I am as satisfied with my time at The Post as I am with my time at Ohio University, that is, not at all, for it is the nature of English majors to wonder how things could be done differently, the nature of poets to wonder how reality would change if we were different people and the nature of journalists to never be satisfied. My education has only made me these things even more, albeit with an added air of exhaustion and anxiety.
It is not that I am not proud of the work I have done, as it is a miracle we do anything at all; but as I stand at the end of this road, I wonder what other paths I could have taken, and whether or not they would have been paved with dirt or stone. The path I now look back on is lined with bricks: although uneven and a trip hazard, generally solid and secure.
If I were to say this is a job I never wanted, I wonder who would understand my sentiment. Why take the role instead of letting it fall to someone else? Why do this job for two years, no less?
But necessary work is rarely something people ever want to do. I am sure those who volunteer to build schools would prefer education to already be accessible, or those who work in soup kitchens would prefer there was no hunger.
I would prefer not to need to explain what microaggressions are, or to use years of my life to argue why I deserve not only to exist, but to be happy, but that is not the world we live in. Someone must do the work, and I can do the work, so it might as well had been me.
It is not that I did not enjoy my time as The Post’s first Equity Director; I liked it very much. It is one of the few worthwhile things I have done. I think The Post has improved so much since I stepped foot on this campus. However, I have learned it is extraordinarily difficult to get people to listen to you. It’s even harder to get people to care. I often felt I was wasting time and energy on pointless projects.
However, I have grown to realize that touching every mind is as realistic of a goal as becoming God. A single mind is much more attainable. If at least one person is glad I existed, I have succeeded. I have taught someone at least one thing, I am happy. In the business of opening minds, that’s all you can hope for. Wishing for more guarantees madness, and I only have so much sanity to spare. I only hope that the general consensus is that it was good to have me. I know I was glad to be there.
I will undoubtedly look back upon my time among people whom I am unsure if they would call me friend or if I would call them mine, but who are undoubtedly more than acquaintances that I like more than coworkers, fondly. I suppose that is why people often compare groups like these to families. You don’t have to like all of them, and many members are often distant or nearly strangers, yet there is a connection between us all. I came to Ohio alone, and I will leave Ohio alone, but at least I have people to leave behind. I pass on my torch to minds more brilliant than mine and look towards a new path without the people I haven’t yet had enough time with. I wonder how this passage will be paved.
Goodbye The Post, goodbye OU, goodbye College Green, goodbye to the bars and businesses I never visited, goodbye to the parties I never went to, goodbye to the few that I did, goodbye to the chances I took and to those that I didn’t. Goodbye to sickness and to health and to thousands of dollars, both mine and not.
Alesha Davis is a senior studying journalism and English at Ohio University. Please note that the views and opinions of the columnists do not reflect those of The Post. What are your thoughts? Tell Alesha by tweeting her at @AleshaTDavis.
Equity Director
