Oh dear reader, this is a difficult day. A sad day indeed. Why, you may ask? Well, I regret to inform you that this might be my last column ever. It’s not easy to say, but I’m not sure what my future holds. A series of personal realizations and near-tragedies have forced me to take stock of my life, and the path ahead may look… very different. Things have been stressful. Rocky, even.
It all started last week at the Dwight Yoakam and ZZ Top concert in Brookings. And yes, before you ask, I did win the tickets on the radio. My best friend, who joined me, had made bedazzled Dwight Yoakam shirts, and let me tell you, they were a hit. People stopped us all night asking where they could buy one, only to be devastated to learn they were one-of-a-kind.
By the end of the concert, I was feeling festive enough to push my way toward the front of the stage. The music was incredible, but the crowd? A little too reserved for my liking. Thankfully, a few spirited women, myself included, took it upon ourselves to liven things up.
And that’s when it hit me. My true calling is not journalism. It’s groupie life. Specifically, Dwight Yoakam’s groupie. He’s not getting any younger, and neither am I. If I’m going to dedicate myself fully to “Guitars, Cadillacs and Hillbilly Music,” now is the time. Plus, this feels like the only logical way to justify wearing that bedazzled shirt multiple times a week.
The next day, I gathered the courage to tell my husband my plan, which does, admittedly, involve leaving him to function as a single parent. Somewhat surprisingly, he seemed remarkably unconcerned. The night before, the Iowa Hawkeyes had defeated the Nebraska Cornhuskers in the NCAA tournament, and he was still riding that high. Frankly, I’m not sure he would have noticed if I packed my bags and left during halftime.
In fairness, I may have already been on thin ice. The weekend prior, we visited Todd’s Tavern in Amherst, and he overheard me telling someone their barbecue ribs were better than his. So really, my departure might come as more of a relief than a shock.
As for the children, I do have some concerns. But they’re fairly used to me being gone. My 4-year-old recently asked if I loved trivia more than I loved them. My silence spoke volumes. If anything, life on the road should open up new and exciting trivia opportunities, so really, it’s a win-win.
And what about my role as your editor? I will miss it. I truly will. But with AI these days, you may hardly notice I’m gone. And considering my boss Doug is a devoted Cornhuskers fan, and I am married into Hawkeye territory, I suspect my job security was already… fragile. He hasn’t quite been able to look me in the eye since the game.
So dear reader, this may indeed be goodbye. If you turn to page two next week and find a suspiciously empty space where this column once lived, I hope you’ll remember me fondly and know that I am out there somewhere, chasing a dream and possibly a tour bus.
And if you find yourself wondering what could possibly have inspired such a dramatic life change… I might suggest taking a closer look at this paper’s publication date.
