting in class right now. However, if you are not one of my staffers, you should continue reading: there are still lessons to be learned.

There are million different words I could write, but
unfortunately, I have been limited to under 600. Every word I write brings me closer and closer to the end. Every word brings me closer to putting my pen down, logging out of Locuser and walking out of the newsroom one last time. Every word brings me closer to the end of my time on this unbelievable staff.
I began my journalism journey by walking into the newsroom a sheltered, quiet girl. Afraid, fresh-faced and naive about how great my life would become. I had no idea how much this room and the people in it would mean to me in three years. I only wanted to write. I have hope for the future that I will one day see this positive change in my own staffers. I encourage you to remember how you are now, allowing you to recognize the change in yourself in the future.

So many vital experiences happened within the walls of the newsroom. I can’t imagine all the laughter, jokes or smiles that have passed by my eyes over the last 3 years. There have been tears and loud voices and a heavy weight on my heart on days where nothing feels right. But I’ll miss all of that: the good and the bad.

I’ll miss that one creaky tile under the carpet, the one I
remember stepping on the first day of my sophomore year and being totally embarrassed by how loud it was. I’ll miss the ruckus of Pictionary games, Sharks versus Jets. I’ll miss “bringing it up” at the beginning and end of every class. I’ll miss the dark room and the original newsroom, long gone to everyone but myself and one fellow staffer. Much to my mother’s dismay, this classroom is what I’ll miss most as I leave for Purdue. I’ll even miss the stress of deadline, the constant weight on my shoulders.

This is an incredible opportunity you have been given. Never take it for granted. There are times I did just this, and it’s what I regret most. Enjoy every day you have here. This has been the most incredible experience I have ever had; I hope you
eventually think the same. This incredible group of goofballs has been more than I ever could have asked for. I cannot put into words how proud of you I. I have never loved a group of people more.

To next year’s seniors: right now you feel as if this day will never come for you. I thought that too, but look where I am now. Your senior year stretches out in front of you, seemingly endless. But trust me, there is an end, and believe it or not it’s barreling toward you as we speak.
I have produced 28 papers, written just as many articles. We have eaten the equivalent of our body weight in pizza and donuts at 25 stay-afters. I have “brought it up” 540 times. Sat in this classroom for a collective 810 hours over the last three years. And I will not forget a second of it.
It is with a heavy heart I say goodbye to those I leave behind. But it is with a joyful mind I look forward to the amazing and incredible things I know you will do.

I leave the newsroom in good, capable hands. I do not fear for the future of this publication. And now, as I logout of Locuser one last time, tears in my eyes, it’s time to look to the future. A bright future, one where deadlines are met,
Pictionary games are won, bylines are closed and kids always wear sunscreen.