They put me on the shift where they thought I could do the least

Hear the words of Andrea Mitchell, a woman who rose from humble beginnings in the newsroom to become one of the great voices of journalism: “They put me on the shift where they thought I could do the least harm, midnight to eight in the morning. Although the hours were lousy, they were perfect for an apprentice reporter.” In these words lies not only humor, but wisdom: that what seems like a burden or a dismissal can become a hidden gift, shaping the soul for future greatness.

The midnight shift, despised by many, is a place of silence, weariness, and obscurity. It is the hour when most of the world sleeps, when few are watching, when errors go unseen. To be placed there might seem an insult, a way of pushing aside the untested novice. Yet Mitchell, with the eye of wisdom, saw it differently. She recognized that in the very obscurity of the task lay her opportunity. With no one to shield her and few to guide her, she learned by doing, sharpened by the solitude of the long hours. What others meant as limitation, she turned into apprenticeship.

The ancients taught this same truth. Epictetus, born a slave, was given no position of honor, no stage upon which to shine. Yet in his captivity, in the silence of nights spent with chains upon his body, he learned philosophy. What others thought was the lowest place became his training ground for greatness. Like Mitchell, he discovered that the perfect place for growth is often the one least adorned with prestige.

History gives us another witness in Abraham Lincoln. As a young man, he studied law by the light of the fire after days of toil, reading when others slept. The hours were hard and the setting poor, yet they were perfect for shaping the man who would one day guide a nation. For in the hidden hours, away from the grandeur of courts and speeches, he laid his foundation. Mitchell’s midnight-to-morning toil was of the same cloth: a season of preparation in darkness that bore fruit in later years of brilliance.

The wisdom here is clear: do not despise the lowly post, the tiresome shift, the “lousy hours.” They may be the very furnace in which your skills are forged. When stripped of glamour, you are given the gift of focus. When placed where no one watches, you are free to stumble, to experiment, to learn without fear of spectacle. What seems like exile may be apprenticeship.

Therefore, O seeker, take heart in the obscure hours of your life. When you labor in silence, when your work feels unseen, know that you are being trained. What feels like dismissal may in truth be a hidden blessing, preparing you for the day when you will stand in the light. Do not curse the long night; embrace it, for it may be perfect for your growth.

So remember Andrea Mitchell’s wisdom: what begins as limitation can become strength, what feels like banishment may be a gift in disguise. Let your midnight labors sharpen you, let your long hours teach you, and one day, when the dawn comes, you will find that the obscurity you endured was the very soil from which your greatness grew.