Editor’s Note: This article is purely real and honest. All attributions in this article are genuine, and this story should be read in the context of pure reflection only.
As the former Stanford Daily humor section managing editor, I have been a firsthand witness to the nation’s future in journalism. I am almost always awed by these students and their endeavors to seek the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Meanwhile, almost every single article I have ever edited started with “Editor’s Note: This article is purely satirical and fictitious. All attributions in this article are not genuine, and this story should be read in the context of pure entertainment only.”
I have published pieces about Stardew Valley, conservative ice cream, the ATF seizing Chekhov’s Gun, why the chicken crossed the road and at least two articles involving one North American nation annexing territory from another. In other words, I have spent a serious amount of time perfecting, improving and editing very unserious things.
Actually, scratch that. Humor is serious. Humor is one of the most serious, consequential artistic pursuits that you can pursue. You might not realize it, but beneath every great humor piece is a complex machine of satirical ingenuity, of structure, diction, form and substance constantly creating tension, tickling and toying with your rationality until you have no choice but to erupt into a cacophony — nay, a SYMPHONY of joyous, melodic laughter (this might be a good time to mention that I have a tendency to employ, as one writer commented, “flowery language seldom seen this side of the 19th century”). Good humor can speak truth to power, expose flaws in your world view, challenge your perceptions. Great humor can do all of that, and also make you laugh.
Whether the piece actually does that is a very different question, but honestly that’s never been my concern. When I became managing editor of the humor section, there was only one writer, who then proceeded to dip. But I knew that whether there were zero writers or 100, I was going to commit to the bit. I was committed, above everything else, to making this a space where people could get better at the craft of humor writing. I didn’t want this place to become like every other writer’s room that devolves into a competition over who is the funny friend; rather, I wanted to make a new space, one devoted to improvement and productive failure. I wanted to help people see the beauty and logic that I saw beneath the surface of every great humor piece I had ever read.
While we have had our ups and downs, I would like to think that the efforts of both myself and the rest of the humor section have been largely successful. The Daily Humor section actually publishes regularly now, and many of the pieces I have published are genuinely some of the funniest things I have ever read.
But I don’t care about the accolades, the titles, the fame and fortune and everything that has gone with being a former Humor ME. Rather, when I think of the section, I am just full of gratitude for my time working with Garrett, Jenny, Devin, Mason, Ocheze, Brandon, Dominic, Will, Riley, Linda, Richard, Steve, Lily, Jennifer, Janina, Ross, Wambua, Peter, Luc, Itzel, Ella, Daniel, Sia, Kyle, Judy, Oliver, Paul, Sebastian and all the others who have put their trust in me as their editor. I am grateful for all the people who were patient with my mistakes and generous with wisdom as I learned to be a leader. I am so grateful to have been mentored by fantastic editors, and to have had the opportunity to mentor some spectacular students and be just a small part of their incredible lives. I’m grateful for the highs, for the lows, for the tears and, above all, for the laughter.
I know that my memories and experiences at Stanford will forever endure in the lessons I gained from The Daily. I was at a funeral recently, where I heard a speaker say that a great teacher lives forever in the lessons that they impart to their students. In my opinion, no tangible thing that we “leave behind” on this campus should endure for too long: as editors, leaders and just general students-about-town, our job is to make this campus welcoming enough so that the younger years can feel empowered and do the same for others. Being replaced isn’t the consequence — it’s the goal.
When I became a managing editor, it was at a time when I felt lost and confused about my time at Stanford and what, exactly, I wanted to do with my life. I had been struggling to write anything humorous; it was like my comedic voice was congested with the phlegm of existential dread. But with each day as editor, I felt myself grow in ways I never expected. I’ll be honest with you, I’m still afraid of the future, and I haven’t quite figured out what exactly I want to do when I “grow up” (sorry Mom!).
But through committing to The Daily’s humor section, I think I discovered who I am, or at least, who I want to be. I will be curious about everyone and everything. I will be kind to the people around me. And I will always share whatever wisdom I may have gained with those who need it.
Look, I don’t think I have some grand piece of wisdom I can impart to you. But you’re probably really busy, and you did give me enough of your time to get to this part. So let’s end with something for you. Like a prayer, but with less Madonna and more hope. Dear reader, I hope that you have a ball at Stanford. But importantly, I hope you embrace this time of your life and, if you can excuse one last humor-related metaphor, commit to the bit. Commit to the people around you and the world that you currently inhabit. Because it was never about the bit. It was about the people I shared it with.