I panicked after meeting my fellow Voices Convention News Project students at the Asian American Journalists Association (AAJA) convention in Los Angeles. They had interned for the likes of Anderson Cooper, produced their own television shows, fought in Afghanistan, shot footage in Cuba, taken photographs for national publications, and built professional websites to expose their brand and name.

I was almost embarrassed that I want to pursue fashion journalism, magazine publishing, creative writing, and art criticism. I like sassy writing. I like entrepreneurship and combining various media platforms. I like hands-on fashion styling. I like working with creative people with crazy ideas. I like not wearing a business suit to work.

For the past seven days, I attempted to avoid any reference to my love for fashion. I worked on stories about the state of the journalism industry, Little Tokyo’s past and present, and the role of Asian American “chick lit.” I wore Theory blazers, J.Crew blouses, and Max Studio skirts. I convinced one of my interviewees to sit in an empty car with me, just so I could have National Public Radio-quality audio. My Nikon D300 was my third limb. I met recruiters from Los Angeles Times, CNN, NBC Universal, Gannett, and many more illustrious companies. I listened to Laura Ling — one of the two journalists captured by the North Korean government — speak about the power of journalism and the kindness of humanity. I met Connie Chung, the first person in the entire world who inspired me to pursue journalism as a little girl in elementary school.

I gained a new level of respect and appreciation for journalism after my week at the AAJA convention. However, I also learned to respect and appreciate myself.

It is okay to love fashion journalism. It is okay to spend all day wandering art galleries. It is okay to love foreign films — not just for the visuals and acting, but for the aesthetic mannerisms of a different language. It is okay to see a piece of fabric and think of a million ways to wear it. It is okay to read novels and memoirs and poetry anthologies and bask in the glory of words.

It is okay to seek beauty in an imperfect world.

How did I realize this? Well, Connie Chung actually helped me realize this — and she doesn’t even know it.

It all started with a photo assignment. I was supposed to take photos of the convention’s Opening Reception. So, between frantic bites of chicken marsala, I scurried around The Highlands Hollywood and took photographs of my fellow Asian American journalists drinking, eating, schmoozing, and flirting (I’m not that naive, okay?). When I heard the awards ceremony about to begin on stage, I pushed my way to the front row in order to take my photos.

Now, I am only 19 years old and there are plenty of things I have yet to learn about this world — but I know my Connie Chung. I used to watch her on television all the time. Heck, I even watched her husband on television every day. I should start the Chung-Povich fan club.

While the introductions were being made on stage, I decided to be a creeper and snapped photos of this charismatic Asian lady in Christian Louboutin stilettos. I ran back to my editors in the newsroom.

Breathless, I asked, “Could Connie Chung be at the Opening Reception? I swear I saw her. I took photos of her.” I was met with a few strange glances. Probably not, was the consensus.

“Well, at least you didn’t ask her if she was Connie Chung… That would have been embarrassing for you,” someone said. I laughed nervously. There was a moment when I almost walked up to her, but I chickened out. I uploaded my photos onto my laptop and Googled a photo of Connie Chung. No, it has to be Connie Chung, I thought. Connie Chung would wear Louboutin stilettos, after all.

I ran back to the Opening Reception, but by then, other people had figured out that Connie Chung there. I pushed my way to the front for a photo with her, and then I begged her for an interview for a story I was working on for AAJA Voices.

She said yes. I waited three hours until the party was over and the crowd had finally disseminated into the wispy corners of the night. I snapped photos for my assignment in the meantime.

Let me point out that Connie Chung is one of the most charismatic and gracious television personalities I have ever met. For every single eager beaver asking to take a photo with her, she asked for name and background. She really wanted to get to know the long line of (mostly) young girls who dream of being her someday.

I sat outside with her on a bench, with my recorder out and my heart beating in palpitations. While a helicopter flew over us every time she spoke, I latched onto every single word she spoke.

I could not believe that I was speaking one-to-one with Connie Chung. At the end of the interview, I complimented her on her Christian Louboutin shoes and gave her my business card — even though I doubt she has much use for contact with a college student. I was sweaty from a full day of reporting, hoarse from trying to speak at the loud party, and sore from running around Los Angeles. None of that mattered to me anymore. I was speaking to Connie Chung.

I am almost certain that she and I were the only ones at the convention who knew about the Louboutin red sole. The next day, a description of Connie Chung’s outfit was printed in the AAJA Voices newspaper — a detail that seemed incredibly obvious to me until I realized that most of the world did not know what Christian Louboutin red soles signify. My editors told me that people loved the reporting done on her outfit. My fashion knowledge had finally come into use, even though it was unintentional.

Sure, I do not plan to become a broadcast journalist like Connie Chung (I am convinced that my voice is too high pitched), but she taught me how important it is to stay true to one’s self — and to stick with one’s convictions. If I didn’t stick with my conviction that Connie Chung was at the party and if I didn’t notice details like her shoes, my night would have been very different. And, well, her career as a journalist has been all about conviction.

So, kids, once again: childhood dreams do come true. This past summer, I met Rider Strong (Shawn Hunter from Boy Meets World), my childhood crush, and I met Connie Chung (pioneering Asian American journalist), my childhood hero.

And I am okay with not knowing where I am going in life, since I am confident and proud of what I love. I know of some students who know that they will be broadcast journalists or newspaper editors or television show producers. I don’t. And really, I’m not worried. I’m having a good time.

If I can just be as passionate as Rider Strong when I’m 30 and as graceful as Connie Chung when I’m 60, I will consider myself very blessed.