Please don't make me attempt another speech

As I tweeted earlier today, I'm glad I was judged on my writing ability, and not my impromptu speech skills. Today I was surprised with the honour of winning an Eric and Jack Wells Foundation award for journalism excellence.

Upon accepting the award, I gave a shaky and unanticipated speech as I choked down tears of excitement and nervousness.

This spring's Eric and Jack Wells Foundation award winners;
Scott Billeck, myself, Ashley Field, and Eva Wasney (photo
courtesy of James Turner)

The gist of it is I shocked myself. I've never been fully confident in my writing. I started working as a reporter and built up some self-esteem to make up for the lack of confidence in myself. But then, I started the Creative Communications program at Red River College.

I thought I had a leg-up on my classmates with my previous work experience. But shortly after I got my first mark back on a journalism assignment (which was a lot lower than I had hoped for), I was back at square one. My overconfidence was shadowed by a newly rediscovered doubt in myself.

My instructors kicked my butt, and still do. They challenge me to work harder, dig deeper, and be more creative. They constantly thump me over the head with The Canadian Press Stylebook and grammar books. They have no problem putting me in my place when I am in my sass mode. I love them, and I'm so grateful for all they've taught me and all they will teach me in the future.

I was genuinely surprised when my journalism instructor James Turner announced to the hall that the judges had selected me as a winner of the award. My fellow classmates are also incredibly talented and deserving of it. They are beautiful people and amazing writers and I hope they know it.

I am just so grateful, honoured and humbled.

The following is my entry for the award.

How my cat changed my life

Nearly a year ago, I was at my worst.

I was dumped in what I think was my most dramatic break-up, I started going to counselling, and I tried suppressing my feelings so I didn't have to deal with them. The last of these, of course, making the situation worse.

I didn't feel good. I struggled to wake up everyday. I didn't feel motivated to take care of myself.

In the midst of this storm, I brought Eugene home.

Little did I know, this curious and troublesome little kitten was going to change me for the better.

I didn't want to leave home. Not because I was sad, but because I couldn't bear being without my new little buddy. I was exhausted chasing my shoe-sized toddler. I constantly tried to stop him from eating my house plants, getting stuck underneath the couch, and crawling into plastic bags. I watched in amazement as he leaped distances up to a metre while participating in kitty-parkour: home edition. Luckily, after all that running around he was as exhausted as I was. When I took a nap, he would nuzzle his way into my blankets. When I woke up and couldn't see him, I was scared I had crushed him. But I could feel the little vibrations of his purr pulsing throughout his body, so I knew he was still alive...somewhere in his little blanket fort.

Eugene gave me a reason to care again. He was the spark of joy I needed to learn to love life again. When I couldn't find a reason to get out of bed, he would paw at my eyes to make sure I still would.

To this day, Eugene is a troublemaker. He's still an active parkour-er, he likes to wake my roommate and I up in the middle of the night (again, pawing at our faces), and he climbs onto places where he can't get down by himself (like shelves, where he's stuck until one of us comes home).

I wouldn't trade the giggles, the head-butts, or the purring for any of the trouble he has caused. He's my buddy. I wouldn't be the same if I didn't come home to his goofy, sweet face every day.