I’ve kept a copy of Spring 2000 Editor in Chief Megan Purn’s last letter from the editor in the bottom drawer of the Editorial Board desk all year. The letter has haunted me throughout my semester–I come across it every few weeks as I rummage through the other files. Until tonight, I hadn’t told anyone that I’d been keeping Megan’s letter, but the almost psychic way in which it echoes my own experience with the newspaper has repeatedly paralyzed me: someone else has perfectly articulated why I do what I do here. In her letter, Megan outlined the ways in which her time as Editor in Chief left her emotionally and physically spent.

Despite the time when my horrid lookbook picture was on the cover of The Collage, and that other excruciatingly embarrassing issue of the Claremont Courier for which I also somehow served as the gaping cover girl, my time as editor has been rather tame. But still, my four years at The Student Life have made my life so strangely and specifically intense at different moments. It has cost me, at points, a relationship with my boyfriend, my integrity, my faith in myself, my happiness, and my sanity. I have nearly quit in the middle of multiple semesters, swore that I would never again be an editor, wrenched through many nights in a stressful sweat, and squeezed my eyes shut in an attempt to sleep in the few hours of daylight between the newspaper and class. Since sophomore year, when I first was an editor for the paper, every Thursday I have become selfish, contemplative, and decadent (watching Austin Powers twice in a row, drinking margaritas and going to the mall) due to my total lack of sleep.

I don’t always remember to be happy about my intense involvement with the newspaper. In many ways, it has been torturous. But there’s a clear moment from sophomore year, walking by Oldenborg with Alice in the blank white of the sunrise, chilled but headed for bed. The analogies are obvious between the feeling of empowerment that comes from being up when no one else is and knowing the news before it breaks. We were exhausted, infuriated at our superiors for dumping the paper on us without due warning, talking while too tired to think. As we often did that semester, we talked about quitting, about how we would never agree to be more than news editor. Time proved us both wrong.

Four of the past five editors-in-chief have been members of the class of 2001. All four of us are still involved. The paper’s a black hole. It took us once and never spit us back out. We hit the back of the universe. So, I’m trying to say goodbye for us, even though it isn’t (quite) my place. Here’s to Megan’s letter, and here’s to the people in the office: Peter, Amit, Scott, Beth, Greg, Jeff, Conor, Conor. It’s too late for you to be here. Go home and complain about me.

Sincerely,

Nora Lawrence