My journalism career started before I even realized it was beginning, in car rides to school with my dad. There was a kind of routine to those mornings, where the outside world would pass quietly while I sat in the passenger seat, half-awake, half-thinking.
Outside the window, trees and buildings passed by in a blur. The sun was so bright some mornings I had to squint my eyes. Snow stuck to the windshield while I held my hands near the heat blowing through the car. On the boring, gray winter days, all I could really do was stare out the window and think.
During those rides, my dad and I talked. Not with any specific intention, but just because that’s what we did. We talked about everything: our lives, music, things we noticed, and about random thoughts that somehow felt important at 7:30 in the morning. In those conversations, my stories began.
Maybe it was wondering how our dog, Evie, somehow always knows exactly when we’re about to get home. Maybe it was questioning whether I would’ve torn my ACL sophomore year if I hadn’t been playing on turf. Or maybe it was discussing a movie we had watched the night before and trying to figure out why we didn’t quite like it.
Those thoughts followed me throughout the school day. They simmered in the back of my mind, grew during class discussions, and became more purposeful through conversations with friends. Looking back now, I realize that was my first introduction to journalism: turning ordinary conversations and observations into something worth exploring.
I always knew writing was one of my strengths, but I never expected a random freshman English class to shape the rest of my high school career. Ms. Ordoñez recognized something in my writing and encouraged me to take journalism the next year with her and Mr. Mormolstein. I am incredibly grateful she did.
From sophomore year on, North Star News (NSN) became one of the most important parts of my life. It gave me a place to grow into my writing, but more importantly, it surrounded me with thoughtful, talented people who cared about words and ideas in the same way I did. I learned how to interview people, how to ask better questions, how to think more critically, and yes, how to debate the Oxford comma.
Journalism also gave me some of my favorite memories from high school. Whether it was scrambling to finish edits before publication, laughing with friends during class, or traveling to places like Boston, Seattle, and Nashville, it became so much more than just a class to me.
As my senior year comes to an end, I feel grateful for all the things that shaped my high school experience. Soccer, both school and club, taught me discipline and resilience. Auroris, Animal Club, honor societies, and every other activity gave me community. But when I look back on high school, North Star News will always be something I remember especially fondly.
NSN helped me understand the way I think and how I engage with the world around me. It turned the way I naturally think: observant, curious, sometimes overly thoughtful, into something useful. It gave me confidence in my voice and showed me a possible direction for the rest of my life, whether that ends up being journalism specifically or simply something rooted in storytelling and communication.
This fall, I’ll be attending the University of Michigan to study communications and media, and I hope to write for The Michigan Daily. None of that would feel possible without North Star News.
Even though my dad won’t be driving me to school every morning anymore, I think those car rides will always stay with me. To me, journalism has always been rooted in conversation. In noticing things, asking questions, and being thoughtful, curious, and opinionated about the world around you. Somehow, all those mornings staring out the passenger window turned into the foundation for the way I think and write today.
Years from now, when the winter in Michigan feels especially brutal and I’m warming my hands near the heat on a bus ride somewhere, I’ll think back to those mornings and remember the roots that brought me there.
