This is my best wishes card from Charlottesville. I got it in February.
A few hours ago, I read all of notes for the very first time.
I managed to get through all of my job changes up to this point without getting an office going away card. I always thought they were stupid. Coworkers who know next to nothing about your or possibly loathe you get forced to pretend that they’ll miss you for about 10 seconds when the card comes around.
Although some of that is there, this one felt different. I guess it was because, in glancing at it, some were more than one-liners and some of them were more than one-liners after those writers told me that would be equally as long if written on the card.
Although I fish for compliments sometimes (all the time), I don’t when it comes to my job. I didn’t write that article so that someone would later tell me it was great. I didn’t sit by a reporter’s desk and rant about a story because I wanted to hear about how good of an editor I was. It was my job. It needed to get done, it’s important, and damn it, I’m not going to half-ass it because I’d rather be sleeping or binge watching MacGyver.
That’s why I couldn’t read the card just then. That was why I thought up a speech to say on my last day but couldn’t find the words when the cake was out and my desk was clear and I was minutes away from putting that newsroom in my rear view mirror for a while. I simply was overwhelmed.
I actually miss them. I really do. But it was time to go, and not just because I was commuting from Richmond.
I always tell reporters to get all they need to get out of the newsroom and get the hell out of there. Because our industry is evolving rapidly to avoid complete collapse, you can’t sit and stagnate until it’s time to cash out your 401(k). My trajectory didn’t involve staying in Charlottesville forever. I knew that when I got there. But I gained a lot more than I expected in those more than three years.
I wouldn’t be where I am today without them.
Thank you for having me.