Jack of all trades. Master of none. Anchored by Love.
I joined The Star because I was bored.
I’d just transferred to Texas State after taking a gap year from UT-Austin, where I wrapped up a certificate in full stack web development. I still had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. In the eight years since graduating high school, I’ve worn a lot of hats — biology research assistant, Army combat medic, USDA archaeologist — and none of them quite fit. I moved 10 times in six years. I bounced across states and across careers. I kept ending up back where I started: Austin. Still searching.
I needed something that wouldn’t bore me. Something with built-in variety. That’s what led me to study Digital Media Innovation at Texas State. It felt wide enough to let me pivot if (when) I burned out. Toward the end of my first spring semester, I figured it was time to get involved — make some friends, build some experience. So I did what any commuter with awkward hours and nowhere to kill time does: I went to the org fair. Nothing really called to me. But I had to pick something.
So I picked The Star.
I definitely didn’t want to write, and I hadn’t touched my camera in years. I can’t draw, and I’m way too blunt for PR. The only thing left was the engagement section. I’d taken a class in Fall ‘23 called Social Media Analytics — we made reels and checked the numbers. So I applied.
It wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t paid.
But it gave me something to do. A month later, I applied to be the assistant engagement editor. It sounded better on a post-grad resume. I held the role for exactly a week before the sitting editor stepped down. I’ll be the first to tell you — I never wanted the job. I just wanted a job. But I was there, it happened so I adapted.
Within a year, I helped grow the Instagram following by 2,200, launched three recurring video series, and worked with then-design editor Sarah Manning on a new look for our social templates. Things were going well. Too well. I was getting comfortable — a dangerous feeling for me. Comfort usually meant burnout, a spiral, and some dramatic career pivot. That changed at the Thanksgiving social in November 2024. “StarGiving,” if you want to be cute about it.
I usually skipped those events. But I’d been lightly flirting with the news editor for a while, and I knew she’d be there.
That day I asked what she was bringing — chips and salsa — even though I’d already seen the spreadsheet. I sat next to her and talked to no one else the entire night. Right as I was about to leave, she came back from the arts and crafts table and dropped a line that changed everything.
“We should do a podcast.”
Not really a question. Just a statement. But weirdly enough, the night before I’d been on the phone with my friend Jack — he lives in Australia now — and he said, “You should start a podcast or something.”
The stars aligned at The Star. November 19, 2024.
The months that followed moved fast. She became my partner in crime and the reason I started seeing journalism differently. I’d always figured I’d end up doing social media or going back to coding. But she was the kind of journalist who worked like she’d invented the concept. Being around that kind of energy made me want to catch up.
I’d taken the standard journalism classes for DMI majors, but I wasn’t ready to write. Growing up as an English second language kid will plant that kind of doubt in you — like your voice doesn’t quite belong in a byline.
I wanted to tell stories, but I wanted to do it my way—through a lens. I first picked up a camera in 2015. In the 10 years since, I probably used it for three and let it collect dust for the other seven. This time was different. The fire Lucciana lit in my heart found its way into everything I did.
In the months that followed, I went a little crazy with the camera. I shot tens of thousands of photos. Landed two courtesies in The Austin Chronicle. Got a photo in a gallery show downtown. My pictures were telling stories, but they were always paired with someone else’s words.
Eventually, I knew I had to change that. So I did what Lucciana always tells me to do—I locked in.
Writing came third, after the images and the connections. But once I started, I realized I had something to say. And apparently, I wasn’t half bad at saying it.
In my last month at The Star, I racked up five Life & Arts bylines—above the fold, on page one, and buried deep inside. That might not sound like much, but for me, it was everything.
I’m far from done. But for the first time in my life, I have direction.
I’ll follow my lens and my love wherever they take me. I still dream of far-off places, of photos and bylines in strange cities and distant stories. But every dream has one constant: Lucciana, by my side.
