Reporters have the worst job? Far from it

According to career website CareerCast, journalism – newspaper reporting to be specific – fares the worst out of 200 different jobs.

Yes, siree. That means my job apparently ranks lower than that of a janitor, maid or dishwasher.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I have no doubt that washing and cleaning contribute in very practical ways to society.

These jobs are decent ways of putting food on the table.

And I don’t deny the downsides of newspaper reporting, especially in the US where the situation is extremely challenging, with circulation reaching its lowest levels.

There is extreme competition to get into the national-level publications, and you have to be good enough to keep your seat as there is someone hungrier and cheaper waiting to bump you off.

In Singapore, it’s not that bad yet.

In 2009, The Washington Post reported that newspaper circulation has hit its lowest level in seven decades, a trend that began as early as 1987, as papers faced mounting competition for eyeballs and advertising revenue.

Future prospects of the job aside, don’t get me started on dates which have been interrupted by calls from the newsroom with queries about a story due to run the next day.

I also remember lying in bed unable to sleep, wondering if I’d made a mistake in a story after the paper had been sent to print.

This one might take the cake: Friends take me to a social gathering, then introduce my profession on my behalf, cheekily declaring that others should be careful of what they say around me, lest they make the news unintentionally.

Is it really a surprise that I don’t have that many friends?

I could go on, but then I wouldn’t be doing justice to the other side of the coin, which makes all of this par for the course worth travelling on.

One of the best things about being a newspaper reporter is that it is never, ever boring.

Being a journalist gives me an excuse to meet the most colourful characters and ask them the most intrusive of questions.

The job requires that you develop a thick hide and as a result, I am able to ask what most people struggle to voice without batting an eyelid.

Well, most of the time anyway.

There are exceptions, like the time I wondered about the most polite way to ask a man – who had been paralysed waist-down after an accident – how he managed to conceive his teenage daughter. But that’s another story for another day.

Because of this job, I get a glimpse at the grief, joys and triumphs of complete strangers.

I chronicled the journey of a mother who fought tooth and nail for the survival of her six-year-old child stricken with Neuroblastoma – a childhood cancer. I watched as she mourned when they lost the battle.

I sat in awe as another woman told me how she did not know she was pregnant until she was about to give birth – to the child of her boyfriend, a Bangladeshi worker.

I empathised when she told me he has since died.

I haven’t felt as alive as when I watched butchers chop and flick slabs of bloody meat into different containers when I visited a meat processing plant for astory.

Believe it or not, my life is richer because of the newsmakers I meet.

It is a fact I try not to forget, and it makes all the inconveniences and sacrifices I have made – and will continue to make – for this job seem kind of small.

Perhaps Ms Corrine Ong, who heads the NUS career centre, was right when she suggested that when it comes to job satisfaction, all that glitters is more than a fat paycheque or knocking off on time.

I reckon that being able to make a difference to the world through your job, the level of personal meaning you find in it and the social recognition you are receiving for it matter just as much.

Like most other choices we make in life, it is probably wise to refer to the adage “to each his own” when it comes to picking a career.

Do what makes you happy, and try to make sure it puts food on the table.

Mine and the other jobs we featured might be at the bottom end of the table, but I dare say that each of us is doing them for a very good reason.

And we may be gaining better satisfaction than an actuary who dreads crawling out of bed every morning because he or she hates the line that he or she is in.

And if it’s not, it’s probably time to consider a switch, or look forward to the weekends.

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