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When I was 25, the editor-in-chief of a national newspaper in Romania put me in charge of two sections. I thought it was pure luck. Not much qualified me for the job, and I figured I just happened to be there at the right time. For years, when people asked me what I did for a living, saying I was a journalist made me feel like a fraud, so I’d always respond, I work at a newspaper. You couldn’t call me a bad journalist if I never said I was one.

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