Everyone says Yearbook is a cult. But what is it really that we worship? The echoes of former staffs' prestige? The gravity of our journalistic work? The books in their idolic status upon our bookshelves? The spirit of Yearbook, queen bee Butzu? ...or ourselves? I had my answer going in, and I will say that I was wrong, but who knows? I can only speak for myself. I think the process of solving that enigma for yourself is one of the many valuable experiences you can glean from a time as short as a year on this staff. You have to actually be looking for that answer, though.

I think it'll help you realize the real reasons you chose to be here. Because when the sparkles fade, you're not going to enjoy having to meet copy deadlines that always seem to fall on the same day as an econ test. You're not going to enjoy being told to interview and photograph another student for the second—third!—time because what you did wasn't quite good enough. You're not going to enjoy having to sell yet another business sponsorship when your idea of an after-school trip to Qdoba didn't exactly involve practicing a sales pitch. You're not going to enjoy it until you choose to—until you're ready to choose to. If you don't have a real reason to grit your teeth, swallow your pride, and get it done, then it's going to be a rough hike to the May eagle's landing—you just might get lost. I just can't romanticize the Yearbook experience the way that we're taught to romanticize the high school experience. Because that's simply not what Yearbook is about. No, that's simply not what I'm about.

I didn't come here to play. All due respect to those that did, but if I came here to play I would have quit. I wouldn't have put up with the most stressful, humiliating, panicked, discouraging, and lonely experiences of my life. But I did. Because I cared too damn much about the Yearbook—all that it is, all that it stands for, and all that it can be. 

I can only speak for myself, but I came here to worship. What about you?