A September surprise

The last thing I expected for my birthday was a pink slip, but it may be the greatest gift of all.

I had a birthday this week, and was fortunate to receive several gifts from special folks — tickets to a concert, tuition to my third online Grateful Dead class from Stanford University, a handful of meals, a surprise visit from friends, a poem, two books, tissues for my chronic runny nose, my own stash of Shout! spot removal wipes, and a Deadhead-themed, tie-dye birthday cake.

However, one surprise came a day early; on Monday morning before I had hopped into the shower, I got a call from a company executive I’ve never met, who told me my job had been eliminated.

Happy birthday to me, I thought ruefully. But only for a moment. When the call ended, I made another cup of coffee; there was no need to rush off to the shower.

It was not the end I envisioned for a tenure of almost 39 years, but it wasn’t unexpected. The newspaper industry has been withering for several years. Many of my colleagues at other companies crossed this bridge a decade or so ago, and the slow death consumes more careers every economic quarter.

I’m not bitter. I don’t fault the company, and the phoned-in pink slip doesn’t bother me. It could have been a form email, but it wasn’t. Someone had the terrible job of telling me and who knows how many others that it was over for them. That’s an unenviable task. And everyone I’ve worked with, top to bottom, has shared the same goal: reporting timely, factual information in a profitable publication. But it’s difficult to win a game when the board moves like a Hogwarts staircase.

The truth is I have loved my job, which makes me a lucky guy. I enjoyed nearly every day of work, mostly because each day seemed like a blank slate. I’d write about traffic diversion or bone-headed government decisions. The next day I’d tell a story about a local kid who found his way into a starring role in a music video. I’ve covered presidents, hurricanes, tornadoes, and floods. I spent weeks in Hong Kong as part of an exchange program, and wrote extensively about life in the colony as the handover to China neared, ending a century of British rule. I traveled through Thailand, India, and Cambodia studying myriad aspects of HIV transmission and efforts to successfully treat and cure the disease. I witnessed the conviction and removal of a governor, and the transition of power to a lieutenant governor blindsided by the unexpected ascension to the governor’s office.

I made some friends, met a legion of good people, and even developed an enemy or two. It was a good run.

There’s another truth — in the last year or so, it’s been difficult to find the joy I’d always gleaned from my job. My duties changed, leaving little time for writing — which is why I got into this racket in the first place. I’ve had my eye on a specific date in the future — the retirement target.

As it turns out, the phone call may well be the greatest birthday present of all. It’s a gift of time, an opportunity to consider what comes next, develop a new routine, and get back to what drew me to this line of work in the first place — writing and all that goes into it. I enjoy little more than learning about different things, hearing extraordinary stories from ordinary people, landing in places and situations that defy words, and then trying to find the right arrangement of language to accurately convey them.

Several years ago, at the dawn of COVID, our then-editor, Terry Connor, challenged me to write a weekly column about whatever I wanted, based at first on the effect of the pandemic on the life in our community. Over time that weekly essay broadened to include whatever may have crossed my mind when I sat at the keyboard. People began to tell me they enjoyed it. Some would text or email telling me a particular essay had jarred something loose in their own memories, and they’d share one of their tales. To me, those exchanges will surely stand as the highlights of this bumpy ride.

Those pieces won’t be in the newspaper anymore, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be creating them. Some write because they enjoy it. Some of us do it because it’s a vital function for survival. I realized long ago that writing shapes how my mind works, and how I communicate. For me, writing is a far more comfortable medium than casual conversation.

For those who have an interest in seeing subsequent essays, I will be posting regularly to a site I have created on Substack called The Rabbit Hole. Subscribing is free, and in doing so, you’ll get an email when I’ve posted something new. Those who have taken the additional step of registering on Substack can follow me, and my new postings will appear in their Substack feed.

I appreciate everyone who has taken time to read my work, and I hope you’ve been entertained, enlightened, or otherwise engaged. Come join us down the Rabbit Hole and we’ll see where curiosity takes us.