'Everything I ever learned I don't want to do . . .'

Everything I ever learned I don't want to do, I learned during an internship. Over the past several summers, I've explored a variety of interests and career opportunities and have walked away from each with valuable lessons learned, namely what I can and cannot do for the rest of my life.

I began studying to be a gymnast, a world-renowned queen of the balance beam and floor routine. For practices on end I sweated through tumbling routines in the hot gym, working to perfect forward rolls and back tucks. I was just getting a hold on balance beam stunts when my instructor announced I would have to learn the splits. At age five, I gave up my gold-medal dreams.

Since then, I've been more careful with my passions, shying away from astronomy when I couldn't stay awake at the observatory and medicine when the intimate details of the food chain left me less that curious. I began paying attention to what I loved and taking note of what I hated. My list of "likes" began to grow and I noticed that the more I read about individual activities, the more I loved them. Fighter pilot. Yes. Forest ranger. Yes. Chef. Deep-sea matrimonial clergy. Cat woman. Yes, yes, yes. At the end of high school, I realized that it was the story behind the workout, and not the actual aerobics instructor, that I was fascinated by. I realized that everything I read, someone had to write. Baffling.

That summer, I sought work at a local magazine in Florence, Alabama. I figured a small town publication run by two shopping-friendly wives of local businessmen wouldn't mind a young tagalong making the coffee and answering the phones. I showed up at the office to begin my month of "shadowing" and found myself with a byline and a title, "Head Writer, Home Décor." The next day, I found myself interviewing housewives about balustrades, valances, and the importance of a continuous color scheme. I depended completely upon their desire to talk detail about their homes, smiling only slightly when they interrupted themselves to say, "Well now listen to me ramble on, I'm sure you know more about this than I do . . .'

Last summer, I ventured away from the glossy world of magazines and into the black and white lifestyle of the newspaper. For six weeks, I feigned knowledge of politics in order to interview senators, local police and a number of committee employees for a newspaper on Capitol Hill. I worked closely with reporters and copy editors and obtained a byline and title that I was much more comfortable with, regardless of its accuracy, "staff writer." Despite my growing comfort and confidence in my writing and researching skills, I often spent late nights trying to sort out Democrats and Republicans into their individual houses and subcommittees. More often than not, I entered staff meetings a detail short and a story late. And I've never liked politics.

In the past two summers I've learned that I hate the phone interview but love the press pass. Hate the big stories, but love the secretaries that spill the best tidbits while they have you on hold for a higher-up. Hate the commute, but love the deadline. Hate the policy, but love the story behind it. Hate the fabric detail, but love the finished product.

My summer experiences have been beyond valuable, allowing me to explore the editorial process from beginning to end, whether in glossy, print, or website version. I enjoyed my time working for a local magazine, but realized I wanted bigger. I learned a lot from my job at a newspaper, mainly that I never want to work at a daily publication. Ever.

My summers have allowed me to see what my future might hold, and though I'm no longer training for an Olympic gold medal, I'll never regret the hours I spent perfecting turns on the balance beam. Besides, I hear flight attendants need excellent posture.