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While I was an undergrad at Cal, I used to pass North Gate Hall nearly every day and think about what it would be like to be a journalism graduate student there. Everything about the experience seemed to me to be the highest kind of privilege — the privilege of learning how to write and report from some of the best journalism faculty in the world; of making the pursuit of fine storytelling one’s job in life; of sharing space with people who wanted to do the same.

It took me ten years of searching, working, turning away, and turning back again, but last week I received an official letter of admission from the UC Berkeley Graduate School of Journalism. A new adventure begins.