“You just gotta have some fun now.” That was my wife Fran’s reaction when I told her that this column, the one you’re reading now, would be my last. Not just the last for Barrett Media, but the last one, period, at least about radio.
Honestly, writing about a moribund industry became a dreaded chore sometime around, um, 2003 or so. I kept going because I couldn’t stop myself.
It was also because I loved that moribund industry. Not in the way old radio hands fetishize the WABC past on Facebook, but in all its messy, disintegrating glory. As much of a pain as it was to come up with material that didn’t repeat what I’d previously written, and as hellish as some of the conventions and travel could be, I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Think of it. I spent something like 30 years working from an office in my house. I could write about whatever I wanted without objection from Joel or Jason. I reached an audience that included most of the people working in radio and many of those wanting back in.
There was no commuting, a major perk for someone who lived near Los Angeles or Miami for most of those 30 years. I could work from any place in the world with Wi‑Fi. And I got to write about what I knew and liked best, the media in general and radio in particular.
I’d have liked to make more money doing all that, but there are worse careers, right? And that doesn’t even touch on getting to be a program director and occasional host in Los Angeles and New Jersey, or being in on the early days of podcasting. I was blessed enough to get to do a lot.
So, why give that up? Well, I often wrote about knowing when it’s time to go, time to hang it up, and how to recognize when that time comes for you. Maybe it was living in an area teeming with retirees from Long Island complaining that you can’t get good Chinese food or bagels here. Maybe it was a belated recognition that I’d said all I had to say. Maybe I just got tired.
Fran was right. (She’s always right.) I need more fun.
Look, when you hit my age, the cold fact that you don’t have unlimited time left hits hard. Did I want to spend any of that time working? Of course not. I want to sleep in, read books, go to ballgames and the beach, and play with the cats. The column was one last reminder that I hadn’t entirely freed myself from the psychological restraints of work. I’m free of that now.
It’s not like I’m disappearing. I may write things from time to time, for whomever is willing to pay for them. As long as I’m alive, I’ll be reachable via email and social media. Anyone who wants to buy me lunch can find me in South Florida. I’ll go anywhere between Jupiter and the Upper Keys for lunch with friends. But I’m looking forward to disengaging from the daily grind, disengaging from schedules and deadlines, from clockwatching and caring about.
No, that last part is not true. I will always care. I’m hopeless that way. And I will miss, most of all, the people, especially those who helped me through the years.
(There are too many to mention by name here, due to my fear of leaving someone out. Rest assured, I haven’t forgotten and will always be grateful for you. Yes, you. I can see you through the screen.)
And here we are, the end of the line. This is my station, time to get off the train and have a life. Happy holidays, Go Birds, good night and good luck, so long and thanks for all the fish, That’s All, Folks!, I’m so glad we had this time together, I bid you a fond adieu, so long, farewell, Auf Wiedersehen, good night, we’re done here.
In the words of the great philosopher Bill Watterson, it’s a magical world. Let’s go exploring!
