It’s hard to be friends with an honest journalist. Each conversation, filled with questions. Each lunch date, an interview.
It’s hard to be friends with an honest journalist because the interest isn’t surface level.
Sometimes it feels like they’re venturing too far but there are articles on stars and those are just a start.
The questions aren’t malicious. Honest journalists are connected, not ambitious.
They don’t hang around to use up time, for lack of better things to do. They want to get to the bottom of you.
Journalists aren’t nosy, but curious. They’re not performative, they’re absorptive.
They look for the cracks and holes that truth lies in. The you you disguise in won’t satisfy their need for the story behind the picture.
Have you ever told a journalist a picture’s worth a thousand words? I bet they’d say they could write pages more.
It’s hard to be friends with a journalist because they’ll never be satisfied with the surface level, never be satisfied with good when good could be better. Never better than when whatever comes to mind is exactly what’s coming out of your mouth and whatever it’s about shows up in raw, uncensored images to create this deeply known image of you in unphotoshopped view.
Yes, it’s hard to be friends with a journalist when you want to hide you, because they’ll look into you and write pages and pages of beautiful proofs.
It’s hard to be friends with an honest journalist because of what honest journalists do.
They ask questions. They listen. Establish a view. Find the beauty in words and the words inside you. And then, they write the truth.
That nothing known could possibly compare to the beautiful depth of the individual: you.