Shiv Scrib:

I suffered (and wondered and agonized about) from the same issues you describe when I attended J-school. I continue to suffer and wonder and agonize from and about them today, 26 years later. I've won a bunch of awards, been published in a lot of national magazine, been anthologized a lot, written two books...so suffering and wondering and agonizing does not preclude achieving a measure of success in the field. You might take some solace from that. In fact, years ago someone suggested that I start looking at my tendency to worry about how others feel as a strength rather than an unmitigated curse. That is, the fact that I worry about other people, that I'm shy, prone to anxiety...all that informs who I am, how I see the world...and how I write. It helps me in some ways to relate to people, and to help others feel comfortable opening up to me.

There was a time in my career when I consciously avoided the cop beat. There was another time when I left writing to edit.Both decisions were based on my feeling that I couldn't handle the terrible stress of daily deadlines, and, uh, writing. What I realize now is that my fear was much, much, much worse than the reality of the situation would have been. I suspect that your depression, as another letter writer pointed out, is probably coloring your world view. If you make sure that's being treated (as well as any other issues, like addiction), stress gets easier to take.

Would you enjoy life as political reporter on a daily? I don't know. (The best investigative reporter I know, though, who has won multiple Pulitzers, is also one of the nicest guys in the world). But I would encourage you to not beat yourself up about your shyness.

In one of my first magazine-writing classes, my professor—a quiet type himself—pointed out that a surprising percentage of journalists are shy. His theory was that journalism is a sort of therapy. This might mean reaching that first scrum and becoming so enthralled by the rush that you forget yourself and have it at it. It might mean that the pressure you feel to achieve leads you to suck it up and do the work (which it doesn't sound like your school has been much help with). It might mean carving out a beat and gradually getting to know your sources and routines well enough that the shyness melts away. And it might mean finding jobs that are still journalistic, but not quite as socially demanding.

I'm not a naturally shy person when in close quarters with someone, but I have a profound fear of approaching strangers that played itself out in all sorts of strange ways when I was growing up. In part to avoid having to cold-call people under deadline, I switched out of television even though I'd found some success there and into a slightly more reflective field, magazines. I've done well by the route Cary suggests—being useful. I cultivated and developed my copy editing, software, and research skills. I tried to develop enough of an eye for visuals that I could complement the people whose job it is to create them. I basically threw myself into all the low-profile, unsexy things that no one else likes to do—and that also don't require me to spend my days well outside my comfort zone. I now have a high-profile job that carries a lot of responsibility, but requires me to interact mainly with a few dozen people who I work with every day.

The professor I mentioned at the beginning also emphasized the importance of taking the long view. Journalism is a craft—as you go along, you get better at every part of it, including interviewing and dealing with other people. And the better you get at it, the more confident you become when it's time to pick up the phone. You develop routines for sweet-talking people that arise out of your own experiences, as the letter writter who interviewed Johnny Rotten highlighted. The credit I've earned through muck-work has also afforded me the freedom to do interviews for stories I'm really engaged with, so that when I make calls it feels less like I'm probing someone who would prefer I didn't and more like I'm just really interested in what they have to say. As a result, I've gotten better at the interviews every time out, so on those rare occasions when I have to do the kind of interview I would normally dread, well, I dread it a lot less than I used to.

Journalism is inherently intrusive, and it often needs to be, but we don't all have to be Seymour Hersh (or write for celeb trash-mags). It's fine to confront your shyness on your own terms. The posters who say you've chosen the wrong field may well be right, but don't be too quick to agree.

Trust me, you'll never have to ask an uncomfortable question! Your subjects will absolutely adore you.

Some of my most memorable life moments spring from situations where I was uncomfortable. Discomfort is rooted in fear. Fear is a fundamental part of the human condition. It keeps us safe so that we can propagate our species. But it's the fundamental nature of the human spirit to conquer fear. These are the times when our character is tested. When questions are asked that determine the essence of our individual being. How will we perform? Will we continue in pursuit of our goal? Or back off, back down, give up, compromise?

You went to journalism school for precisely that reason - deep down inside, you want to challenge yourself. And boy, are you being challenged! It's getting down to brass tacks. You're not just digging up stories, you're digging into yourself. It would make anyone uncomfortable. What you do from this point is what will separate you from the pack (or solidify your status as member).

My advice? Don't give up. Like others have mentioned, it gets easier. It's a slippery slope. And when it does get easier, you'll probably get bored! You'll search for different things that make you uncomfortable all over again so you can conquer those, too. So don't give up. Push on. Take the excellent advice given by so many who have been in your position. It will make you a better journalist. And a better person.

Good luck!