A Continuation in the Series of Speculative Writings About the Final Semester
I'm a few days away from finalizing my final semester schedule. If I can make a switch, it's between the radio documentary and freelance; I'll take whichever I can get.
Both of those classes may sound more ambitious than the great journalism class, but I'm making the switch in the hope of making my final semester more like a short 13-week epilogue to a 91-week story.
I've realized that I have no ambition as I walk to the end of my school career. I've given up on winning any of the School of Journalism's awards, like the best journalist. And I doubt I'll apply for any of the work-based awards, like best business feature.
My ambition, you see, has been replaced with the realization that winning any of these awards means nothing. I can't remember the last time I read a story about a great Canadian journalist who also won the J-skool's top journalist award in his or her final year at Ryerson. I can't remember, because I doubt it's ever happened.
That doesn't mean the School of Journalism's awards are meaningless--okay, it does mean those awards are meaningless. The student journalist who works hard towards winning any of the awards is wasting time. Besides that student impressing the parents, he or she has proved nothing in the "real world."
So, I'll show no ambition in my final semester. I'll write my assignments, and go on with my business, and after the 13 weeks evaporate like a dab of water on a hot summer day, it'll be close to the summer, the one that doesn't end with going back to school.