Hit 72 years old to begin this week.
Don't know why, especially, but I felt a resolution to finally do some of that "pass the torch" thing.
I "retired" in mid-2018, forced into it a month shy of my 65th birthday by the massive layoffs at the failing Salt Lake Tribune. Took the severance package, rather slim for the decades served, but better than could be expected of a a paper hovering near bankruptcy. Social Security, and a pension vested from a previously 20 years at The Associated Press helped.
But I never really, in my heart and soul, felt "retired." I freelanced -- editing, ghostwriting, copyediting, a bit of travel writing -- before A.I. and ideology-driven agendas combined to kill the wisps of that journalistic wraith that remained within.
For the past seven years, though, I served my Orthodox Church parish council and priests as best I could. But you get older, and with the phenomenal growth on our numbers -- and the influx of sharp, younger souls deserving their turns to serve -- I knew in my heart of hearts, it was time.
Hey, if John the Baptist, an exploding quasar in the spiritual cosmos of Christ Eternal, could say of Our Lord, "He must increase and I must decrease" before he faded from this world (minus his saintly head) . . . then I, by such metaphorical comparison a mere speck of occasionally glowing dark matter making its way to the nearest black hole abyss event horizon, can do the same.
Though I have my head, for what it's worth.
Kind of. Sort of. OK, not even close. But I did pass the torch to new parish leadership blood.
Or, more likely a match or two. Perhaps just a palm-full of warm ashes.
But it's what I had.
And, my prayers.
