The Things That Wear On You

During that time, I’ve attended hundreds — probably thousands — of public meetings. I’ve sat through meetings where everyone agreed and you wondered why you were there. I’ve also been in meetings where tempers flared, voices were raised and you wondered what might happen next.

When I was a young reporter, I loved the excitement.

There was an adrenaline rush that came with this job. When the police scanner crackled with news of a major accident, fire or crime, I was out the door. Camera in hand, notebook in my pocket, I wanted to get there.

I wanted the story.

Back then, I thought that was what being a good journalist was all about. Get there first. Get the photograph. Find out what happened. Talk to the people involved. Get back to the office and tell the story.

What I didn't completely understand at the time was that many times I had been given a front-row seat to someone's worst day.

A wreck wasn't just a wreck.

A house fire wasn't just a photograph of flames against the night sky.

An arrest wasn't simply another name for the newspaper.

Behind every one of those stories were people. There were mothers and fathers, sons and daughters, husbands and wives. People received telephone calls they never wanted to receive, and families watched their lives change in a matter of seconds.

That part of journalism always bothered me.

It bothers me much more today.

Maybe age does that to you. Maybe after seeing enough tragedy, anger and conflict, you stop finding excitement in any of it.

These days, I don't enjoy watching people argue. I don't enjoy seeing a public meeting deteriorate into two sides trying to defeat one another instead of trying to understand one another.

Disagreement doesn't bother me. We need disagreement. Some of the best decisions come from someone willing to ask a difficult question or challenge an idea.

It's what happens afterward that matters.

Too often, disagreement becomes personal. People choose sides. Rumors start. Social media adds fuel to the fire. Before long, everyone focuses on who will win instead of whether there might be a solution somewhere in the middle.

After 30-plus years, those things wear on you.

I've learned there are very few victories worth destroying relationships over. Most problems aren't solved by whoever talks the loudest. And sometimes the person sitting across the table isn't your enemy — they simply see the problem differently than you do.

The younger version of me might have seen a heated meeting and thought, This is going to make a great story.

Today, I find myself thinking something entirely different.

Surely we can find a way to work this out.

Maybe that's what 30 years in this business has taught me most.

There will always be another story.

People are more important.