I suddenly got very nervous. Goodness, I wanted this more than I realized.

Hubby and I were at the Chicago Headline Club’s 35^th Annual Peter Lisagor Awards. There we sat at table No. 23 in a stately ballroom at the Union League Club of Chicago with 350 of the area’s amazing media professionals.

As I waited for the awards ceremony to get to the most important category _ mine _ I paused to look back on the evening so far.

During the cocktail hour, I got a chance to catch up with some of my Associated Press colleagues past and present. I was pleasantly surprised to run into a dear old non-journalism friend. And I got a chance to chat with a woman I greatly admire, Chicago Sun-Times columnist, Mary Mitchell.

Mary and I climbed the stairs, leaving the cocktail party and headed to the ballroom. I re-introduced myself to her, since it’d been years since we last spoke. I congratulated her on her lifetime achievement award.

She admitted she was a little nervous. I was taken aback. The tough, plain-spoken champion of the powerless was nervous? Huh, I guess she was human. I told her there was no reason to be nervous.

“Well, they usually give these awards out when you’re retiring. I’m not retiring,” she said.

I said that this award just marked the beginning of her second act. She smiled. I pressed further, saying that this award only meant that she’d done more in the first half of her career than most people do in a lifetime She liked that idea even better. She high-fived me and we went our separate ways into the ballroom.

The first award of the evening belonged to the ever-so-gracious Mary Ann Ahern. The broadcast political reporter received the other lifetime achievement award. The Headline Club presented a video montage that chronicled Mary Ann’s career. She tearfully thanked her family, her journalism mentors and championed the importance of the people’s right to know.

Then came Mary Mitchell’s story. It featured a video of her telling her tale in her own words, in her own way. The part that resonated deeply with me was the need to give a voice to the voiceless. That, in fact is why I became a journalist.

After Mary, they honored the first winner of the Anne Keegan award. This was touching because in introducing the award, they aired a beautiful documentary on Anne and it was narrated by her husband. She was an award-winning columnist who loved reporting on the little guy. She died last year, so her husband presented the award to the Chicago Tribune’s Colleen Mastony.

Then it was time for the rest of the awards. The presenters blazed through the categories with such speed that the Micro Machines Man would have been proud.

Next, it was almost time for my category, best independent blog. And I suddenly got very nervous. Clearly, I wanted this more than I realized.

“For independent blog… Melanie Coffee ….” The presenter’s voice disappeared amid the cheers and my excitement over winning a Lisagor.

It was serendipitous, one of my former bosses was the person who handed me my award. We hugged and I went back to my table to my cheering husband.

I was happy. Happy to win a Lisagor, on my own, doing something I’ve created: She’sWrite, It’s What I Do.