Jordan Schuman
 Multimedia Journalist
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On Roanoke 

8/27/2015

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PicturePhoto: AP
I'm not quite sure what to say. 

I take pride in using my blog posts as a place to be vulnerable, honest and truthful with you. And being honest about that fact is the only way I know how to begin. It’s possible I have nothing beautiful, poignant or wise to share. I’m not sure I even have the right to say anything while others at this exact moment are living such unspeakably dark realities. But I write and share my thoughts with you on this blog, and I have the nagging feeling that’s what I must try to do today. 

I woke up about an hour before my alarm Wednesday, and rolled over to see what time it was. For some reason, I decided not to grab the sleep mask I keep in my night table drawer, put it on to block the sun and roll back over to keep sleeping. Instead, I reached down to where my work phone was charging, and I scrolled down on the notifications that accumulated while I slept. I do this every day. On Wednesday, a sickened, gaping, pitch-black hole developed in my stomach and in my heart. Head still to the pillow, phone close to my face, I began to cry. 

I posted to Facebook calling this the "worst news to wake up to." I turned on CNN. I call my mom every day at some point, usually around 11 a.m. But once my mom saw I had posted on Facebook and was awake, she called me at 10:05. "Hey," I said, my voice as broken as I was beginning to feel. "I just needed to hear your voice," she said.  


The murder of Alison Parker and Adam Ward on live television was a tragedy for everyone. It was an unbearable tragedy for their families, an extreme tragedy for the station, and yet another gun-related tragedy for the nation. But it was a particular type of tragedy for moms and dads of multimedia journalists, who so acutely understand the perils of the public profession their children have chosen. I want to devote the least amount of text possible to the gunman in this blog post, but I have to say at this time in the morning, we weren't yet sure who he was. 

I don't mean to diminish the severe pain the WDBJ7 newsroom is feeling, but I want to be honest about one reaction I had. "It could've been my market, it could've been my newsroom, it could've been my live shot," I said. I was crying, using a sort of emotionally-charged voice I can't recall the last time I used to make sound. My mom told me all of these thoughts went through her mind as well. We took pauses of inhales and sobs. We didn't say too much. I told her I would call her later, and with the rest of the country, I continued to watch details unfold in real-time on Tweetdeck and cable news. 


As I watched, a few things occurred to me. Firstly, the tremendous grace, strength and beauty with which the WDBJ7 news team carried on, and carried each other, throughout the day. If I said one thing most yesterday, it's that I don't know how they did it. I just don't. A lot of the ache I felt was for them. I cannot underscore that enough. I ached for Alison Parker's boyfriend and Adam Ward's fiancée, both employees at the station. I ached for the General Manager who with such solidity put a team on his back, let his humanity shine through, and simply, managed. I ached, so deeply, for their families, now eulogizing two talented, young people they so tremendously loved in a way no one should have to, and far too soon. It occurred to me how much trust we place in the public every day when we head out into our communities to bring you stories that night. We stand on street corners, we approach people outside grocery stores and in large crowds, we work in our cars in parking lots at night. And it wasn't even one of these potentially dangerous situations that led to the horror we watched play out yesterday. It felt unfair, I felt angry, I felt devastated and helpless. And I knew this stream of emotions was happening to journalists all across America, too.


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The Gifts We Give Ourselves

8/18/2015

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PictureThis bow was definitely a gift I gave to myself on my very 1st birthday.
It's no secret to most anyone who knows me just how much I love my birthday. My birthday, yes, but also all birthdays of the people who matter in my life. At the risk of sounding like this blog post is sponsored by Hallmark, allow me to explain. Birthdays give us opportunities to be celebrated while also allowing us to celebrate all the love that exists around us. To quote Kid President, "Every breath is a big deal." And it seems it's only on our birthdays that we act like it.

Though another great part about birthdays is presents, the truth of the matter is they are the least important part once you reach a certain age. Instead of surprise flower deliveries and gift cards, it really is about one day a year when it's really easy to take inventory of the progress you've made, the people who helped you get there, and the gifts you've been given all year long.

Since turning 21, I graduated from college, got a job, navigated a transition into a new state where I knew no one, began to live alone, became more financially independent, and faced the ups and downs of daily life that came with it. And although I simply adore my birthday, I wouldn't have made it that far had I not gifted myself every now and again along the way. Here's some of the things I got:

The gift of... a tribe:
Because being away from family is hands down the hardest part about not living near home, I call my parents once a day. They are two of the prominent members of what my mom affectionately calls "Team Jordan." I am blessed that Team Jordan is comprised of strong, supportive, encouraging and overall wonderful people, including a healthy amount of women. I know they will cheer when I am close to the finish line, and allow me to cling to them when it seems too far away. My tribe spans the country, and for that I'm grateful. In other terms, those in your tribe are your people. They get you, they know you, and most of all, they want you to make it.

The gift of...
clearing out your news feed:
Social media has its place, and I use it as a reporter probably more than most people do. But parts of it, like the Facebook news feed, can be dark places where loneliness manifests. If, for whatever reasons, you can't part ways with someone entirely on Facebook or Twitter, give yourself the gift of unfollowing the people you don't want to see updates from, hiding posts that you find annoying, muting Twitter accounts entirely, and simply making your news feeds only the most positive and comfortable places for you. You're not going to like everyone and you definitely won't like what everyone posts on social media. They have that right, and you have the right to mute them. You must justify it to no one.

The gift of... coffee and wine as you please:
Everything in moderation including moderation, as they say, but coffee and wine are two of the finer and more important things in life. Have them as you desire and as you deem necessary.

The gift of... indulging in being alone:
Living alone and working odd hours in a bureau office where some days I see a maximum of three people can be as isolating as it sounds. Of course making the best use of your free time as possible helps, but actually finding the enjoyment in being alone doesn't hurt either. For me, it's lighting candles, reading a ridiculous amount about the television industry, watching Food Network and Real Housewives (sue me), going to the pool, listening to This American Life, and on Sundays when I can, watching CBS Sunday Morning followed by Reliable Sources on CNN. Create the rituals. Love the rituals.

The gift of... owning your narrative:
Whenever I interview someone who has lost someone tragically, I tell them the same thing if they seem hesitant to go on camera with me: let investigators and law enforcement uncover the facts, let the court hearings display them. But talk to me and take back your narrative. Tell me something you want everyone to know about the person you lost because only you have the unique ability to do it. I feel as a reporter, it's a gift given to me to allow them to own their narrative -- to tell their story their own way. In far less extreme ways, we need to give this gift to ourselves daily. Don't let people who add little to your life contribute so greatly to your thoughts, feelings and narrative. It is, after all, yours.



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