Today I found myself in the company of women that left me feeling refreshed, energized and inspired. I am not privileged enough to call them my “friends” in fact, they were “work” for a story I’m writing. If I wasn’t expected to produce an article I would have allowed their experiences to wash over me and I would have tried to internalize the wisdom that they freely shared.
Being caught up in jotting down their words, I was not a part of the conversation but happy to let the dialog carve its own course. Each woman, independent, strong, and so incredibly beautiful had something different to bring to the table. Their tales varied like skin tones across continents and as one comment led to another I found myself in awe of them.
Here I am, hours after the meeting and in sitting down to write their tale… I feel so inadequate. How do I turn their lives and their stories into a piece of work that is capable of showing the spirit and energy that they posses? Where do I find the right words to capture their essence? Is it even possible for me to pass on the inspiration that they have birthed in me? Sitting here… I struggle with technical things like format, tone, structure, and I am terrified and that in light of the constraints of work, I will fail to portray the women as they are.
Unable to write, I am compelled to jot down my thoughts here if only to release the fear that I will not do them justice.
The power of being a journalist lies in the stories I tell, but these stories are not my own, I’m just the carrier… the media… and perhaps this is the first story I’ve worked on that has caused me to feel such a strong sense of responsibility.
I feel… crippled…so small… and yet, I am honored and excited. I just hope I’m up to the challenge.