Your Voice

J-School throwback

Anonymous — Wed, 22 Mar 2023 19:52:51 +0000

J-School throwback Anonymous (not verified) Wed, 03/22/2023 - 13:52

By Shannon Mullane (MJour’19)

In celebration of 100 years of journalism education, CMCI and the Department of Journalism invited alumni to share memories of their own experiences at ��ý�Ļ��Ʒ.

The result: slices of life as student journalists across decades—inside jokes and reporting adventures included.

On April 21, 1922, the University of Colorado Board of Regents voted to form the Department of Journalism and created the university’s first four-year journalism degree program. A century later (to the day), the college and the journalism department launched a yearlong celebration featuring campus events, alumni stories, social media campaigns, multimedia projects and magazine features in CMCI Now.

“These stories just clearly highlight the amazing work, now in the past, from our students, faculty and staff,” said Pat Ferrucci, interim chair of the journalism department. “To hear stories from some of our past students about what the program meant to them—it just makes this celebration even more meaningful.”

It’s our pleasure to share a selection of these alumni stories in this edition of CMCI Now. Read on to hear from Timothy Coy (Advert’80), Jenny Herring (Jour’82) and Danielle Kreutter (Jour’11).

Danielle Kreutter (Jour’11)

Jenny Herring (Jour’82)

Timothy Coy (Advert’80)

Danielle Kreutter (Jour’11) was part of the final graduating class of the School of Journalism before it was incorporated into the College of Media, Communication and Information.

Danielle Kreutter reports during an episode of NewsTeam Boulder in 2011.

Photo provided by Danielle Kreutter.

In 2011, with a bachelor’s degree in broadcast news in hand, Kreutter joined the workforce intent on being a true community journalist:

What that ended up looking like, for me, was spending the last decade covering stories all across Colorado. My first job in Grand Junction gave me opportunities to tell stories across the Western Slope, covering presidential campaign visits and driving back to the Front Range to bring around-the-clock coverage of the tragic Aurora movie theater shooting in 2012.

After two years in Grand Junction, I headed to my next job in Colorado Springs. While there, I worked on investigations that held business owners accountable to the Americans with Disabilities Act; gave a voice to victims and families during difficult criminal justice proceedings; and kept residents up to date when dangerous severe weather or wildfires threatened neighborhoods.

I am thrilled to be back in my hometown of Denver covering stories that impact my friends and family with the Denver7 news team.

My work has been recognized by the Colorado Broadcasters Association with the Award for Excellence for Best Reporter in a Non-Metro Market in 2016. I was also part of the team coverage of a severe spring blizzard that received the Edward R. Murrow Award for Best Newscast in Small Market Television in 2020.

It's been such a joy to cover my home state as a journalist and meet CU alumni in newsrooms along the way!

Jenny Herring (Jour’82) graduated from the news-editorial sequence in the School of Journalism, one of three sequences that also included advertising and broadcast news.

Jenny Herring and her father, Bill Herring (Bus'50, MEdu'57), on graduation day May 21, 1982, at the CU Events Center, known as the Coors Event Center at the time.

Photo provided by Jenny Herring.

She shares glimpses into student life—from inside jokes to favorite faculty and staff—at CU between 1978 and 1982.

I laughed out loud when I read John Leach’s admission in CMCI Now that his pre-journalism studies as a math major weren’t the right fit. In fact, the expression I remember from my own undergrad days was along the lines of, “We don’t do math. We’re journalists—we have math anxiety.”

How ironic that at least a couple of us who graduated from the School of Journalism in the 1980s actually used our news-editorial degrees to write about investments and capital markets. While one of my friends had the foresight to take economics, I never did—which meant what little knowledge I gained was on the job.

My career path took me into providing public relations counsel, writing and editing for a variety of esoteric companies including penny stocks (bottled water! Canadian diamonds!), retail and institutional asset management firms (mutual funds and pension plans) and even a food safety company.

As the old J-school joke goes, I had a perfect face for radio, hence the news-editorial sequence was the best course for me. However, years later during a CMCI homecoming event, two alums asked if they could join me at the “broadcasting table.” I only hope they meant “television broadcasting.”

But enough about me. Here are a few things I remember about life in the School of Journalism from 1978-1982:

All those hours at Macky. The journalism school shared Macky Auditorium with the CU College of Music, and there were still practice rooms in the towers. Our classrooms and office space were primarily on the first floor. Then there was the legendary basement . . . home to the student-run The Campus Press weekly newspaper. As an assignment editor for this paper, I had the dubious privilege of being in some of the creepier basement rooms, including the darkroom and one housing the “waxer.” After typesetting [the] copy and printing out a page, we had to wax the slick paper so that it would stick on the layout “dummy.” Yes, Virginia, this was the method before desktop publishing.
The staff. Garda Meyer, who served as an assistant to the J-School dean for over 25 years, was always a friendly face up on the third floor of Macky. Kay Rock was a comfort on career counseling, although at the time I graduated she thought I might want to apply for a sports writing position in Ogallala, Nebraska. No.
The faculty. Students from that era will never forget Professor Sam Archibald, who was instrumental in the development of the Freedom of Information Act (FOIA) and shared his wisdom through the Journalism and the Law course as well as a senior-level investigative reporting class. I am embarrassed to say I was not Woodward or Bernstein.
- Mal Deans, an instructor with an impeccable background in real-world journalism that included a role as newspaper ombudsman at the Rocky Mountain News. Deans shepherded The Campus Press weekly and worked in the trenches with us to get the paper out.
- Professor Bill McReynolds taught a history of journalism course. Possibly as part of this course, he presented an in-depth analysis of “Jeffersonian vs. Jacksonian” thought and the influence this had on democracy and the Western expansion of America. I wish I still had the notes. He was also one of our instructors in the legendary Reporting of Public Affairs class where we learned to stay awake and report on Boulder City Council meetings.
- Professor Bob Rhode, who taught photography. I still have my copy of his book, Introduction to Photography, as well as his critique of the somewhat fuzzy black-and-white photos I submitted for a class portfolio in 1981. I blame the poor focusing abilities of my Pentax K-1000 camera.
- Jane Cracraft, an instructor and Denver Post reporter who later became a private legal investigator. I loved her stories of Boulder county mysteries that had been solved through research and digging, and sometimes only because somebody knew somebody who knew something.
RTD and the walk to campus. Although I didn’t know it at the time, I was a “non-traditional student” since I lived in Longmont and took the RTD bus to Boulder every day. Oh, that morning slog up the hill from Broadway and Canyon to campus, through all kinds of weather, and then back down in the afternoon. I was in the best shape of my life.

Forty years later, I realize how much my CU J-School experiences and education shaped me and provided a strong advantage in my career.

Timothy Coy (Advert’80) joined the School of Journalism in 1978, where he took journalism classes as he pursued a concentration in advertising.

Yearbook photo of Timothy Coy from 1980.
Provided by Timothy Coy.

In addition to some favorite professors—like Don Somerville, who could make the 20-somethings laugh with his brand of humor, and Chris Burns, who made advertising fun and challenged students to do their absolute best—Coy shared some memorable moments from his journalism classes:

One memory that stands out was the Radio and Television News class. Bob Palmer wasn't the instructor during the spring 1979 semester, so that responsibility fell onto Richard Riggs, the investigative reporter for KOA Channel 4, as it was called at that time.

One of the assignments was to meet Richard at the station and go out in the news car for hands-on training. He, his photographer and I went to Alzado’s, a new restaurant owned by former Broncos defensive end Lyle Alzado, for its grand opening in Cherry Creek.

I was assigned to lug the VCR so his photographer didn't have to; as in those days, the tape deck was not self-contained in the camera. Being part of a news team must have been impressive, as I was hit on by a young lady while at the restaurant doing the job I was asked to do.

We later shot some tape of a Denver city council meeting and returned to the station, only to hear gunfire while the car was being parked. We all ducked down and went inside a few minutes later.

I enjoyed a 32-year advertising and marketing career at the Rocky Mountain News and The Denver Post, and to this day I operate a graphic design business, creating diverse items such as magazines, logos, website artwork and much more. I have CMCI to thank for the education and foundation that led to my career and the positive memories it left.

What is it like to study journalism at ��ý�Ļ��Ʒ? In celebration of the 100th anniversary of journalism education at CU, alumni offer glimpses into student life throughout the decades—inside jokes and reporting adventures included.

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Going Digital with Dignity

Anonymous — Mon, 27 Jul 2020 23:10:39 +0000

Going Digital with Dignity Anonymous (not verified) Mon, 07/27/2020 - 17:10

Renaissance woman, multipotentialite, polymath—however you prefer to say it, Shamika Klassen is the type of person you’ll never find doing just one thing.

A collector of insights and experiences, Klassen's real specialty is bringing people and ideas together.

Growing up in San Antonio, she spent her middle and high school years attending math and engineering camps. Then, she headed to Stanford, where she majored in African and African-American Studies. After graduation, she completed a year of service with AmeriCorps, which led her to earn a master of divinity degree from Union Theological Seminary in New York City.

Today, Klassen is earning her PhD in CMCI’s Department of Information Science, with a focus on technology, social justice and ethics. She is also interested in techno-spiritual practices, and hopes to work with the Center for Media, Religion and Culture to collaborate on technology and spirituality projects.

“People are out there on VR getting baptized and using drones to deliver the Eucharist down the aisle of their church,” she says. “Genevive Bell’s article, ‘No More SMS for Jesus,’ in 2006 was a wonderful snapshot of what folks were doing with techno-spirituality but it came out before the iPhone and social media became what it is today. I would love to revisit her research and pick up where she left off.”

And this summer, Klassen took on yet another project: entrepreneurship.

Commemorating both Juneteenth and her grandmother’s 71st birthday, she launched the Tech Chaplaincy Institute on June 19, 2020. Currently a team of three, the institute provides one-on-one and group technology training sessions.

“We use the best practices of pastoral care and chaplaincy to usher people through technological crises with dignity and grace,” she says.

Currently in the process of hiring two more tech chaplains, Klassen aspires to one day train an entire network of them. She also hopes to reach more people by creating a series of online courses and webinars on frequently discussed topics.

We caught up with Klassen virtually to discuss her new business, her many passions, and how she’s blending them all together to create unique avenues for positive change.

What gave you the idea to create a Tech Chaplaincy Institute?

After my year of service with AmeriCorps, I knew I wanted to dedicate my life to serving other people. I just did not know who or exactly how. A pastor of mine at the time recommended seminary as a good place to discern answers to those questions.

In my first semester of seminary, I started helping people set up their email, new devices and answer general tech questions. After a while, so many people were coming to me that I went to the IT department to find out if they could do drop-in hours. They said the best thing they could have, which was, “No. But it looks like you are doing that well now. How about we support you to continue?”

Later, I was having a conversation with a pastor and instructor who said that the work I was doing sounded like chaplaincy––I was helping people find dignity in their technological crisis. At that moment, tech chaplaincy was born. I eventually went from helping students to supporting staff, faculty and even faith communities outside of the seminary.

A lot of people are relying on technology to practice their faith during this pandemic. Do you see this as an especially critical moment for the type of work that you’re doing?

Yes. While digital ministry has been a thing for a decade or more, it is now getting its time in the sun. Both the eFormation learning center at Virginia Theological Seminary and Rev. Jim Keats have advocated for the ability to incorporate technology theologically into a faith community. In fact, Rev. Keats has often––and famously––said that virtual is not the opposite of real, it is the opposite of physical.

The Tech Chaplaincy Institute helps people incorporate technology into what they are doing, or better utilize the technology they already have. With the global pandemic forcing the hand of some faith communities and mission-driven organizations to lean into technology, we offer a grounded and informed presence with which to navigate the shift.

How can teaching technology skills be a form of social justice?

Social justice can be defined as justice in terms of the distribution of wealth, privilege and opportunities in society. Literacy of any kind is a skill that empowers people, organizations, communities and societies. By learning how to better use technology, organizations can better achieve the missions they have in place.

What or who is usually missing, when it comes to a technology/STEM education?

Ethics is usually missing from technology/STEM education. When it is present, it is usually a stand-alone, one-time course as opposed to being woven throughout the degree or program.

The people often missing when it comes to a technology/STEM education are women and Black, Indigenous and people of color (BIPOC). The tech industry has well-documented missteps when it comes to diversity, and those numbers are indicative of a larger problem. There is not just a pipeline problem, because there are women and BIPOC identified people graduating from STEM programs all over the country each year, but there are deeper systemic issues preventing people from getting into the door––or staying once they do.

I know you started the business on Juneteenth and your grandmother’s birthday. How do those landmarks play into your mission with this business?

This year’s Juneteenth was a year of jubilee since it marked the 155th year since slaves in Texas found out about their freedom two years after Abraham Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation had gone into effect on January 1, 1863. My grandmother also ties me to this holiday because she was born as a triplet on Juneteenth (and Father’s Day) in 1949. So, for her 71st birthday, I dedicated the launch of my business to her.

She is such a special person to me. When I was in the fifth grade, I discovered that she could not read very well and later on found out that, as one of nine children, she had to drop out of school in order to support her family. I want my life to honor the legacy of people who came before me and who surround me now, and to use my freedom to help lift up others. The confluence of Juneteenth, my grandmother and my business all point toward my desire to see a positive change in the world and to work hard and make sacrifices to get there.

Renaissance woman, multipotentialite, polymath—however you prefer to say it, Shamika Klassen is the type of person you’ll never find doing just one thing. This summer, she took on yet another project: entrepreneurship. Commemorating both Juneteenth and her grandmother’s 71st birthday, she launched the Tech Chaplaincy Institute on June 19, 2020.

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The sky is always climbing

Anonymous — Thu, 01 Nov 2018 22:44:39 +0000

The sky is always climbing Anonymous (not verified) Thu, 11/01/2018 - 16:44

by Carl M. Cannon (Jour'75)

Carl M. Cannon is the Washington bureau chief of Real Clear Politics. His first job for newspapers was at age 14 delivering the San Francisco Chronicle in Sacramento, California, and he’s been a reporter from coast to coast, from The San Jose Mercury News to The Baltimore Sun.

He’s covered four presidential administrations as a bureau chief and is a recipient of the Gerald R. Ford Journalism Prize for Distinguished Reporting and the Aldo Beckman Award, the two most prestigious awards for White House coverage.

My parents moved our family from California, the only home I’d known, to suburban Washington, D.C., when I was in high school. As the eldest, I was the first to address their transgression. During my senior year, I applied to Stanford, UC-Davis, a couple of schools in Virginia and the University of Colorado. CU was an afterthought, but when it came time to make a decision, something had changed: I had my first serious girlfriend.

Born in small-town Kansas and raised in Denver, Margaret came from a family that had taken the same eastward trek as mine. So, we made a pact: I’d go to CU, and she’d join me in a year. Intending to go home to Sacramento, at 17 I made it as far as Colorado. I arrived at the old Stapleton International Airport after dark and caught a van to Boulder. From a pay phone at Baker Hall, I called Margaret.

“What am I doing here?” I said. “I don’t know anybody in this whole state.”

“You’ll feel better when you see the mountains,” she replied.

I’d never laid eyes on the Rockies before, but the following morning I opened the drapes to my dorm room and saw what she meant. I set out to hike the Flatirons and underestimated the distance, which is a common mistake in that country. While trying to ascend Pike’s Peak, the 14,000-footer that bears his name, Zebulon Pike climbed the wrong mountain. “The sky,” Pike biographer John Patrick Murphy explained, “was always climbing.”

As it happens, this is also true of a healthy university, even if it’s not always evident for those at the base of the mountain.

Two years later, trying to decide between majoring in history or forestry, I left school. After a stint in a Sacramento hardware store and finding seasonal work with the National Park Service, I had a job roofing in Charlottesville. One day I was up on a roof and it was like 100 degrees and I thought, what am I doing in this town? It was there that I had an epiphany: Adults spend most of their waking hours working. This suggests that if you want a happy life, you’d better find gainful employment doing something you enjoy.

What did 20-year-old Carl Cannon like doing? Riding motorcycles, playing baseball, fishing, listening to music, reading books. Nobody was going to pay me to do those things. So, I thought of the adults I knew who were happy. The first one who came to mind was my father, then covering the White House for The Washington Post. That dude’s happy in his job, I thought. He can’t wait to get to work in the morning. Armed with no more insight than that, I quit my construction job and hitchhiked from Charlottesville to Washington. At the Post, I walked to my father’s desk and announced that I wanted to be a newspaperman.

I asked the CU receptionist if I could get back into school. She said that if I’d been gone less than a year I was still considered “a student in good standing.” Liking the sound of that, I asked if CU had a journalism department. We have a School of Journalism, she replied. “Can I get into it?” I asked. “That’s up to them,” she said as she transferred the call.

Seconds later, a male voice answered tersely: “Archibald.” I was talking to Samuel Archibald, a man with a Sacramento connection himself. A former newspaperman, Sam was the staff director of a congressional subcommittee chaired by John Moss, a Sacramento real estate man who’d been in Congress longer than I’d been alive. With Archibald doing the grunt work, Moss shepherded the Freedom of Information Act through Congress. Signed by Lyndon Johnson on July 4, 1966, the law made Sam a hero in journalism circles. His reward was a faculty position at CU’s School of Journalism.

But now Sam had a problem. The kid on the other line wanted to transfer, midyear, into his program. “I’ve got one open spot, and 150 applications for it,” he said. “I blame Woodward and Bernstein. Where are you calling from?”

“Virginia,” I said.

“I don’t want to read all those applications—and you called on the phone, which is what a reporter would do,” he said, almost talking to himself. “Can you be here Monday morning at 9?”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

By 9 a.m. Monday I was waiting on the steps of Macky, where the J-school was housed. Sam was true to his word, and I upheld my end of the bargain, taking courses in the summer and over winter break, along with a heavy credit load for my last three semesters. I made the dean’s list—graduating with my class—made friends for life, and found my calling. I loved it from my first day and gravitated toward the practitioners on the faculty, especially Malcolm Deans, the night managing editor of the old Philadelphia Bulletin. Mal lined up my first paid reporting job covering city hall in the various “L” towns ringing Boulder for Percy Conarroe, owner and publisher of the Louisville Times. Percy paid me $5 an article, in cash.

"I’ve got one open spot, and 150 applications for it. I blame Woodward and Bernstein

—Samuel Archibald, journalism professor

The last time I talked to Sam Archibald was graduation week in 1975. I had interviews lined up all over the South, which held a fascination for me. Seeing me on the steps of Macky, where I’d first laid eyes on him, Sam asked me where I was going. “To get a job!” I said.

“You’re not going to grad school?” he asked. I told him that I’d been in school since I was 5 and had been waiting for this moment the entire time. “You’ll be back,” he said.

“I’m never coming back,” I told him.

It was a discordant end to our relationship, especially since he’d helped me so much. What I said didn’t prove to be true, anyway. As I made my way in daily newspapering covering cops, courts, education, politics, Congress and the White House in a succession of cities, I often found myself on college campuses. I loved them. I visited Stanford as a Hoover fellow; participated in presidency conferences at Princeton and the University of Virginia; was an Institute of Politics fellow at Harvard; and co-taught a course at Gettysburg College. Yet one school was conspicuously missing. Even when I covered Colorado politics, I didn’t have much interaction with CU. I’m not sure why.

Then, several years ago, Steve Sander, a classmate from my CU days, told me that they were doing away with the J-school. My estrangement, I figured, was complete. But just after Thanksgiving last year, an email arrived out of the blue. Lori Bergen, the dean of the newly constituted College of Media, Communication and Information, was going to be in Washington. Did I want to have lunch with her?

I was taken with her, and everyone else I’ve met at CMCI. Dean Bergen explained her vision for the school, which was inspirational. As I think about it now, of course I realize the School of Journalism needed to be rethought. When I arrived on campus, it hadn’t changed terribly much since the legendary Gene Fowler studied journalism for a year in Old Main in 1911. Yes, it produced the great Rick Reilly seven decades later, but what has happened to journalism since 1981? Short answer: everything.

In print, the business model collapsed, while the advent of cable news and the internet exposed fundamental problems with the journalism model. Even an ink-stained traditionalist like myself has been in digital journalism for eight years. Of course CU’s School of Journalism had to be rethought.

I also quickly became convinced that those doing this reinventing are on the right track. Like my old high school girlfriend, Lori Bergen is a native Kansan. I told her I’d do my part, so if you see me on campus, or in Washington on an internship—or futilely trying to scale the Flatirons—you’ll see that Sam Archibald was right. I am back.

Carl M. Cannon (Jour'75), now the Washington bureau chief of Real Clear Politics, recalls how he first landed on the steps of Macky as a student in the former J-school, and how he found his way back more than four decades later.

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Kate Fagan's three pointers

Anonymous — Wed, 12 Jul 2017 19:31:12 +0000

Kate Fagan's three pointers Anonymous (not verified) Wed, 07/12/2017 - 13:31

Fagan displaying school spirit with her signature Nikes while at ��ý�Ļ��Ʒ’s spring 2017 graduation ceremony.

Thank you, graduating class of 2017, for inviting me here to speak today.

And thank you to the University of Colorado, to Chancellor DiStefano and to the Board of Regents for supporting their decision. Congratulations distinguished faculty and friends and family, and, of course, especially, congratulations to the graduates.

This is the scariest thing ever.

I am comforted by one thing: when I think back to my commencement speaker, it’s just a blank space – totally empty. Nothing. So, I’m telling myself this is all reward and no risk.

I actually solicited opinions about this speech from many people, including my parents, who are here today. The advice was wide-ranging: Just be funny! Definitely be political! Definitely don't be political! (Can we agree on nothing these days!?)

A few folks even suggested I should note the current work of the different schools here at CU, showing I’m in touch with the university. That would have been impressive of me, I agree, but let me be transparent: I boarded the plane here, to Colorado, using my passport because my driver’s license is lost. I’m using one of my girlfriend’s extra credit cards because my wallet is in Ithaca, at a coffee shop, hopefully soon being mailed to me. The oil change on my car is 8,000 miles past due and I had to file an extension for my taxes.

So yeah, the likelihood that I’m up to date on the university’s research papers and grants … I’m not.

My parents are over there nodding. They’re probably still wondering when I’m going to follow through on what I promised them when I graduated college 13 years ago: that I’d take myself off the family cell phone plan. It’s just so convenient.

So I’m obviously also not here today to tell you how to be a competent, functioning adult. I am, however, going to be earnest with you about a few things that have been spinning around my mind lately.

...I took 250 shots a day, which means that growing up I took approximately one million shots,” Fagan said of the years she spent preparing for her collegiate basketball career at the University of Colorado Boulder.

I grew up playing basketball. Eventually, I played here, at the University of Colorado, but first I practiced, every day for almost a decade, spending afternoons and evenings working on my game in a gym empty of everything except my dad, a basketball and me. During those years I took 250 shots a day, which means that growing up I took approximately one million shots. One million shots that no one witnessed; no one applauded. And yet I remember, and feel, the undiluted sense of accomplishment and validation when I watched the ball arc toward the rim, when I watched it drop through the net. The gratification came from feeling the competence of my own body, which I had harnessed through repetition; hearing the snap of the net was the punctuation. The feedback loop ended by the time the ball hit the floor.

Perhaps you’re worried this is a story meant to illustrate the value of working hard when no one is watching. It’s not. This is a story about validation, about satisfaction -- about where we find these things and what happens when we start looking in the wrong places.

Because a shift has occurred: we now seem addicted to the reaction, to the applause. And even more than that: it’s as if nothing is inherently beautiful, but only if enough people agree that it is -- if it is liked 500 times, retweeted 100, if it has its own Instagram page and LinkedIn account. I don’t really understand Snapchat, or I would have included that, too.

Writing this speech was revelatory. For three months, I floundered, writing speech after speech -- in fact, seven different versions. All are still on my Mac. Actually, a few were on my girlfriend’s Mac, which I left in the seat pocket of a plane, and which Delta assures me, through automated email, they are diligently looking for.

But, buzzing in my subconscious was the hope that if I wrote the perfect speech, it would go viral on Twitter and Facebook, and maybe a publisher would even turn it into one of those little books, in which the very best commencement speeches are preserved.

You see the problem immediately: I was writing to the response. In none of those earlier versions did I attempt to capture what might be most useful to you, but instead I focused on what might get the most clicks if put on the internet.

So, after all my fits and starts on this speech, I asked myself: for whom am I writing this? Was it Option A: For me, so I can be called clever or insightful? Option B: For you guys, so maybe, you might remember something I say here today -- or even might forget it, until a later date, when you see and feel the thing for yourself.

Perhaps it’s Option C: For both of us. No new ideas exists, just new ways of presenting them, illuminating them, reminding ourselves what we know is real, but we often forget as we drown in a pool of superficial.

So screw perfection, that little table book and worrying about how people react after the ball hits the floor.

Fourteen years have passed since I sat where you’re now sitting. The truth is, there is very little I’ve learned that I feel comfortable standing here and telling you is unequivocally true. But there are a few things I feel confident enough to suggest you should consider.

Here’s one: Dust settles on people, too. We accumulate layers without even realizing it. These layers are the perceptions and beliefs of others – parents and professors, yes, but also people we don’t know, but see and hear -- and they weigh on us, and muddle our decisions in ways almost impossible to recognize. Right now, as you sit here, you might be coated in these layers. You might be headed toward a job, or a master’s degree, that was chosen using the rubric of someone else’s values. Even now, as I stand here, I know my recent decisions have been clouded by this accumulation of what I should do, not what I want to do. I should be on TV; I should want more money. But, underneath those layers, I know a different truth: I want to write more, even if it means I’ll make less money. Try replacing ‘should’ with ‘want’ and, as frequently as you are able, make decisions with that rubric. Life is best when your ‘should’ and your ‘want’ are aligned. And when they’re divergent, ask yourself why -- and for whom, and what purpose, you’re doing this thing you believe you should.

Life is best when your ‘should’ and your ‘want’ are aligned. And when they’re divergent, ask yourself why -- and for whom, and what purpose, you’re doing this thing you believe you should.

But, like, don’t misinterpret this point. We often must do things we don’t want to: Go to a funeral, pay our dues at our first few jobs, take added sugar out of our diet cause apparently it's the worst, change the oil on our car, file our taxes -- or at least an extension.

But seriously: check in with yourself, frequently, to make sure you're waking up for your actual life, and not just because you're addicted to the side effects -- the money, or prestige, or social status -- that it provides. This is not easy. Nor am I particularly good at it. I’m just suggesting you should be aware.

This is a conversation I often have with myself about working at ESPN, while others usually have a much simpler question:

They want to know how I got to ESPN. I tell them I got to ESPN by not trying to get to ESPN. The year after I graduated from CU, I started freelancing for the Boulder Daily Camera. I desperately wanted a job writing for the Camera. One afternoon, I asked one of their sports columnists, Neil Woelk, for advice. “How long should I wait for a job with you guys?” I asked. He said: “Not a minute longer.” At first, this advice disappointed me, because I liked having such a specific goal -- it comforted me. That’s how the world works as we’re growing up; it’s like we’re climbing a ladder. And while climbing the ladder can be challenging and tiring, we’re never worried we’re expending energy in the wrong direction: study, practice, take the SATs, apply to schools. So much of growing up is paint-by-numbers. And now, before most of you, the world is like a tree, with branches in all directions, and branches off the branches. And how do you know which direction will take you where you want to go, which might be a dead end?

That day inside the Daily Camera, Neil Woelk asked me what my goal was and I told him I wanted to write for their paper. And he asked what I wanted more: to write, or to write for their paper. Without hesitation, I said, “to write.”

Two weeks later I started a job at the Daily Record, in eastern Washington State, in a small rodeo town called Ellensburg. Here’s the point: the dead ends I’ve hit are when I’m more worried about the headline than the content. I mean that literally and figuratively: the stories I’ve struggled the most with are the ones I tried to tailor to a clever headline; similarly, the times I’ve boxed in ‘success’, defined it as something specific, I’ve always felt a sense of disappointment when it doesn’t look exactly like I’d planned.

In journalism, one thing you quickly learn is to never ask yes-or-no questions; always ask open-ended questions. Present them with a wide swath of space in which to roam, so that they can carve their own path within it.

Consider making your goals the equivalent of open-ended questions, so that dozens of paths are success.

All this might sound like a fancy way of employing the cliché, ‘focus on the journey, not the destination,’ and in some ways it is, because cliches are true, and because there are no new ideas. But in one specific way, it’s different, because our technology is quickly shifting how we view things, including success.

At first, as I mentioned, I wrote a speech tailored to be shareable. This thinking did not materialize by chance, in a vacuum: I thought this way because this is how we now think. We have hacked the human mind, discovered what types of headlines we’ll be unable to resist. Our online world is like Las Vegas, designed for addiction. And more and more, we are creating stories to elicit reactions instead of mining ideas to reflect our world.

I even know exactly which Instagram photos will get the most likes -- the ones when I include a pair of Nike kicks,” Fagan said, describing the way people shape their lives on social media.

It is for this reason that I started with the story of taking jump shots in an empty gym. The paradigm of value and success has shifted; we are being taught to focus on what happens after the ball hits the floor, and tailor our shot to maximize the response. When I first started at ESPN, my editor refused to share page view numbers with me, no matter how repeatedly I requested the info, telling me, "I don't want you choosing stories based on page views."

Now, I’m not just worried about stories, I even know exactly which Instagram photos will get the most likes -- the ones when I include a pair of Nike kicks -- and routinely construct situations to get my sneakers in pictures. I have created a crude algorithm in my head and I'm now altering the story of my life to chase page views.

This is the buzzing superficiality that is hijacking our minds, steadily distracting us from sitting still and thinking, letting our mind connect ideas, seeing what meaningful thoughts come up in the silence. This is not a trivial matter; this is actually the fundamental process of making art: sitting in silence and seeing what bubbles to the surface.

Working to notice the world is being replaced by trying to be noticed by the world.

Please, Class of 2017, don’t let this keep happening.

Noticing the world helps us make sense of it. What each of you notice about the world will be different than what I notice, then what your best friend will notice, then what anyone else will notice. And some of us communicate these observations through words, some through numbers, others through design or engineering – but it all starts with a vibration of insight that we allow ourselves to recognize.

Noticing and naming – that’s your voice.

Keep using it and keep exercising it -- regardless of how many people cheer after the shot hits the court.

Good luck to you, Class of 2017. Shoot your shot.”

The communication alumna on life, writing and social media.

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