All the words

Five years ago, this August, I pretended I was a photojournalist for 4 days. I won the right-place-right-time-right-parents lottery and got to "cover" the 2008 Democratic National Convention for a regional newspaper's blog.

Those four days were some of the most overwhelming, eye opening days of my entire life.

I cried, I barely slept, I fought and lied and sweet talked.

After those four days, I was ready to hang up this particular dream. Professional photographer had always sounded ideal but when I got down to the nitty-gritty, I realized I didn't have the patience, the stamina or the raw talent to do this day in and day out.

And if anything, it made me treasure amazing photojournalism more than ever. Not all amazing photojournalism wins Pulitzers (although, seriously? THIS). Some of it is never seen beyond the circulation of people who walk out to their driveways in the morning to pick up actual-physical-make-your-fingers-grey paper. That's fine.

Stories don't need to be widely circulated, or mass produced, or bought by AP to be well told, beautiful stories. They just need to keep existing.

Which is why this news from the Chicago Sun Times (which is actually from Gawker, because Chicago Sun Times won't cover their own story) breaks my heart and fills me with rage.

This will never work. They'll think its working but the adage about photos and thousands of words is absolutely true. Everything will be fake and shallow. Newspapers are going to die way faster if they continue to punch themselves in the face.

Seriously, what kind of dbag looks John H. White in the eye and say that he's been replaced by something teenages use to take dick pics?

4 Summers Later

Four summers ago, I was 23. And Barack Obama and all his friends, let me live out my wildest dreams.

I got to go to the Democratic National Convention and not just as a guest, but as a photographer - a career I had almost not even dared to dream about because it seemed so out of reach. It was one of the most exhausting, inspiring, eye-opening, amazing 4 days of my life.

Childishly, it let me, if just for a few days, believe in my dreams. I got to believe that I really could DO anything. And I realized that that was the theme of 2008 election for Barack Obama supporters. Hope. Change. Dreams.

Its been four years and I have been watching this year's DNC and I am flooded with both nostalgia - and a solid reality check.

This summer, the summer of 27 - has been much more bleak. I am not crushing hard on a boy I barely know. I am not enjoying the hedonistic life of a part time job and a city full of adventure. And I am most certainly not living out any dreams.

This is a summer of cold, hard reality. And watching this convention has made me realize that the election is mirroring that again this year. Its not about far-fetched dreams anymore. Its about keeping things real.

And if I have to live in this country for the next four years, I want Barack Obama's reality. The reality that will let my friends marry whomever the hell they want, that will maybe raise my taxes - but will raise everyone else's too, and the reality that will not only make health care accessible, but let me make all the decisions about my own body - no matter what.

I'm all grown up at 27 - I am willing to put my dreams aside because I know things are busted right now. But as I sit listening to these speeches - I am determined to live in the reality that the President has offered us. With any luck - we'll get back to the dreams soon.