The rise of interns

I just rifled through a listserve email of journalism job openings and something occurred to me: this is the age of interns.

Practically every listing was looking for an intern. Multimedia intern. Editorial intern. PR intern. Sales intern. Magazine intern. Intern, intern, intern.

Of course, this is great news for freshmen and sophomores. Where you used to have to pull teeth to get a good internship, now they're abounding in a variety of interesting areas of the country. I predict the resumes of 2012 graduates will be rockin'.

However, for soon-to-be-graduates like me, this is not-so-good news. I'm tired of free labor. As a matter of fact, I can no longer afford free labor. It was great for gaining experience during college - for beefing up my resume. Now? Now I just want a job. And unfortunately, only two of about the thirty listings that I went through today were actual paying jobs. Back to the drawing board. Again.

Ready, set... go!

Yesterday I moved to Atlantic Station to start a four-month adventure in the big city.

It's been so long since I've been on my own that I forgot how much I thrive in this kind of environment. For the past couple weeks, I've been pretty anxious about the internship I'll start on Friday and about leaving all of my friends and the comfort of Athens. I found myself sort of wallowing in doubt and unhappiness last night, completely ignoring my natural impulses to be optimistic and excited about something like this.

But this morning, I woke up at 7:30 determined to change my tune. I showered, put on a professional-looking outfit and my new big-city coat, and headed for Atlantic Station to walk around.

I immediately rediscovered my independence. There were hardly any people around as I made a beeline for a nearby coffee shop, and as I padded across the brick walkways, the wind was whipping around my ankles and my hair. It was so refreshing. When I got to the coffee shop, there was a man waiting in line. "Do you work around here?" he asked me with a smile. "Sort of," I found myself answering. "I work at the Capitol."

After a quick trip to Publix, I safely navigated my way back to my apartment, feeling more and more confident by the second. It looks like this isn't going to be as scary and out of my element as I originally worried it might be.

My brain's on hiatus

I've been feeling guilty for grumbling about being an intern, but at least I didn't break a window.

Our Thanksgiving break is next week, and unfortunately, my brain is already on vacation. It's hard for me to focus. I can't talk or write without making some sort of mistake. I'm irritable because all I want to do is bake cookies and listen to George Winston.

But I have to keep charging ahead. Now that I've recognized my faults, I actually have to try to prevent them. Sure, the first step is admitting a problem, but the problem won't get any better by simply acknowledging its presence. One of the hardest things to do is to take responsibility for yourself and your actions - to fix something if it's not right. Right now, I want to be lazy, but I know I can't.

My plan of action for the rest of the week:

I'm going to wake up on time.
I'm going to get to work a few minutes early and leave a few minutes late.
I'm going to do my required reading before my classes.
I'm going to take care of business first so I can do whatever I want later.

And I'm going to need someone to hold me to all this.

The harsh reality of being an intern

I had a reality check yesterday.

I am an intern.

Yes, I know that's probably obvious to all of you and understood among my colleagues. But it's news to me. (ha, get it? news?)

I've been fooling myself into thinking that I'm a "special" intern. I do things no intern has done before. I've been places no intern has ever gone. I casually chat with people no intern has ever attempted to befriend. But the reality is - I'm just an intern.

I do the grunt work - the work no one else wants to do or that no else can do. I contributed more than any other reporter to the Think Pink sections under the impression that I was being given a huge opportunity. The truth? No one else wanted to do it considering they had much more pressing stories to write or breaking news to report.

I covered election night, which I considered an honor, and I couldn't believe they would consider me for such a position. The truth? They couldn't find anyone else to fill that position so I was their last hope.

My editor consistently tells me that I'm overqualified for some of the things I'm doing. The truth? I'm not. So the filing and the Excel spreadsheets and the holiday guides continue because that's what I do. I pick up the slack.

But you know what? That's okay. Because if I didn't do the work, it wouldn't get done. And if it didn't get done, it might mean that people wouldn't have access to certain information they need or someone's voice wouldn't be heard. And that's a heck of a lot worse than filing house ads.

Stuff journalists like

Absolutely spot on.

My personal favorite: Interns.