You Have to Start Somewhere...

I will be the first one to admit, it has been far, far too long since I last sat down and put my thoughts together in the form of writing. For some reason, typing a theft report or a narrative on a domestic assault just doesn't quite seem to have the poetic nature that actually putting your thoughts into writing does (go figure). However, this is as good of a time as any to attempt to rekindle the writing groove that I feel I once had.

You know, it's funny... When you're 18 years old and chasing dreams that you've had for years, the one thing that you hope for once graduation comes around is excitement and the feeling of being able to love what you're doing in your professional career. As I sit back now and reflect on my days at Park University, it almost brings me to tears to see how much this small town "hick" accomplished, and how none of those accomplishments now seem to matter in my new found profession. You may be sitting there thinking to yourself 'Well, how is any of this supposed to be funny?', well allow me to enlighten you.

Straight out of high school, I set out on my college conquest coming from a family that was always pressing (more like inching) forward on a day by day basis when it came to financial security, only to find ourselves breaking even at best. I myself, took my first job at the age of 16 seating guests at a local Springfield eatery. It didn't pay great, obviously, but it was enough to pay for my cell phone (which is saying quite a bit considering it was being used by your typical high school student), and my transportation. When I graduated from high school, I swapped locations from the backwoods of the Missouri Ozarks to the vast metropolis of Kansas City. It was a great time for me, a learning time for me. I experienced new people, things and thoughts on a daily basis. Everything from the way I presented myself to the sounds I fell asleep to night after night had undergone a complete makeover. One thing remained the same however, and that was my ongoing need to work to ensure I would be able to struggle my way through four years of college at a private university.

I continued to put in 40 plus hours a week on top of my now added responsibilities as a student, and as a journalist. Even with the stresses of each responsibility constantly biting at me like a frigid winter wind, I managed to succeed when it came to my duties as a staff writer for the Park University Stylus. By the end of year one, I was fortunate enough to secure a position on the staff as Sports Editor. By year two's expiration, I earned the position of Managing Editor. Only a semester after that exciting promotion, I was given the opportunity to have my go as Editor In-Chief, and let me tell you ladies and gentlemen, I was on cloud nine being blessed with that opportunity.

I was writing a column on a regular basis, overseeing staff issues, helping out with layout and design and everything in between. I even managed to bring in a couple of awards at a state collegiate writing contest.. I was loving every minute of every day. To me, there was no greater feeling in the world than being able to sit down in a silent office, put on some music and let the thoughts and feelings in my head run freely through my fingertips as I pieced together my latest puzzle of a column. But, over time, the joy I had once got out of successfully making it through a tight deadline turned sour, and I began to wear down as the burden of carrying out my daily tasks pushed me into the ground like a tent stake driven by a determined camper.

Slowly but surely, I began to see others taking my place as the helm of the newspaper. I still held the head title, but I did little more than write my weekly piece and edit a few others laying around. One afternoon prior to the weekly deadline, I sat in a crowded office with staff writers and photographers running in and out in frantic fashion and attempted to muster another column out of my exhausted mind. I sat, and sat, and sat, and no words found themselves making the transition from fingers to document. For the first time in my young writing career, I had no idea what to say and even worse, how to say it. I sat there in literal pain, feeling as alone as the blinking cursor on the blank word document on the screen in front of me. This was the straw that broke the camel's back when it came to my career as a collegiate journalist.

After that semester, I transferred to Northwest Missouri State University, leaving the place I found the most success in life. I fought my way through a lone semester at the dreadful school, putting a few average at best pieces together for the campus text here and there. The feeling of success I had once had as a writer though had completely vacated me. It was at the end of that one miserable semester that I decided to hang up my aspirations as the next big Kansas City Royals beat writer.

As time passed by, things progressed with me and my new future. As much as I despised Maryville and the university located there, I saw the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. I met the love of my life in this town, which far outweighs any journalistic accomplishment of mine. I also was able to attend and successfully graduate from the Missouri Western State University Law Enforcement Academy, and quickly found my first part-time law enforcement job in a small town not much larger than my original stomping grounds in the heart of the Ozarks. Shortly after, I wittingly (and cunningly) fooled the girl of my dreams into marrying me, another accomplishment I'm very proud of. Three days after the wedding ceremony, I started on the road as a full-time deputy, successfully snagging my first full-time law enforcement employment.

As rough as the road to get to this point has been, it seems that I have finally found a starting place in my career, as well as my life. I have all of the excitement an 18 year old, wet behind the ears college student ever ask for in my respected profession. The funny thing about it is, I always imagined getting my excitement and love for my job from behind a desk typing tomorrow's catchy column, not by policing the streets of a rural Missouri county. However, I love what I do for a living, and I love the fact that when I get off duty and return home in the early hours of the morning, that I have the greatest woman in the world waiting there for me. There are times when I think to myself that I should have continued the march toward my journalistic Eden, but the times I spent slaving away in the Stylus office pale in comparison to what I feel I have accomplished since those days, at least in this average joe's mind. Perhaps one day, one day soon, I can continue to pursue my childhood dream of writing about the Royals. Until that day comes however, I will continue living the dream that I have been dealt. Besides, if and when I do make the transition from law enforcement back to journalism, this time around, I'll have somewhere to start from.