Three things I always tell students
Have you tried to summarize the lessons you've learned about what you do?
I feel lucky when I get a chance to talk to college students. Or high school students. Or elementary kids or retired folks or whatever age of learners who have come together to acquire new knowledge and skills.
I’ve always loved being a student and absorbing the lessons that speaker has learned about a particular subject. As an adult, I really love hearing how and why people do what they do (and keep their sanity doing it over the long haul).
Fall is a time when I usually do guest lectures for professors I know at local colleges — or even not-so-local ones. No matter if I’m talking to ag majors in Kirksville, Missouri, or journalism students at UT, I typically tell them a handful of the same ideas, no matter what the topic of the class actually is.
It’s rare that I teach to a food journalism class — usually, it’s a class about features writing or lifestyle reporting or new media careers. But today, I got to speak to Kathleen McElroy’s UT class that is focused entirely on food journalism, so we did a deep dive into the concept of the food section.
I brought recent food section examples to display the wide variety of print content that is still out there, but of course, we spent a lot of time talking about digital food journalism, from the recipes-on-gravestones videos on TikTok to The Checkout, a Substack newsletter focused exclusively on the grocery industry by Austinite Errol Schweizer.
The nichification of food journalism is interesting if you’re into that kind of stuff, but what I really like getting to with students is the universal message part. I might be talking to them about how to write a first-person narrative or how to handle writer’s block, but I’m also reciting sage advice from others that I’ve squirreled away in my brain:
Treat your readers not like your audience, but your community. A favorite from Gary Vaynerchuk.
Truth, truthier and truthiest. Brene Brown’s hierarchy of truth.
The one-inch picture frame. Annie Lamott’s brilliant storytelling tool.
RELATED: What’s in a one-inch picture frame?
But when I think about distilling my own life experience into just a handful of soundbites, I always come back to the same three suggestions:
Shoot your shot. We only get one chance at life, but we get lots of chances within that life. It’s good to swing for the fence now and then. Apply for that internship or that promotion that you don’t think you’re qualified for. We expand to fit the containers we are given. I’ve seen enough of the labor market to know that managers need people who have fresh ideas, enthusiasm, and follow-through. If you have those things, you can walk through more doors than you realize. These exciting-but-challenging situations where you feel a little over your head are rich fertilizers for your professional garden.
Be curious. Your curiosity will never lead you astray. It will lead you to new discoveries about yourself, which will lead to new discoveries about the world. If you’re curious about history, put yourself in places and situations where you’ll learn history. If you like to make things, sign up for maker classes. If you loved playing the clarinet in band, join your community orchestra. Even if your paid work has nothing to do with how you nurture your curiosity, your life and your work will benefit from keeping that part of your brain active.
Get comfortable talking to strangers and consciously build your network. Consider every person you meet as a person that you one day might use as a source or someone who might be able to help you in some way. I had one of the last Rolodexes in the newsroom, and I still have it. I’ve kept every business card I’ve ever received, and my Facebook feed is filled with people I met once and still consider part of my professional village. Being part of a community is essential to our personal and collective wellbeing, and that includes in our work life. When I say, “Email me if you have questions,” I mean it.
Although it’s fun to stand in front of a group of people and tell stories about interviewing food celebrities or starting the food blogger alliance or writing the community cookbook all those years ago, but as my career evolves, I am glad to be getting beyond the “what’s it like as a food writer?” questions.
I wish I would have had more adults show me what it looked like to not have all the answers when I was their ages. So, if I’d much rather talk about the things I’m still learning now, maybe they’d rather hear that, too.
It’s also good practice for me to look at my career from 30,000 feet.
I look back on those stories I wrote about being a working mom and love that I found a way to make meaning out of these everyday moments: baking Angry Bird cupcakes for a birthday; making a weeknight dinner for the three of us when I became a single parent; taking Julian to a pasta-making class for kids.
I think about that time I worked as an H-E-B cashier for a story and remember what I know about not being afraid to ask, even if the idea seems too far fetched.
If being a food writer is a fairly specific job and there are a million ways to do it, I can only imagine the number of ways that people embody their own jobs. As a teacher, a nurse, a mechanic, a mail delivery person.
If there are a million things to be, there must be 8 billion ways to be.
So, on this Wednesday, I’m grateful for the chance to talk about how I’ve chosen to do my job in a way that inspires others to choose their own way to do theirs.
I’m curious to know: What would you tell students about how you do your job? What life wisdom has your career path given you?
Happy Wednesday, readers! I didn’t give you a heads up that I was out of town last week, but I hope you’ll excuse the absence. It was for a very good reason: my very first bigfoot expedition. (No, really.)
Over the weekend, I spent two days in the wilds of New Mexico with fellow bigfoot enthusiasts, and I had a long drive home to think about what I wanted to write about the experience of going out into the woods in pursuit of an animal most people don’t think exists. I still haven’t quite settled on how to tell that story, but I’ll keep thinking about it and let you know when the muse visits to say it’s time to write about the pursuit of sasquatch.
Because the muse is the last little tidbit I want to leave you with today.
In Liz Gilbert’s book, “Big Magic,” she describes creativity as a co-creative relationship with the muse, a spirit that comes to visit and opens a portal where the words, or whatever art you make, flow through you. She wants us to recognize when the muse is visiting and honor the inspiration that comes with it.
I’ve always loved this concept, and I often share it with writers or photographers, along with the reminder from adrienne maree brown that there’s always enough time for the right work, so that’s what I wanted to end with today.
A reminder that the muse visits you, too.
The muse knocked on my door after this class, so I answered it here. I hope you’ve enjoyed this little update and that September has started off on a nice note for you.
Thanks to all the folks who support this independent writing project that makes stories like these possible.
Looking forward to sharing more next week.
Addie
"These exciting-but-challenging situations where you feel a little over your head are rich fertilizers for your professional garden."
Phew. I firmly believe this — I've not been 100% prepared for most (all?) of the amazing, fun, surprising things I've done in my professional and personal life.
And/but some days, it feels like a lot. That's why today, I'm working in my pajamas (after writing an intimidating 'grownup' email yesterday, writing a few thousand words, and having a far too adult conversation with a family member).
My advice would be to remember that you don't have to be a striver EVERY DAY. Some days are maintenance and/or recovery. To be our best, we need to take breaks from output to fill the well with creative inputs — and remember to occasionally take the time to chill out to prevent a burn out. —Mel
Addie was amazing in my Food Journalism class -- her insight, inspiration and honesty were just the ingredients my students needed!