My morning routine growing up was always the same. Pull myself out of bed, brush my teeth, then eat breakfast in the kitchen. The little TV that sat on our kitchen counter would be turned on to the morning news while my family ate breakfast, packed lunches, and talked about our schedules for the day.

My evening routine was the same too. I’d come home, eat a snack, work on homework and chores, then help mom start dinner. The little TV that sat on our kitchen counter would be turned on to the evening news.

When I went to college, I didn’t quite have the same routine. I read the news rather than watched it. I’d look at the scrolling headlines and read the ones that interested me. I would occasionally watch streamed newscasts in the evenings while I cleaned my room.

The news was never far out of my reach. At least until the pandemic hit.

I, like so many others, went home from college in the spring of my freshman year. Home is where I stayed until the fall of my junior year.

Every morning and every night I’d watch the news; I had returned to my childhood routines. I’d wait to hear the COVID numbers go up, the schools close, and the fear build. It was a routine that brought me dread and deepened the pit in my stomach with every broadcast, but I’m a stickler for routine and couldn’t stop. I coupled this with the headlines and alerts on my phone. The news was always with me.

My mom eventually stopped turning on the news in the morning, and I started to sleep in later. I still received my daily dose from my phone and the evening broadcasts, but at least I didn’t start my day in dread over a cup of coffee.

It was a January afternoon when my sister was over with her kids, when she got a call from her mother-in-law saying, “stop what you’re doing and turn on the news.” 

All afternoon we watched the riots in the capitol. Everyone was glued to the TV watching the live broadcasts, switching the channels to the exact same coverage and repeatedly refreshing our phones.

I was scared. I didn’t want to watch the news anymore. I didn’t want to see insurrectionists storming the capitol, watch the COVID death toll rise, or even hear the words “toilet paper”. I didn’t want to feel the fear that came with any of it.

I turned off the breaking news alerts on my phone. The little TV that sat on our kitchen counter played a cooking show while I was in the kitchen, and I went to bed before the 10 o’clock news. No news was good news.

For me, I knew enough by reading the occasional headlines on social media, or hearing my family mention hot topics, or occasionally catching a snippet of the news while eating a late-night snack. But that was enough for me. I carried on in that same manner until this semester. A requirement of Dr. Hanson’s JMC 406 class was to have a subscription to the New York Times, the Wall Street Journal, and the Washington Post, and to read articles.

I slowly pulled myself back into the news. I started with safe topics, like food or pop culture, then timidly branched out into the heavier hitting subjects. I felt conflicted; the need to play catch up was fighting with my need for moderation and control. I didn’t want to feel the same level of dread I once did by reading a news article or watching a segment. I knew I also needed to be informed. I was back in Kearney, not tucked away at home, and the world was rapidly changing.

I learned that I needed limits to not get sucked into the dread and alarm I had come to associate with the news. I started watching the news again, but only one broadcast. I would read what I needed or wanted to, but I didn’t need to finish an article if I didn’t want to. I only follow the news organizations that are required for my classes and keep the scrolling to a minimum.

The news and I are back on amicable terms; I’ve established a new routine. This new routine is one where the news no longer dictates my habits and I can use the news as it was intended: as a tool to inform my perspective.