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.