When I think back to college, I will first and foremost think of The Daily Pennsylvanian.
I worked plenty of jobs throughout my four years. A year at the New Deck Tavern, two years at Smokey Joe’s, a couple of months at White Dog Cafe, but no matter what I did to pay the bills — the DP came first.
It was more than a job to me. Every article felt like a renewal of purpose, every hour spent working felt like a challenge to improve, and the people inside the paper always pushed me to be the best version of myself academically, socially, and professionally.
I put more time and energy into journalism than any other aspect of my life, and it gave back to me in fantastic ways. I experienced whole worlds that I never thought I’d be a part of, and those worlds, in turn, will always be a part of me.
Yet today, I find myself at a crossroads. I’ve had every blessing, taken advantage of every opportunity, made it further than most — but right when I’m ready to graduate and leap into the professional world I would’ve begged to enter not even a year ago, I get cold feet.
The job is built for the audience. Everything you read is made to educate you, enthrall you, and shock you. The work behind it is demanding, competitive, and draining. They say journalism is a job you have to love, and it’s not that I don’t love it — there’s just something I love more.
You.
Maybe not you in particular, but, yes, I love you.
I love people, to be more specific, and I love conversation. I love trust. I love the feeling of growing closer to the people around me, and the honesty it takes to get there. Hearing both sides of the story and coming closer together after even the briefest of interactions brings me the proudest feeling possible.
And, shockingly, being a journalist makes me feel like I can’t listen to you. While I love my hour-long interviews and heartfelt conversations, it feels disingenuous knowing that, at the end of the day, I am in that space to create content. You can’t have a conversation with a page.
In 2024, I watched students protesting at Columbia face tear gas and physical violence from police on a computer screen in the DP office, and a colleague in front of me said, “God, I wish that was happening here.”
A week or so later, Penn had its own encampment. A year or two later, the DP had amassed many awards and accolades for the work surrounding it, and the world keeps spinning.
It didn’t hit me in the moment, but those words are emblematic of my problem with journalism. The job asks you to value clicks and attention over impact. Journalists are told to keep space between themselves and their subjects, but in the name of objectivity, we excuse straying further and further from what’s real.
I am proud of the work I have accomplished. To those who trusted me to cover their hardest moments, thank you. I strove every day to be true to you, and I worked as hard as I could to make stories that protected you, along with many others inside and outside the DP.
But I now know that, in the end, my job as a journalist will never truly align with those goals and what I truly care about: listening to you. Not listening for a juicy quote or a heartbreaking story, but just listening. I want to hear your story and nod along, give advice, and share emotions of my own.
We are already all too distant from each other for me to want to be any further.
So, if you ever see me, say hi.
I’d love to talk.
SEAN McKEOWN is a College senior studying communications from Philadelphia. He served as sports editor on the 141st Board of The Daily Pennsylvanian, Inc. Previously, he served as a deputy sports editor. His email is seanmck@sas.upenn.edu.
