It's a reporter's life

I love my job.

When I tell that to co-workers, they roll their eyes.

When I say it to friends, they smile, nod, and then change the subject.

When I tell my parents, they ask if I really think I can support myself on a reporter's salary.

It seems counter-intuitive, I know. Newspapers are dying, people say. Thousands of reporters and editors are losing their jobs. Journalists are fleeing the "outdated" print media to seek better opportunities elsewhere.

And I actually enjoy this?

Yes. In fact, I love it.

I don't subscribe to the same negative thinking that plagues many in my industry. To quote one of my favorite bands, Chevelle, "This type of thinking could do us in."

In the newsroom, I've been told to "go to law school," "find a nice, cushy job in PR," or "stay in school as long as you can."

There is a galaxy-size void of optimism. Cynicism is much more chic.

But I won't buy into it.

The print medium allows a journalist to delve deeper into a story and provide better, more thorough information to the reader. Granted, A 20-inch story can't say everything, but it certainly beats a 30-second sound byte.

A newspaper provides a lasting, concrete product. It's a tangible record. It can be pasted into a scrapbook, posted to a refrigerator and yes, it will even line your birdcage.

But I digress. This isn't a post about the state of the newspaper industry. It's about me, me, me, and how much fun it is to be a part of all this.

Who else gets paid to call CEOs, mayors, legislators and other bombastic puffballs and ask blunt, sometimes awkward-silence-inducing questions?

Who else gets to go to work each day and do something entirely different than the day before?

Finally - and this is the particularly narcissistic part - who else can google their name and be the subject of approximately 4,000 search results?

Being a reporter is fun. I wish more reporters would remember that.