For the last few weeks, as my 36-year chapter in television drew to a close, I’ve been moved by the warmth and kindness you’ve all shared. Amid the well-wishes, one question has been asked countless times: ‘So, what’s next?’ I’ve been looking forward to the day I could finally share the answer with you.

That day is today.

Next week, I will begin a new journey as a Senior External Engagement Representative with PG&E.

I know that title might not be as immediately familiar as ‘Chief Meteorologist,’ but for me, it represents a profound and intentional shift. For decades, my job was, almost by definition, ‘broadcasting’ – talking at a community through a camera lens. It was a role I cherished, but I felt a growing desire to change the direction of that dialogue, to talk with people, to listen, and to be more present in the community I love so deeply. The title itself, ‘External Engagement Representative,’ speaks directly to that aspiration.

This isn’t a departure from a life of service, but an evolution of it. For years, you placed your trust in me to deliver a reliable forecast. Now, I hope to channel that same commitment into a new form of advocacy, helping to facilitate the vital conversation about the energy that powers our homes, businesses, and future on the Central Coast and elsewhere in California. The message of reliable, clean and affordable energy resonates with me. The kind of energy that helps battle climate change. The message of safety inside a culture of care for customers and all the staff is exciting to join. After a career defined by journalistic neutrality, the opportunity to advocate for something I believe is essential and important is a new and exciting challenge.

The personal reasons for this change were the biggest drivers. As I’ve mentioned before, I longed for a schedule that allows me to participate more fully in the rhythm of life—to be present for my kids, to join friends for a trivia night, to simply be part of the community events that make this place so special. This new role, I hope, offers the structure for that more intentional, experience-based life.

I step into this new chapter with my eyes wide open. I’m trading a field where I was a 36-year veteran for an industry where I am very much the novice. There is a new mountain to climb, a great deal to learn, and I do so with immense humility and excitement.

I cannot thank you enough for the trust and connection you’ve given me over my television career. My deepest hope is that this is not the end of our conversation, but simply a change in its format. I’ll continue to share my journey, my thoughts, and my experiences here on this blog and my other social channels.

The end of one thing is always the beginning of another. I couldn’t be more grateful for what has been, or more energized for what’s next.

Thank you for being part of it all.

There’s a certain script one expects when a long chapter approaches its close. A quiet winding down, perhaps a touch of melancholy, the gradual turning of a page. But then life, in its wonderfully unpredictable way, hands you a different kind of story – one overflowing with such warmth and genuine connection that it reframes the very notion of an ‘ending.’

The past week, as my 36-year journey in television nears its final broadcast, has been less about a door closing and more about countless windows flying open. I truly could not have imagined the sheer volume of positive comments, the heartfelt goodbyes. The farewell piece the staff put together. Check it out:

That was the one that truly cracked the dam. It’s a humbling thing to see your daily interactions, your energy, even your arguably silly questions like ‘How do you feel on a scale of 37 to 234?’ reflected back at you as something that genuinely mattered to people.

It prompts the question, one I’ve heard a few times: if you’ve reached a point where you feel the deep respect of both the public you served and the colleagues you worked alongside, what more could you want? Why walk away from that? It’s a fair query.

My honest answer, for a long time, would have been ‘nothing more.’ And yet, there’s also the quiet whisper that asks, ‘Alright, what else is there to do here, in this specific arena?’ Not from a place of dissatisfaction, but from a recognition that one mountain, though beautifully summited, might simply reveal a new range on the horizon.

There’s also the undeniable reality of transitioning from a role I could perform with competence even on days my tank wasn’t entirely full, to a venture where the path is new, the skills still sharp. That brings its own peculiar blend of thrill and trepidation.

But this isn’t about leaving things behind; it’s about carrying them forward. The desire I’ve spoken of before – to get out and forge connections with people in person, not just through a screen – burns brighter than ever. Moving to San Luis Obispo has already been a step on that path, and the new career, with its promise (I hope!) of a different kind of schedule, feels like the next. It now feels incumbent upon me to meet this moment, to turn opportunity into the experiences and connections I genuinely seek.

This ‘ending’ has been months in the making, the culmination of decades. But my hope is to leave little truly behind. I want to metaphorically pack all of you – co-workers, viewers, friends – into the carry-on of my life as I step into the next chapter. The book I feel I’m writing has many more pages to fill.

And how could it not, when life offers such an abundance of good fortune? Wonderful children and friends, an amazing community that forms a vibrant tapestry of relationships I can’t wait to explore further.

And yes, through some miracle, I’ve still got most of my hair, I’ve managed five holes-in-one (don’t ask about the other shots), and I met Vin Scully in my travels. When you’re on this much of a roll, when life has been this generous, how can you not take another chance on what else might come up? There’s no room for looking back with regret; even if a different turn somewhere might have led to a different world, if it meant sacrificing what I have now, I’m not sure I’d make the trade.

My gratitude to the public, my friends, my co-workers… words truly fail there. I wouldn’t be me without all of you.

So, no, the end isn’t truly near. It isn’t ‘the end’ at all.

Come Monday, I’ll walk through a new door. I probably won’t immediately ask my new colleagues how they’re feeling on a scale of 37 to 234. But that doesn’t mean I won’t want to. Old habits, especially the fun ones, have a way of finding new expressions. I’ll get around to it.

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