Reflecting on a rollercoaster

That rollercoaster metaphor, the ultimate cliché, has never been more applicable. I entered 2020 blindfolded and with a stomach full of butterflies. The rollercoaster began smoothly; third year seemed an adventure as we cavorted through February. Our hearts leaped into our mouths as March plunged us into lockdown and we were forced to return home. The following six months saw a series of twists and turns, rises and falls. I had no control. The third year that I had envisioned was nothing like the one that I experienced.

I estimate that I have written roughly six reflective pieces in my head this year; one for each month that lockdown kept me working from home. In the beginning, I spent most of my time toeing the line between indolent and indignant. On some days, I would lounge for hours on end, mindlessly consuming series and cashew nuts. On others, I would pace in a frenzied effort to feel productive, fuming against the world for ruining my third year. 2020 was going to be an academic wasteland.

Luckily, being miserable became mundane and I decided to grow something in the middle of the wasteland. I cultivated a new appreciation for my lecturers, who learned to prune the thorny tangles of technology. We were introduced to a new branch of beat reporting and service-learning and learned to express ourselves with Gill, a faceless yet soothing voice from Zoom. It was a relief to throw myself into something other than bed; suddenly, I was savouring the hours at my desk, appreciating the act of writing more than ever. The Road Not Taken speaks to our journalism class, as we have certainly taken the road less travelled (Frost, 1916). Looking back on the journey now, I am so grateful that we chose that particular path. I have undergone some core growth, right down to my thinking and way of being. Year after year, I have written about my dream of working for National Geographic in JMS applications, tutor applications, internship bios and reflective essays. Despite its cyclical appearance in my application forms, this dream has fuelled the fires of my future. 2020, and the JMS3 course, has only strengthened my resolve to make an impact through my writing.

Our rollercoaster seemed to plateau every Tuesday, and we could breathe. Gill guided our lungs through a rhythmic lullaby before we began every Writing Living Writing lecture. Prompts pushed us into paragraphs of prose; whether it be “my favourite smell…” or “a list of things that annoy me…”, our thoughts were set free every Tuesday. Free writing was liberating. Ever since I learned to write at the tender age of five, I have struggled with introductions. My perfectionist tendencies whine that the first sentence must be perfect; I cannot get through the first paragraph without sighing in frustration as I tap the backspace key for the fourth time. It goes without saying that Gill’s free writing activities were a real challenge at the beginning of the year. The prompts seemed obscure; the lack of structure tore me apart. However, pacified by her tips to keep the hand moving, Gill guided me into a zen state where there was no break between the thoughts in my head and the words on the page. These sessions opened the creative floodgates, allowing me to express myself with much more ease than I had thought possible. Free writing helped me to realise that starting a piece is not a terrifying act, but an exhilarating one. Now, even in my academic essays, I begin writing with Shakespearean confidence.

My writing has evolved as I have this year. For a big chunk of 2020, I thought that my third thing was the environment (Goldberg, 2007). An internship with an environmental journalist gave me incredible opportunities, but I still felt that I could do more. Rod’s beat reporting and service-learning course has helped me to unearth the root of that discontent. I have long dreamed of making a positive impact with my writing; it became apparent to me very early in life that there is enormous potential in journalism beyond journalism. Beat reporting has given my third thing a name and shone a light on my path forward (Goldberg, 2007).

There appears to be a menagerie of journalistic interests and approaches. The seminars, which our class presented in October, allowed me to explore constructive journalism for the first time. This type of writing emerged in the 20th century, when there was an increased drive for a more informative media (McIntyre & Gyldensted, 2017: 22). Constructive journalism, as its name suggests, was proposed as a more positive approach to traditional journalism (McIntyre & Gyldensted, 2017: 21). The rise in constructive journalism coincided with the Great Depression (McIntyre & Gyldensted, 2017: 22), which leads me to believe that the need for some good news was dire. Constructive journalism paves the way for journalists to report and produce more productive stories, which present vital information while educating and engaging news consumers (McIntyre & Gyldensted, 2017:23). In keeping with the journalistic values of accuracy, truth and balance, constructive journalism is a more empowering and comprehensive form of traditional journalism (McIntyre & Gyldensted, 2017:23). Contemporary media is so overrun with negativity that the need for this journalism is more vital than ever.

Constructive journalism immediately appealed to me, as I have always felt the need to make a positive impact with and beyond my writing. While the passive journalist simply reports on an issue and moves on, active or constructive journalists take a more participatory stance, in which they care about what happens after the story has been published (McIntyre & Gyldensted, 2017:22). One of my greatest fears is that I will become a journalist who moves from piece to piece without stopping to appreciate the power that words hold. I am naturally empathetic; I want to write stories that make a tangible impact on both the readers and the subjects of my work. This is why constructive journalism appeals to me in many ways; working with people, providing solutions, and digging my hands into the dirt of reality is my third thing (Goldberg, 2007).

I wrote an article with my friend and fellow writer, Jessica Feldtman, that gave us a taste of constructive journalism. The Lebone Centre is a reading and education centre in Makhanda, run by Cathy Gush and Annelise Maritz. At the beginning of the Coronavirus lockdown, the enterprising women jumped at a window of opportunity to act against the shocking literacy rates in the Eastern Cape (Gush, 2020). They started the 20 Books in 200 Homes in 2020 initiative in an effort to get at least 200 families around the broader Makhanda area to the ‘tipping point’ of childhood literacy (Gush, 2020). It was a wonderful project to have been involved in, even in our limited capacity. Our work was published in the Daily Maverick, which was cause for great excitement. Shortly after the article was published, John Maytham of Cape Talk approached Gush for an interview. On our WhatsApp group chat, Rod mentioned that Maytham was struck by our article and decided to chat to Gush. My heart warmed when I heard the news of her interview; it was edifying to see a such a palpable impact, where our work helped to spread awareness about the 20 Books initiative. This small experience of constructive journalism was hugely rewarding. It also helped me to put a name to the kind of journalism that I want to do in the future. One step closer to National Geographic.

Blogging expanded my horizons in just as many ways. I remember having some severe doubts about my ability to generate content around a singular theme for an entire year. The idea of deciding on and sticking with a theme was, in itself, a gargantuan challenge. I may be a perfectionist, but I am also awfully indecisive. Luckily, Gill’s mention of the popular old television series, MythBusters, sparked the idea that turned into a theme that turned into a blog. My Aquarian nature thrived in this new space: here, I could happily bash social media trends and shed light on issues that mean a lot to me. I found real enjoyment in writing each post: I relished exposing the origin story behind Instagram’s Challenge Accepted movement. In creating and growing my blog, I learned that I truly do my best work when I am passionate about it.

This is not to say that writing my first post was a piece of cake. I decided that my first myth to bust would be the ‘clean eating’ trend. Social media has put wellness on a pedestal, where anything less than picture-perfect is cast in shadow. Instagram is flooded with toned yogis drinking kale smoothies, ‘before and after’ pictures and tips for choosing the perfect detox cleanse. Of course, living a healthy lifestyle is important, but I wanted to expose the dangers of unrealistic perceptions. Too often, social media dictates how we feel about ourselves, our lifestyles and our bodies. The labelling of foods as ‘good’ and ‘bad’ can lead to harmful misconceptions about health. This is where I struggled a bit – I had no idea how to articulate myself, or how to flex my writing voice, in that kind of space. It is scary to send writing, essentially a piece of me, into the cavernous maw of the internet. It was, therefore, a big relief when I heard an echo – 16 people had viewed my post. It was also very encouraging when I got some feedback from Gill and 15 members of my family.

Since then, my blog has flowered into something that I proudly display on my CV. One of my posts received 82 views, and only a third of said views were family members. My habit of blogging religiously throughout the year has helped me to establish a firm grip on my writing voice. In one of her characteristically conversational emails, Gill mentioned my wry humour, which has seasoned many a blog post. I have found that, although I write a mean academic essay, I write best when I compromise some academic register to make room for sarcasm and my love of a good metaphor. This one is about my newfound writing voice being my literary larynx. It is wonderful to be able to write a piece in comfort, knowing that my writing voice is as innate as an organ and that the introduction does not need to be perfect the first time around. Writing Living Writing has taught me to live my writing.

Of course, I still have a long journey ahead of me. I imagine that the next rollercoaster ride is waiting for me in fourth year. I may have found my writing voice, but I know that there will be moments in my future where that voice falters. I still have a lot to learn in terms of beat reporting, too. Rod has always submitted our articles to Grocott’s Mail or to the Daily Maverick, cushioning us against the possibility of rejection. This will be a tough lesson to learn. Despite my trepidations about the future and its yawning possibilities, this year and these courses have taught me to embrace fear of the unknown. I have proven to myself that I can grow through anything, even a literal pandemic.

We are nearing the end of the ride, where I can catch just a peek of the horizon. 2021 stretches out in front of me, a sprawling blank slate. I feel giddy and breathless, and I know that my feet will be a bit wobbly when they hit the ground. That is normal, after a rollercoaster as wild as this one. I will step off this ride without fear of the future, because I have never felt more ready for another year, another rollercoaster. Luckily, the third year I had envisioned was nothing compared to what I experienced.

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This was the capstone essay from my third year of university (2020).