When I first set my sights on journalism nearly a decade ago now, I knew two things: I loved to write and I loved to gossip. Prior to journalism, I don’t think I kept a single job (aside from part-time tutoring or teaching) for longer than a year.

Journalism is very hard and very fulfilling and sometimes, very scary. But it’s also potentially one of the most important and under appreciated (a biased opinion, I know) components of our society.

While I sit here thinking about it, it’s almost like I don’t remember who I was before being a journalist. I remember all the jobs I had prior, of course, and I remember feeling like a complete fraud for the first several months on the job — but I think that feeling is something more like, the first time I felt defined by something, a career that you capitalize the firs letter of.

It takes its toll. It’s not just deadlines or slamming out breaking news or feeling your soul leave your body as the government meeting creeps into the 13th straight hour. It’s the other stuff — feeling responsible for a whole community’s trajectory based on whether or not you can keep on top of yourself enough to both discover and produce information in time to have an impact. Which also comes with a lot of pride when something you write does matter, and you’re able to help things become better simply by shining a light onto them.

Or the moment, just before you hit the publish button, where you stop to wonder if this is the article that finally gets you murdered by crazy people. Something that my male colleagues in the industry rarely have to deal with.

Or, something that occurred very recently, the realization that, similar to feeling defined for the first time by a title — that other people also see me the same way. I’m very clear about when my journalist hat is on and when it’s off. I don’t use anything people tell me unless it’s on the record (or I’m given the okay to poke around about it). But that doesn’t necessarily translate into others believing that I can separate those two selves. That when they’re talking to me, they can be sure they’re speaking only to Kelsey Penrose, friend and tea-lover, versus Kelsey Penrose: Journalist.

That has been a tough realization to have, like being back in 7th grade and watching your two best friends whisper about something they won’t share with you, but won’t say why. Or maybe even worse, wondering if someone is being kind simply because they want something from you.

Anyway, you’re (presumably) not here just to hear my wax on about my personal bullshit. Let’s get to the links.

Accolades

Did I have a baby and go briefly insane during the newborn stage and forget to enter us in for the 2025 award season? And did I only land a spot in the 2025 list by the skin of my teeth thanks to the project I did with the Nevada Independent and the fact that they have themselves together over there? Who’s to say.