Not a farewell, more of a see-you-later

There comes a time in everyone’s journey, if you’re lucky, when the life path you’re following ceases to be a path at all. And you have to step off on dry land and find a new way to go forward.

I now find myself at such a spot, at the end of a familiar and comfortable path, preparing to step in a small boat on a strange sea. The sky is clear, but the opposite shore is nowhere in sight. 

That’s an English major’s way to announce the following: After almost 36 years in daily print journalism in Santa Cruz, I am retiring.

That’s a scary word, “retire.” For many folks at a similar transition in life, it’s a taboo. They may be making big changes in their lives or careers, stepping away from this title or that responsibility. But retire? Never. 

I’ve never been as apprehensive about that word. For years, retirement has been a beautiful bomber jacket hanging in my closet that I dare not try on until the day when I don’t have to take it off. For me, that day is Jan. 1.

I want to be specific in what the r-word means for me in my context at Lookout Santa Cruz. I don’t plan to vanish in a poof of vapor. I will continue to write on this platform, periodically, on stories or subjects of my choosing. All I’m doing really is jumping off the hamster wheel of daily coverage, choosing to wrest control of my writing life away from the relentless and insatiable maw of the daily news hole. 

What’s more, I intend to remain a part of Lookout live events, especially the monthly trivia event that we have hosted in the summers at Abbott Square the past four years. I’m reluctant to commit to anything in the public realm beyond that now, but I am toying with ideas, maybe some big ideas. I will continue to refer to Lookout in the first-person plural. As far as I’m concerned, Lookout will not suddenly become a “they,” it will remain a “we.”

I am proud that I have found a way to draw a paycheck as a writer and print journalist on a local level for more than 35 years. And I can’t help but feel that my generation might be the last to have the opportunity to build that kind of career. It’s not the number 35 that amazes me about my particular path, it’s more about surviving this particular 35-year period — 1990 to 2025. The media environment that anyone my age or older once took for granted — the morning paper, the evening newscast, hours free from the termite-like scourge of the always-on social-media-fueled news cycle — has been utterly turned upside down and inside out. The millennium was a hurricane for the media business, and the storm continues on. How did I ever survive this long?

I want to acknowledge all the readers over the years that went to the effort to contact me with all the kind words as well as the less-than-kind ones, too. They can’t all be bon-bons; you gotta expect the barbs too, and I’ve taken something useful from all of them (well, almost all of them). 

I’ve been thinking about all the fellow journalists and newspaper people that I’ve worked alongside going back decades, as I tried to emulate their tenacity and professionalism. I’ve also reflected on all the sources and interview subjects I’ve met and known over the years, from those who talked about the deaths of their children, to those in the afterglow of winning Grammys or Oscars. It was an everyday feature of my job that people let me into their lives to share their biggest moments. Each has been a blessing in my life. 

As for the artists who I’ve come to know, I tend to think of the creatives in the Santa Cruz County art scene as a parade of committed craftspeople and visionary thinkers. I’ve taken a bit from each one of them I’ve talked to and visited with.

But I particularly want to single out three men for each giving me a crucial lift along the way to arrive at this exciting moment in my life: Longtime Santa Cruz Sentinel editor Tom Honig, who not only first hired me on at the Sentinel, but gave me the best job in the building, a feature writer in the arts/culture beat, which almost every day felt like kids’ play; Good Times publisher Dan Pulcrano, who moved quickly to offer me a full-time position, and a lifeline, when the Sentinel and I cut ties after 27 years; and, most immediately, Ken Doctor, the CEO and founder of Lookout Santa Cruz, who entrusted me to be part of his vision to launch a new kind of news organization in the teeth of the pandemic, and allowed me to be part of the thrill of being in the room when the switch was thrown for launch. 

One Pulitzer Prize later, I think we’ve made quite an impact. My experience at Lookout has rekindled in my heart a faith in the power of local news and print journalism that frankly was all but extinguished before I came aboard. I’ve been ennobled working alongside my colleagues at Lookout. 

As for my future, I’ll inevitably embrace the cliches of retired life, be it travel, reading, family time or whatever is the modern-day local equivalent of feeding pigeons in the park (nursing an afternoon cappuccino at Abbott Square?). I’m looking forward to developing a different relationship with time — I’ll have attained a certain grace when I forget what day it is. I want to do something that surprises me, something maybe a little uncomfortable (amid all the comfort seeking). It’s my job to figure out something useful to do for my community, and my joy and privilege to define what that community will be.

I will in time get used to walking around town without an imprimatur of a news organization stenciled across my chest. Who am I without the press badge? I’m not sure I have an answer to that yet. I aim to be a more loving and responsive spouse and parent, a worthwhile counsel for friends, a “good hang” for anyone who chooses to spend time with me.

Sure, I’m afraid of a few things making this transition, but potential boredom is not one of them. I hope to wake up each morning counting my blessings. Considering what Santa Cruz has given me, how it has shaped my worldview and values, and the people who have been, whether they know it or not, angels in my life, that should keep me occupied for years to come.

Thank you all.