I only vaguely remember my first time running a production night. In the mad rush to deadline and the chaos of the copy log, things get slightly blurry. What I do remember is that I had no idea what a “page edit” was, had never heard of a “staff box” or “teaser” in my life and probably mishandled the whole affair spectacularly. I also remember the utter satisfaction of seeing it all come together at midnight. I got a grip on the other stuff, but that feeling never went away. 

My trajectory at the Texan was the result of many people taking a chance on me, so I want to spend my time thanking them. Phoebe, you saw through a truly abysmal copy tryout and welcomed me anyway. You made your exceptional leadership look effortless, and watching you was an inspiration. It was only when I became a leader myself that I realized you’d fooled us all. This work is the opposite of effortless — but that’s why it’s so worth it. 

Speaking of being duped, Mantra, I have a bone to pick with you. If you hadn’t intervened, I might’ve spent my time wracked with indecision and staying safe where I thought I belonged. How dare you see in me what I didn’t yet see in myself? Ugh, and knowing you, I bet you’ll continue to lift up all those around you as managing editor. Take this as a warning, everyone: beyond all his jokes that liven up the basement, he might just help you become your best self. 

Emma, thank you for stepping up to lead copy at the same time as me. I’m pretty sure our overanalyzing could fill a paper by itself, but I couldn’t imagine taking it on without your intelligence and kindness by my side. Kamryn, you continue to impress me with how much you get done and how well you lead. You are a powerful force and an AP style encyclopedia. 

Just as important as the friendship and joy, the Texan gave me direction. Like pretty much everyone else, I came to college almost entirely lost. The Texan chewed me up, spit me out and showed me the way forward. To freshman Lana: please believe in yourself. There are good things coming your way. 

To those who made me feel so welcome in the basement, I’m eternally grateful. To Nathan, Sruti, our wild card Peter and countless others, you made those nights unforgettable. Fiza, you will go down in Texan history as the managing editor with the best music taste. Keep curating Michelin-starred playlists and pursuing your bright future. I can’t wait to keep rooting for you. 

Of course, behind everything, there’s my family. To my mother, who taught me the power of words, and to my father, my constant adviser — thank you. Your love is the harbor I return to. To my wonderful brother and sister, there is no one I’d rather be stuck with. Thank you for always having my back. 

When I think of what this sleepless team of college students accomplishes on a weekly basis, I sometimes can’t believe it. The Texan is an engine of so many moving parts, too many late-night Slack messages and an abundance of passion. I’ve thought about permanently living in the basement before, but no — you’ve got to move out some day. For these few years, though, we were together. And it was a thing to behold.