I was excited when I walked into work on a humid summer morning in 2018.

At the time, I was just days into my three-month stint as an intern with a local daily paper in central Pennsylvania. I had yet to do a whole lot — I’d mostly spent my first few days filling out employment forms, typing up tidbits from press releases and answering the office phone — but I was nonetheless thrilled to be working as a journalist. Plus, that afternoon, I was set to experience my first all-hands meeting, an idea that conjured images of staff meetings from “The Devil Wears Prada” and “The Post.”

Hours later, amid that all-hands meeting, my naivete came to an end. The family-owned paper was experiencing financial distress, and a number of my new colleagues were getting laid off.

Dazed, I went back to my desk. Minutes later, a breaking news reporter who’d just lost his job stormed in and began packing his mugs, pens and notebooks into a box. Amid an expletive-laden rant, he told me to get out of the industry while I still could.

It was good advice. But eight years, a few rounds of workplace downsizing and one graduate degree later, I’m still here. I currently work as a reporter covering elections, voting and democracy in Arizona, one of the nation’s most important battleground states.

There are a few reasons I’ve survived this long in a dying industry. For one, I’m simply lucky — I have yet to work for a publication that has entirely run out of money and closed its doors with little warning, a fate that’s befallen far too many talented and hardworking journalists across the country. I also passionately believe in the job, which means I’m willing to work long hours and put up with a certain amount of bullshit so long as I get paid a living wage to ask questions and publish my stories without fear or favor.

But perhaps the biggest reason I’ve managed to stick around is that I entered my career ready to fight for it. I owe that to Pipe Dream.

I joined the paper during the first weeks of my freshman year at Binghamton University and I stayed on staff all the way through graduation, working my way through the ranks to the top of the masthead.

I’m sure every staff member in this esteemed publication’s 80-year history has faced some challenges. Still, by any standard, my four-year tenure was brutal. I was promoted to head the news section as a sophomore and immediately thrust into reporting on two student-on-student murders — tragic incidents that have stuck with me. Later, as editor-in-chief, I’d inherit a newspaper on the brink of running out of money, grapple with covering intense student protests and shepherd our staff through the first months of the COVID-19 pandemic.

I did the only thing I could do — I fought for Pipe Dream’s survival.

That required hard and imperfect choices. My fellow staff members were not thrilled when I cut garage parking passes and stipends. Some of my fellow students were angry and hurt when I and other editors refused to take down photos of a large-scale clash between students of color and the university’s Turning Point USA chapter. I was personally devastated when I had to finish my senior year online and forgo many newsroom traditions around the changing of the masthead.

In the end, though, I’m thankful. I entered my first full-time journalism job ready to not only produce good work, but to navigate the politics of a newsroom.

That’s served me well, and I’ve since come to realize that it’s not the norm. At most large journalism schools, it is typical for student papers to have faculty advisors or formal boards. Many also outsource their advertising, website development and other functions to professors or nonstudents.

That was not the case at Pipe Dream, or most other student groups I participated in during my time at BU. Students ran everything, from our finances to our interactions with University leadership. The idea of a faculty advisor would’ve been downright offensive, and if I’d been at a school paper that had one, I probably wouldn’t have gained the same experience as I got at Pipe Dream.

So, take heart, my fellow Bearcats — as someone on the other side of graduation, I promise you’re already ahead. I can’t wait to see what you do with all of your talent, know-how and fierce independence.