I’ve always had a hard time saying goodbye. Not just because of what it means, but also because of when I’ve had to say it.
When I was 15, I had to say goodbye to my beloved grandma. I wasn’t remotely ready for that. Ten months later, mom was gone, too. I never got to say goodbye to her. Then I had to leave behind the only life I’d ever known to move to Illinois.
Now I’m 23, and this is my hardest goodbye since.
That probably sounds absurd. On paper, this was just a job. But it never felt like one. For five years, this was my life. I got to cover sports at the highest level of intercollegiate athletics. I got to peek behind the curtain, talk to coaches and student-athletes, and learn what makes a team tick. Along the way, I built memories and friendships that will last far beyond my time here.
But beyond all that, I found something that just felt right.
When I transferred to NIU after my freshman year, I was looking for a fresh start. I had just spent a year at a school that took a severe mental toll on me. Then I almost died in a car accident. I was adrift, to say the least.
Having done journalism for two years in high school, I thought getting back into it might help me find some direction. So, I joined the Northern Star — and boy, did I strike gold. Though sitting through a mandatory four-hour “boot camp” wasn’t all that exciting, everything that came after made it more than worth it.
It led to my first event recap — the Redbird Invitational, written from the 12th floor of Grant Tower C. Years later, it brought me to my final assignment: NIU football’s last spring showcase before its historic move to the Mountain West Conference. More importantly, it allowed me to tell hundreds of incredible stories in between. And after years of covering the Huskies so closely, I’d contend there are only a handful of individuals who know more about them than I do.
That’s what makes it so difficult to say goodbye to the Northern Star — the longest job I’ve ever held, and a place that gave me so, so much.
But this isn’t just a goodbye to the Star. It’s my retirement from sports journalism entirely.
Now I know what some of you are probably thinking: Why walk away so early? Why not keep a good thing going?
I’ve had several professors, advisors and colleagues tell me I could be successful as a professional journalist, and maybe they’re right. Maybe I could’ve chased an eventual career at The Athletic or ESPN and tried to make a name for myself in the big leagues. There’s still a slight temptation to stick with it — and maybe I’ll return to it someday. But for now, I’m ready to move on.
Those who’ve worked closest with me know how much time and energy I invested into the Star — far more than required, sometimes to my own detriment. What began as a passion project slowly became a chore, and that passion turned into fatigue. The experience lost its luster, and that was something I never wanted to happen.
Sure, I won’t cover a Super Bowl or an NBA Finals, but I covered one of the greatest upsets in college football history when the Huskies did the unthinkable at Notre Dame. I won’t break huge news like Adam Schefter or Ian Rapoport, but I went viral for sharing Thomas Hammock’s impassioned remarks about the transfer portal. I won’t write another story for the Star, but I’ll always have my name on the wall and the memories I made while working here.
I’ll miss attending weekly press conferences with Hammock and the football players — then, days later, riding the elevator up to the Huskie Stadium press box to cover the wins and the losses.
I’ll miss going on road trips with Tim Dodge and Totus Tuus Keely to places like South Bend, Indiana, and Raleigh, North Carolina, and especially those occasional visits to my beloved Waffle House.
I’ll miss going to budget meetings on Monday evenings, taking part in the usual shenanigans and hosting more unhinged Kahoots than I can remember. The late-night hangouts in the office that followed were some of the most fun I had in college.
Hell, I’ll even miss filing Freedom of Information Act requests with NIU. I doubt the FOIA office will miss me much, though, because I sure filed a lot of those.
There’s also the stories I wrote, the awards I won and the records I set. In recent years, I’ve taken home several Illinois College Press Association awards, beating out competition from the likes of The Daily Northwestern and The Daily Illini. I even broke the Star’s all-time record for online stories published.
Needless to say, those were incredible accomplishments, and I’ll always cherish them.
However, none of them would’ve been possible without the collection of people I worked with — the ones who made my time here truly special.
To James Krause, the man who hired me all those years ago: Thank you for taking a chance on a transfer student who hadn’t done any journalism for three years. What you gave me became the opportunity of a lifetime.
To the sports editors and assistant editors I worked under — James, Jordan Radloff, Ethan Gonzales, Alex Crowe, Lucas Didier, Edison Miller and Kalin Schaefer: Thank you for putting up with my antics and trusting me to get the job done, time and time again. I’m proud to call some of you the greatest friends I made in college.
To the NIU sports information directors who made my job possible — Donna Turner, Jeremy Reid, Mike Haase, Joe Summins, Nick Shammas, Linnea Kangas, Dalton Ray and Ryan Scott: Thank you for treating me with respect and for handling every one of my requests and questions — even the ones that now seem ridiculous in hindsight.
To every student-athlete, coach and administrator I interviewed over the years: Thank you for the patience and respect you showed me, even when I asked the tough questions. My purpose for doing any of this was to tell you stories to the best of my ability. I hope I did that.
And most importantly, thank you to my two most trusted advisors, Shelley Hendricks and Maria Krull. Both of you were there from the very beginning. You’ve seen me at my very best, and you’ve seen me at my absolute worst. Frankly, a simple thank you can never fully do justice to all you’ve done for me these past five years, but it will have to suffice for now.
Of course, there’s so much more I could say, and there’s so many more people I could thank. But as tempting as it is to keep typing, I’ll do my editors one last favor and keep the word count from getting more ridiculous than it already is — even if this is my long-awaited send-off.
I’m not done quite yet, though. I still have one final column to publish — as I refuse to end my journalism career with a sappy goodbye letter — so stay tuned for that. But for all intents and purposes, this is where my story ends.
Thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading all these years. This experience is one I’ll never forget. And even though it’s time for something new, I’ll miss this place and these people forever.
So long, and farewell.
