This is what's wrong with journalism as I discuss here.
I had just left a decade-long run in media to hop to the corporate side of things at GE, working with Welch on communications strategy.
My life in media—especially network news—had been an adrenaline rush, racing from deadline to deadline. If you don't make it to air, there is nothingness. You're dead. And making it to air first brings an added sense of accomplishment. Not to mention bragging rights. For me, it was a constant whirl: making sense of the constant stream of information coming in, calling reporters covering us to tell them what was happening and why we were doing it best. I’d think sometimes, if only I could field phone calls with both hands and both feet, all would be good (we didn’t have email yet, but the newsroom did have an archaic forerunner of instant messaging that satisfied my need to multitask).
Moving fast and being organized were my strong suits. The more there was to do, the more I felt alive. Productive. Efficient. Every to-do list item was checked, with urgency as my soundtrack. I loved the thrill, and I was good at keeping up with it.