A man I love once told me that I am what’s wrong with the world.
“You,” he had exclaimed in frustration. “You are the problem!”
I was in my early 30s and working as an Executive Producer in a TV newsroom. My sixth newsroom in four states, which to me symbolizes the sacrifice and hard work I had put in to build a successful career and advance in an industry that I can only describe as a 24/7 pressure-cooker.
I was having dinner with my parents when my dad, clearly exasperated and not intending to hurt my feelings, declared that as a member of the media, I was the problem.