A love letter to you, from the Editor-in-Chief – The Cauldron
Dear Readers,
As I embark on my last year in my undergraduate program at Cleveland State University, I want to provide some encouragement as the Editor-In-Chief.
In my life, I am often confined to the persona of the “underdog.”
Nobody ever talks about the difficulty of being one. What it looks like to balance every single bone thrown your way, in hopes of one day building them into a mound of trophies. Trophies you work to proudly display, only to realize your peers have already filled their shelves without the scrapping, the clawing, the near-misses.
Becoming the editor of such an established, deeply pronounced publication felt like a blessing, but if I’m honest, there were times I felt completely unworthy of it.
Even in the moments when I doubted my worthiness, I’ve come to see that the work itself has been the reward.
Simply being able to say, “I worked overtime,” and knowing that I — with God and the angels He sends — have achieved the role of Editor-in-Chief, and numerous other successes, even if it isn’t the version I once imagined, is a victory in itself.
A real victory, not the kind you polish up for a résumé. It’s the kind you earn when no one is looking, when you’re tired, when you’re doubting yourself and you keep showing up anyway.
What I see when I walk around campus with my headphones in, dragging my fingers along the railings of the inner-link, watching as each life moves through these halls with their own set of challenges, successes and struggles, is this:
The desire of every one of us to succeed. The desire to be seen, to be celebrated, to be recognized for the life we keep showing up for. The unspoken words that are whispering in our minds.
And while each of us is fighting our own quiet battles here on campus, we’re also living in a world that feels heavier than ever, a world of political uncertainty, polarized media, war and poverty.
We all carry chains around our necks. Some days are heavier than others. Some days we feel almost invisible. But the day is still there. It’s there and it’s frustrating, gut wrenching, beautiful and shiny, dark and cobwebbed, but still, we keep moving.
What an honor it is to say that we can. To do so, even with no promise of tomorrow. With no real sureness that things will be okay. How magnificently we do, as we sludge and scrape up the hill of life, holding on to our wits and wanting to do better in a world that goes against those odds.
This is a love letter to my community, my friends, my peers and all who shape this campus. It’s a letter to say I see you. You are the underdog, not weak, not lesser, but a fighter with more strength than you realize.
I mean that in the most powerful way. Because even in your darkest moments, I trust, I believe, that you can overcome what you’re facing, even with the cuts and bruises you pick up along the way.
Call it growing pains. Call it discomfort. Call it whatever you want. Just know: it’s manageable.
It’s OK to feel the weight. It’s OK to be tired. But don’t stay under it. Grit your teeth, muster your courage, and fight. And know this: you’re not fighting alone. I see you. We see each other. And together, we will rise.