By Katie Stobbart (The Cascade) – Email
Print Edition: May 21, 2014
A month before this first issue as Editor in Chief, I found myself in a cave that was more like a tunnel. I had to scale a slippery stone wall above a deep pool encircled by rocks alongside the Chilliwack River to get in. I also had to trust a friend not to let go of the rope, which was old and had frayed a little near the top. I’m not sure how I was so easily persuaded to leave my comfort zone to go spelunking, but it was certainly an adventure.
The passage was narrow, and at times I had a hard time finding purchase with my foot to push myself forward through the space. It was a bit strenuous, more than a little humbling, and totally unlike what I had expected (in the movies, aren’t caves always spacious and mouth-like, with stalactites and stalagmites protruding like stone teeth?). I also laughed a lot that day, often at myself.
Taking on this job feels a little like that. It involves trust and teamwork, some manoevring to find the way, and I hope I’ll emerge with a fresh perspective, a little different from when I went in. Also, if you told me I would be here writing this a year ago, I would have been incredulous. Editor in Chief? No way.
But the student newspaper at any campus is a training ground. Even if you don’t plan to pursue a career in journalism, there are many skills to be picked up here, including writing, editing, design, working with other people, and leadership. It’s also a community: far from the cave analogy, the office is a bright and open space where there is dialogue, teamwork, laughter, and yes, we have occasionally broken into song. I remember a moment shortly after being hired as copy editor last year, I was working quietly in the office when a few fellow staff suddenly began to sing “In the Jungle.”
Looking back, I can clearly see two major stages in my university experience. One was before The Cascade, and one is after. Both stages involved their own struggles, but in the former I felt like I was in the cave by myself with no headlamp, with no one holding the rope. It’s a feeling sometimes I’d like to forget. But I keep it in the back of my mind, because it’s a trailmarker.
When the thought first occurred to me that I could apply for this job, I was afraid. Many of the people I have gotten to know and who guided me toward where I am now are leaving, moving on to new places and experiences. I still peek into the office window before I come in, fully expecting Dessa Bayrock to be sitting at her — now my — desk.
I think one of the biggest catalysts for my growth over the past year or so has been this team of people who have encouraged and had faith in me. Now, I get the opportunity to pass it on. And, a little like emerging from the narrow cave bruised and more than a little muddy, that is humbling.
But I’m also not finished learning: I imagine the next year will have its own bumps and bruises to contend with. There will also be laughter and light, and a wonderful team of people to work and grow with.
It is possible to get through university without a headlamp — but having one makes a world of difference.
