This Isn't Goodbye, It's... Well, Okay, It's Goodbye

THIS IS MY last column for Sojourners magazine. After 46 years as art director, I’m going to call it a day; 16,910 days, to be precise. (Sadly, another month and I would have been vested. So close.) After almost a half century, I’m finally leaving this good work and these wonderful colleagues so I can spend more time with my phone.

I mean my family.

I know this will be a shock to my readers—both of them—but, and how can I put this? ... it’s not you, it’s me. Not that my readers are blameless. Over the years they have at times been merciless in their criticism, such as doubting the veracity of conversations I reported between Jesus and God (I have the tapes!), or faulting my righteous skewering of Mike Pence and Jerry Falwell Jr. (I miss them already.) Not to mention the personal medical conditions I helpfully shared but, alas, were cruelly mocked and unappreciated.

On the other hand, my work has received numerous honors from professional journalism organizations. Of course, modesty prevents me from listing these accomplishments, which are as follows: Dozens of design and writing awards, including many for First Place in Humor. But I shouldn’t have mentioned that. I apologize. A man’s worth is not measured in awards. What’s important is that some of those awards came in lovely frames, suitable for permanent display. Which I would have done, proudly exhibiting my value to Sojourners, but there’s no room in the dinky little office they gave me. (Maybe I can display them in my dinky little house.)

But I can’t rest on my laurels (not without a good cushion). The world wants to know what you’ve done for it lately, so I’ll need to keep up my award-winning pace in retirement. I could become one of those internet influencers followed by millions for advice on fashion and lifestyle. (When the cardigan sweater comes back, it will be me who leads the charge.) And I’m available to serve on corporate boards of major companies. Under my leadership, ExxonMobil could switch to, say, organic farming. I bet they haven’t thought of that.

I plan to keep writing, and I already have some book ideas, including The Art of the Nap (Life Is Long; Why Stay Awake During the Last Part?) . And it goes without saying I’ll publish a memoir. The inherent drama of a man who worked at an office for more than four decades—eating lunch at his desk every day—would have made Dostoevsky tremble at the literary possibilities. The deep layer of crumbs underneath my workstation are not those of a careless chewer but the inevitable consequence of a fully involved intellect, a wordsmith who, unashamedly, thinks with his mouth open.

Speaking of literature, I hope to finally read those Great Books I’ve put off for so long. And by read, I mean watch the movie version on TV. (When Anna Karenina comes out with pictures, that’s when I’ll pick it up.)

I’ll also have more time for my granddaughter. Overparenting can inhibit a child’s growth, but overgrandparenting is a gift. To that end, I plan to spoil her so rotten she’ll have to be refrigerated.

And I’ll continue my lifelong commitment to peace and justice, making my voice heard and taking to the streets when called for, as long as there’s a bathroom every three blocks. (And I’ll have to be home in time for Wheel of Fortune.)

I have spent most of my adult life at Sojourners, and it would require a superspreader event to thank all who have been a part of that journey. So, I’ll just offer a heartfelt air hug to my colleagues. I’ll never forget you.

Because I’m taking a stapler.