The thrill is gone

My 6-year-old popped out of the mini-van and stopped dead in her tracks. She looked at the Star-Telegram rack stand and then at me. The expression on her face was solemn and sympathetic. 'Mommy' she asked quietly, 'Do you miss the Star-Telegram.' I answered quickly and without thinking. 'Nope,' I told her as we stepped onto the sidewalk, 'I don't miss it.' I surprised myself because the answer came so quickly and it was honest. Two months after having my job eliminated, I still don't miss the paper. Been there, done that, and yes I have the T-shirts. I didn't sit at home and grumble about how the swine flu panic of 2009 should have been covered and I don't feel compelled to call the city desk when I run across something that might make a good story. It feels wonderful to no longer face life with the defeated mantra: 'It is what it is.' In fact, the longer I'm away, the more I find myself asking, 'How could I have stayed so long?' The answer of course is easy. I stayed because I needed the paycheck. I wish I could pinpoint the day that journalism stopped being fun and became a chore, or worse just a job, but I can't. I'm sure happened somewhere between the angst over the sale for Knight Ridder and first round of layoffs. Maybe it was when I had to carry out one too many corporate directives that I didn't believe in, much less truly support. Perhaps it occurred as I read industry websites in which journalists somewhat gleefully proclaimed the demise of newspapers as a way of sticking it to the executives ordering cuts. The invective that I read on some of those sites was beyond cruel. Regardless of when I lost my passion for journalism, at some point to paraphrase B.B. King, the thrill was gone. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get it back and sustain it. By nature I'm a quick-minded, inquisitive and creative person, but in the last days I couldn't find a place for those characteristics in a news industry that was in survival mode. Since leaving, I've regained my creativity. I'm already looking at freelance opportunities and entrepreneurial ideas. For years, I did work that I was proud of and enjoyed; I'm hoping to find that again. My friends no longer ask me how I'm doing or if I'm happy. Instead, they tend to laugh at me and tell me they know I'm doing well. I know why Lucy looked sad that day and why she worried about me missing the paper. For all of her life, the paper loomed large in her life. She had no way of knowing that while the paper played a large role in my life, that role had turned negative and my career was little more than a job.