At first, it seemed to me that a journalist is almost a hero. Investigations, press conferences, important topics, noisy deadlines. And a copywriter? Well, texts for advertising and posts on Instagram. Simple.

And then I tried to be both.

Journalism is excitement. And exhaustion. These are calls to nowhere, topics that make you want to cry, and editors who demand a soul for 3.5 thousand characters. This endless “can I have another paragraph?”, working for an idea and for the sake of a publication where your last name will be written with an error.

But. It gives strength. You feel that you are important. You are in the center of events. You always have a story to tell. But burnout comes quickly. And most importantly, there is often no money.

I tried copywriting when I was simply tired. I wrote texts about dishwashers, flower delivery, sneakers, and Excel courses. At first, it seemed like I was losing myself. And then — that I was gaining flexibility. I learned to look for the “live” even in the most banal. I learned to talk to the reader, and not to broadcast to him from above. And for the first time, I started earning decently.

Where am I left? Probably at the intersection point. I still love texts “with heart,” but I already understand that bread can be not only beautiful, but also useful.