My First (Media) Rodeo

Believe it or not, someone (who should have known better) appointed me as the first new media editor for JVIR. When I accepted the position, it came with no budget or technical support. In fact, I was instructed that I should donate the meager stipend that I received (a few hundred bucks annually) back to the journal. I didn’t have a ton of options- vlogging seemed expensive, time consuming, and difficult. This was definitely in the pre-Zoom era. So I figured I'd start with a podcast instead which I thought would be totally manageable. Spoiler alert: I wasn't exactly right.

I used GarageBand, the Apple app for making music. I would pick out interesting articles in the journal, reach out to the authors and schedule time for a telephone call. I’m embarrassed to admit this but I actually recorded people on the phone but it was the only “technology” solution I could afford. I would record every conversation and then painstakingly edit the hours of conversation and distill it down to a 10-15 minute feature. I estimate that for every one minute of useful content, it took about an hour of work. I was pretty proud of what I was producing on a monthly basis although if the crew at BackTable listened to my podcasts now, they would be mortified by the really lo-fi 8-track quality.

(Side note: I slipped and fell on rainy Chicago day, taking my kids to a Blackhawks game. I ripped the right knee of my jeans and had a minor scrape (a flesh wound). Fast forward a couple of days: I feel absolutely terrible at work- rigors, fever, etc. Went to the ER where they diagnosed cellulitis/bactermia from my stupid knee scrape. I get admitted for IV antibiotics- bad timing since I'm scheduled to interview Fritz Angle and Saher Sabri at UVA for the podcast that day. They may not know/remember this, but I interviewed them while attached to an IV pole, on a speaker phone, wearing a hospital gown with my butt crack showing. I'm sorry if you can't get that visual out of your brain now.)

The truth is, it was a lot of fun. I was having interesting conversations with people I didn’t know, I was learning a lot about IR itself, and enjoying being resourceful and figuring out how to make the content fresh and interesting for the readership (listenership?). I suppose this is what kept me going.

During this time, I would occasionally be asked when I was actually going to start creating more amazing (i.e., different) “new media” content for the journal. No additional support or feedback was forthcoming, just a stated desire for me to do more. In my immature mind, I'm thinking that what I'm doing is wildly successful. The problem is, I can't really define what "successful" actually means to anyone other than me.

After two years, I had to stop. It was simply too much of a time/effort suck, especially without any support. It was cutting into my job as the DR PD, not to mention my practice and family life. It was taking up at least two or three days per month, usually more. I also had no idea if anyone was even bothering to listen to my podcasts- there was no feedback mechanism or listener metrics. When I resigned, there was a vague hint of disappointment because I hadn’t finished my three-year appointment. But for me, I walked away with a great experience, having done things I'd never done before and coming up with novel (albeit lo-fi) solutions to expensive and expansive challenges. I had no rugrats, as they say.

Take home lessons: 1) Do the things that interest and challenge you, regardless of whether you’re supported or not, because you want to, 2) But remember that in order to do both a good and sustainable job, you’ll need to effectively advocate for adequate resources/support which is easy if you can show you've been "successful" (however you define it), 3) When you own elective “labor of love” projects, you are in complete control of your happiness and satisfaction, and finally 3) Later, when you become a leader, take the time to identify the passionate people who are personally invested and invest in them. That's good leadership.