There are a few things I keep in my everyday tote bag: my Mac, some lip balm, a notepad and pen, my phone and a magazine. Always a magazine. 

The ways that I can rip it, cut it, collage it, paste in, pin it and tape it are the best; I can fold over the corners for later reading. It is permanent and can’t be altered with a refresh button, just like The Record. 

For as long as I can remember, I’ve loved a good magazine. Whether it’s a home tour in Architectural Digest, a recipe in Better Homes and Gardens, or a Northern Lights spread in National Geographic, I can find a snippet of inspiration between those glossy pages. 

Growing up in Goshen, these little bits went a long way; inspiration, in my mind, was hard to find in the cornfields and the cloud cover. 

Here, RV’s are the source of livelihood for so many, and my family was in the thick of it — discussing aluminum extrusion at the dinner table. As you can imagine, this was not an engaging topic for a 10-year-old girl. 

Although Elkhart County is a creative sanctuary for my father, a man who lives and breathes manufacturing, it isn’t necessarily for me — and I learned that was okay, and actually for the better. 

Living here required intentionality for a girl who liked interiors and fashion. I had to seek out the things that moved me into a state of awe. I found this feeling in a new magazine, where I could be transported out of my little bedroom and into the world of artists, designers and writers.

It is no coincidence that my mother was a publisher of a magazine, Edible Michiana. I remember the day that she came home with the idea to start it. Her face lit up and she threw her hands up in the air and said, “Guys, I have an idea!” 

In the moment, she might not have realized the commitment and grit it took to keep up a periodical, but she would soon find out. 

The sweat and tears of it all: crafting it to look beautiful with content that is polished and engaging. Late, late nights no matter how hard you tried. 

It is not for the faint of heart. And neither are newspapers. 

On most Record nights, I came to layout after my volleyball games and stayed until 3 a.m, sometimes five. The exhaustion was real, but so rewarding in the end. 

Now that I am an executive editor, I understand the relief she felt when the final copies were sent in for print; a perfectly imperfect collection of works pieced together by so many creative hands. 

How it all comes together in the end feels like its own little miracle. 

It takes Isaac Sawatzky who can layout an entire page in 10 minutes or Kate Bodiker who can make the most boring topic sound interesting on the page. It takes a guy like Charlie Aldrich who will go to the ends of the earth to correct minor mistakes — or for one extra interview. I could name so many more. It truly takes a village. 

Tomorrow, Charlie, Isaac and I will distribute our last issue of the semester; know that it was created with so much love and gratitude for this place. 

When you hold The Record, I hope you find inspiration in it somewhere — in the collection of ideas and effort. And if you do, cut it out and hang it up. It will be worth it.