Luke, join me and together we could rule the universe

A former newspaper colleague of mine said she was on her way to an interview for a public relations job. She said she was trying to work through one problem: that once she took such a job, she wouldn't be a reporter any more. "I'd be going over to the dark side."

Now, I believe good reporters, of which she is definitely one, are trained skeptics, not accepting what they hear without checking and evaluating it. But they are human, and like most humans have a harder time examining those things closest to their hearts. The title "reporter," is like "poet" or "artist" or "carpenter," titles one hesitates to give oneself because of the honor and tradition that comes with them. And it's hard, real hard, to put such honors in one's past.

Consider this, young padawan. You have been loyal all your adult life to the profession. But has the profession been loyal to you? Just a few months ago the paper for which you performed prodigious and ultra-competent service dumped you. Before that, did any of the papers you've worked for pay you enough to live on? Or were those papers subsidized, in effect, by your spouse or parents? Were you allowed to take sick or vacation time without having to fight for it? Were you not "asked" to work convoluted schedules so you would work dawn to midnight without being able to claim overtime? Were both management AND your editor humane? Just one and not the other? Or both but only halfway, with major blind spots?

"Real world" jobs aren't oases of love and tenderness. You'll still have deadlines (which in spite of the perception of non-reporters, are no big deal), you'll still see destructive editing of your work by those who are several grades behind you in writing, and perhaps you'll put in extra hours. But if you get offered a job, and it has a decent salary, a reasonable commute, and your prospective boss isn't teetering on insanity, take it. Regret is portable, so you can miss the old days in your spare time.