My experience in Salt Lake seemed like a dream, even at the time.
I slept on a mattress in the extra room in an apartment a few blocks from downtown. My former BYU roommate's friend was already living there and was happy to let me pay a little rent. In exchange I vowed to force her to learn to use a computer, but neither of us were home at the same time very often. When we were home at the same time, we usually just watched "Even Steven" or oogled over the bass player for the music group Creed on VH1.
I started work at the Deseret News scared out of my wits. I grew up in a town of only 10,000. Salt Lake had over a million. My dad was a farmer and we lived out in the country. Now there were people and buildings everywhere I looked. I was a little fish in a big sea.
Originally I was to be an intern reporter on the Olympic desk on the 9th floor, but instead they put me on the city desk on the 7th floor. I had some city reporting under my belt, not very typical of such a young reporter, but my internships at my hometown newspaper provided a good base of experience. They needed more city reporters, so there I was, fresh and green. I was directed to a desk that had recently become vacant. The well-respected reporter had just had a heart attack and died.
It was now up to me to clear off his desk, throw away his notes and massive amounts of papers filed away (his wife had already come and collected what she wanted), and erase his voice off of his phone and record my own voice mail message. Even though I had never met him, I was reluctant to do it, and I felt like I was infringing on his space and memory. I read through some of his stuff, including old articles and thank you notes and other things, before throwing them away. The man was a legend among those who knew him, and he was an incredible writer. I aspired to be someone like that, who would have been missed as he had been.
I was given some assignments to get my feet wet; most of the first ones were human interest stories like school children seeing the Princess Diana dresses exhibit in town or a 90-year-old immigrant from Germany who still skied regularly. Eventually I started doing stories that related to the Olympics, like transit, security, and one of my favorites, cultural Olympiad stories like the Navajo Indian American display tent with basket weavers and Wind Talkers and a myriad of amazing things.
The internship didn't pay a lot, and I didn't have much to do in the evenings, so I took a second job across the street at the mall where an Olympic store had opened. My co-workers were closer to my age and we had fun working together. They liked to party, so they invited me along. Only my idea of "partying" was a lot tamer than theirs.
We went to dance clubs. There was drinking, and there was dancing that wasn't.... pure. I didn't participate in those types of things, but I went along and watched because we were having "fun" I guess. What I didn't know at the time was this-- I was at a point in my life where I wasn't sure what I wanted or who I was. I felt like I was drowning.
My job at the newspaper felt bigger than me, and I was basically left alone with no guidance from an editor or other mentor. My job at the Olympic store was fun but was mostly superficial. My friends were headed in directions I wasn't interested in going. But what did I want to do with my life? What would happen after the Olympics were over? Having just graduated from BYU, I had been so sure that marriage would have crossed my path already. I was willing, and I was ready, wasn't I?
The two weeks of the Olympics were actually quite magical. There was something special in the air during the event. People were everywhere, and they were in good spirits. I bought cheap tickets to a speed skating event and took my roommate on Feb. 14. We watched Apollo Anton Ohno and other men on the US team compete in the relay. On other days of the Olympics friends came to visit and we walked around and took in the sites. It was a lot of fun.
Of course, the news never sleeps, especially during a once-in-a-lifetime event. I was asked to man the newsroom both Sundays of the Olympics. I always try to avoid working on Sundays, but being lowest on the totem pole at this job, I didn't have much choice. I would be at the office in case something happened that needed reporting.
I was still trying to figure out who I was, but I knew this much--I didn't like going to clubs anymore. The dancing had lost its excitement, the temptations surrounding me were too numerous, and I didn't like what partying was doing to my friends. They weren't "happy" people after all. Spending time with them the last few months, I saw too many things I didn't like, and it made me ill inside. I vowed never to never entertain that road again.
I have always been a strong member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, but as my time in Salt Lake drew to a close, I clung to the gospel more closely than ever. In a world where you sometimes feel lost or don't know the way, the gospel of Jesus Christ is the way to find happiness. The Church was true, and I wanted to follow it. As I detached from the party friends, I knew that Jesus Christ was the way to true happiness more than ever.
Heavenly Father knew I didn't want to work those Sundays of the Olympics, and I didn't want to miss out on being fed spiritually. So I arrived to an empty office in church dress, planning to take my hour lunch and head up to church. I was secretly hoping nothing would happen and I wouldn't have any stories to write so I could focus on going to church and maybe even reading my scriptures at my desk. But within minutes of walking through the door, my editor called with a story assignment.
"Wanna head to temple square and cover security?"
Would I! Of all the places to have to work on a Sunday, covering a story at the Salt Lake City temple would be the best! I walked the two blocks to the square and talked to a man near the tabernacle. He ushered me inside to listen to Music and the Spoken Word, something I had never heard live before. And it is something I will never forget.
I made it in right as they were closing the doors. I sat near the back and set down my pen and reporter's notebook. The Spirit filled the room and I wasn't the same again. My body was filled from head to toe with love and comfort. The room radiated. I don't remember exactly what the Mormon Tabernacle Choir sang that day, but the feeling is something I hope each person can experience sometime in their life. It didn't have anything to do with the story I would be writing, but I think the Lord knew I needed to be there that day.
After it was over, I headed to the temporary media center set up in the Joseph Smith building. There I spoke with a media person who gave me the info I needed to write a story about what the Church was doing for security on temple square during the Olympics.
Later in the week I even got a media pass and saw the Church's Light of the World performance, another sweet experience that solidified my testimony of the gospel. Finally, I didn't feel lost anymore.
Finally my job ended and I was ready to leave Salt Lake. I was a different person leaving than I had been just a few short months prior. While I had thought by this time in my life I would be married and already started a family, the Lord intended for me to grow in ways that would be essential for me in the years to come. >>Continue to Part 3
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