There’s a common abbreviation in journalism — “TK” — that often peppers first drafts and second ones, sometimes buried in the article until the very last and final deadline approaches.
The unusual letter combination (“TK” doesn’t appear in many words, so it’s easier to spot amid a lot of text) represents information “to come”: everything from names and ages to quotes and entire paragraphs or chunks that remain unknown or just need a bit of tinkering.
I’m a big fan of using “TK” when I’m writing, even (and especially) when I’m spitballing ideas — some of my notes look like I fell asleep on the keyboard: “‘TK quote,’ TK said. TKTKTK.”
Some of my best stories have risen from a sea of T’s and K’s, including this one. I was typing out the headline, still not quite sure what I was about to write, when I recognized that the TK was more than a placeholder: it was an idea.
I’ve realized that there are always more questions I could ask a source, always more information I could research, always more color I can add to make my stories more interesting and engaging. By leaving things open-ended, by creating a space to add something new, even by reminding myself that I really do need to ask someone how old they are, I open up the page to bigger ideas and possibilities.
I’ve also realized that leaving space in my life for the things to come can open up my own future to bigger ideas and possibilities in a way I didn’t always think was the smartest, most pragmatic move I could make.
For a long time, I thought if I left space in my life — if I filled my planner with TKs instead of meticulously handwritten meetings and appointments — I would end up feeling empty. I often worried (and still sometimes do) that if I didn’t plan everything out for the next days, weeks, months, and years, those TKs and those spaces I left would turn into nothingness and regrets — for the opportunities I didn’t seize, the hours I wasted, the time and energy that could have been spent doing something other than daydream, relax, rest in preparation for things to come.
But leaving out the TKs just left me with information I didn’t need, my energy overspent in pursuit of what I saw as a very linear path. Packing my schedule in high school, and in my first year and a half in college, seemed like the only way to achieve my goals as a journalist and as a person.
And in some ways, those extracurriculars and activities did help me reach new heights. But the moment I dropped the meetings and classes that overwhelmed me, and the moment I made space for the TKs and all the good things yet to come, I didn’t feel empty, or regretful, or unfulfilled.
Instead I felt fuller, happier, more fulfilled — as if my potential increased when I scrapped the jumbo planner and opted for smaller pages and more stickers. The thing I feared — that I wasn’t doing enough, even though I was doing a lot — actually dissipated when I started approaching things in anticipation of life’s great TKs. I spent more time with friends, I cooked more, I had the chance to have relax and have fun without worrying that I was wasting time.
Sure, some of the things I wanted to accomplish were no longer carefully plotted, the boxes waiting to be ticked off. Suddenly, there were bigger gaps in my future — ones that I haven’t yet filled in. Those big unknowns are scary for everyone, and especially for me, as someone who worries a lot about filling in the gaps.
But a TK doesn’t end up in the final version of an article. Information goes there — information the reporter finds in the process of research and discovery. The same applies to life: the things we don’t know yet are still to come, but eventually, we get to figure them out.
Every once in a while, when you’re feeling overwhelmed, or off course, on a tangent or a break from some carefully-designed plan, remind yourself that it’s O.K. to TK. Because the best is yet to come — even when we don’t know what that is right now.
