Putting out a newspaper was my dream job, and I was lucky enough to do it for nine years with a great bunch of people at a quality rag. Now it’s over, and I am sad.
The timing is great for me, however. For the past six months I had been plotting the next phase in my life. I have enrolled at San Francisco Theological Seminary in San Anselmo, Marin County, Calif., and classes start in September. If all goes well, I will receive my master’s degree in divinity in three years. SFTS is a Presbyterian school with ties to some other wonderful religious schools in Berkeley. My aunt studied there, as did two other pastors I know and respect. Sean Penn lives 15 minutes away. Robin Williams went to high school there.
So far the worst thing about getting laid off, as opposed to resigning, is that no one at work gave me a cake. (In case anyone decides to change that, I prefer carrot, with cream cheese frosting.)
I don’t know if I will end up an ordained pastor, in a pulpit, in a classroom, on a mission, overseas, in some other state, or back in the journo game. Or maybe I’ll write one of the novels that occasionally flit through my head. For the first time since I was 17, my work will not be measured by column inches and minutes until deadline. It feels strange and exhilarating, not scary like I thought it would.
For now I’m taking my summer vacation to study some other Bible besides the AP Stylebook and to remember how to write without an inverted pyramid.
Anybody need a gently used pica pole? Anybody? Anybody?