I’ve written many stories during my time on staff, but none quite like this. There’s no angle to chase, no quotes to gather, no deadline hovering over me (OK, maybe one). For the first time, I get to just write. And somehow, that made it harder.
I’ve struggled to figure out how to begin this farewell. Maybe because “goodbye” feels so final. Maybe because I’m still unpacking everything this place has meant to me. Or maybe because putting it into words makes it real.
There’s no pride here, just deep, overwhelming gratitude. Gratitude for the stories, the people, the growth, the laughter, the late nights, the unexpected turns and every moment in between.
When I came to Simpson, I had no idea what I wanted to do. I didn’t arrive with a master plan. I just tried things, followed my instincts and said “OK” a few times—kind of like Chad from SNL. And somewhere in the middle of it all, I stumbled into Simpson College student media.
I still remember the first time I saw our student newspaper: Kyle Werner came bouncing over with a huge grin and said, “Look what I did!” I didn’t know then that I’d eventually be writing for that same paper, finding meaning in telling other people’s stories.
It’s funny how things fall into place. When it came time to declare a major, I walked into Brian Steffen’s office and asked, “What am I closest to?” Journalism, as it turned out. I’d taken enough classes that I figured I must’ve liked it. So I went with it. Looking back, that decision shaped everything.
Brian, I still remember spotting you at SOAR because my mom told me to look for “the super tall one.” We snapped a selfie in our masks, having no idea the memories ahead. Thank you for every message, every honest edit, every memory, every moment of patience and for believing in me even when I didn’t believe in myself. I’m so honored to have been one of your students—and maybe even more honored to have been a little bit of a headache along the way.
To Carponelli—there’s nothing you do that doesn’t impress me. You are sharp, driven, fierce and brilliant. Watching you work is a masterclass in how to care deeply and move mountains.
To Siebert—thank you for being the realest. You taught me to dig deep and not be afraid of the messiness. Writing, like life, is gritty sometimes. You helped me lean into that.
This role has given me so many gifts: conversations I’ll never forget and stories that changed the way I see the world. One that I hold especially close is the chance to interview Jay Byers. It reminded me just how powerful it is to sit across from someone and truly listen. Through interviews and conversations, I found myself growing closer to this school and its people. Each story I wrote became a little mirror, reflecting parts of me I hadn’t fully seen yet.
There’s something poetic about it all, how my mom was in Brian’s first-ever class at Simpson, and I ended up in one of his last. Like time folding in on itself.
Time. It’s the biggest yin and yang, I’ve realized. We think we have it, but we don’t. Yet time reveals everything if we’re patient enough to let it.
It took me a while to realize that my love for people and my ability to listen and care were a bigger gift than I ever knew. Time was on my side.
To anyone reading this who may feel lost: just try something. Anything. I used to think that was a cliché, but it’s not. Just start. Say yes. Take a step forward, even if you’re not sure where it’s leading. You might just find your story along the way.
I wish I could hug my freshman self and tell her how much she would accomplish but she’s been with me the whole time. I’m so proud to have tried, done and accomplished something while making lifelong memories along the way.
I never thought I’d be a part of something big, write stories, be on a front page, win an award, go to conferences, travel with my team. It didn’t have to be perfect, it just had to be real. Mission accomplished.
Thank you to everyone I’ve had the privilege of meeting, listening to and working with. I will never forget the many, many laughs.
I’ve told a lot of stories in my time here. But this one, mine, might be the hardest to write. There’s not enough space for that; Abby would smack me.
Time moved faster than I could hold onto. But the stories? The people? They stay with me.
Always.
To quote Natasha Bedingfield, “The rest is still unwritten…”