Special Ventures editor recalls days at The Texan

Alexa Ura

If you descended the stairwell into The Daily Texan basement during the two years I worked there, you might have found me poring over edits in the news pen with Matt and Sam or whispering numbers with Megan on our green couch.

You probably heard me laughing with Bobby, Christine, Zach or Jordan in the special ventures corner.

It’s likely I was huddled over Natasha and Jack at their desk, watching them design our stories, giving life to gray pages.

If it was a Sunday, Shabab and I were probably in the middle of an hours-long conversation in the managing editor’s office.

You won’t find me there after today, as my days at UT and this newspaper are over, but you can always find me in the Texan’s archive room.

It’s where my byline is buried in old newspaper stacks, next to the names of great reporters — some of whom I was lucky enough to work with.

It’s where I sat with my head in my hands for just a few moments before pushing through a long day or a rough week.

It’s where I’ve left behind long-lost pitch meetings and hours of making sense of complex stories.

That quiet room became my sanctuary at the Texan, as I somehow grew from a general reporter to an editor, thanks to the support and guidance provided by colleagues I admired who became friends I held dear.

But the old newspapers in that archive room won’t capture how much I admire our team and how we worked together to tell the hundreds of important stories this campus holds.

They won’t capture the tireless days and nights spent producing a quality newspaper on a daily basis, only to get up the next day (or a few hours later) and do it again.

They won’t capture the gratitude I will always have for all those who have kept the Texan going so that I could one day find my own way in that beloved basement.

Thank you to each and every one of you who have been a part of this.

I eventually learned to let go of my work space in the dusty archive room, leaving it behind to a new crop of reporters, whom I know will find the same peace there that I always did.

Letting go of the Texan isn’t as easy.

It isn’t as easy because it means letting go of the place where I grew more than I’ve grown anywhere else.

It means letting go of the fearlessness we all shared under that masthead.

It means letting go of the people I wish I had more time with and the ones that made it worth the ride.

It means letting go of a place that gave me so much and inspired me to be better.

So, I hope this helps me hold on to it for just a bit longer, because I’m afraid I’ll forget what it felt like working here. I’m afraid I’ll miss it all.

I already do.