All Good Things

It was three years ago this very week that The Job of Work, this labor of love and folly, was born.  Three years of late nights, interrupted sleep, second-guessing, rewrites, and doubt.  Three years of sitting in front of a blank screen and, later, obsessing over a sentence.  Three years of exploring matters significant and trivial, some germane to the workplace and others far afield.  Three years of stabbing at lunacy wherever it may reside.  Three years of outlining a personal point of view about how work and life can be, maybe should be.  Three years of pleading for change during this prolonged economic drought we're enduring.  And, along the way, developing a certain perverse personal sense of accomplishment for having provided for three full years nonstop what might have been inspiration to some but was probably largely drivel to you, my loyal, passionate, foolhardy and adored readers.

After all of that, after three years, it's time for a break.

Looking back, we've been through a lot together.  From that first blog about the lack of significant differences between the generations and how 'HR' and 'strategy' rarely go well together, to an innovative and elegant way to create world-class performers, to a discussion of hipness, to the need for a more tender approach at work (complete with an Otis Redding video), to an urging to choose happiness, to a 4-part series on a new way to approach organizational design, to your life's soundtrack, to soul, to spreading joy (with two terrific musical videos), to the value of laughter, to The Schnur Consulting Group's approach to true culture change and performance improvement, to the joy of living loud, to physical attraction and to the soul-crushing effects of the workplace, we've been there and done that.  And so much more.

We've watched as Chilean miners were saved and devastating earthquakes, tsunamis and tornadoes wreaked havoc, loss and despair.  We were helpless as the Gulf of Mexico filled with oil following a drilling disaster.  We buried personal heroes.  We elated as a certain baseball team from San Francisco won the World Series.  We've tried to live loud, as if each day was our first.

You were there, each step of the way.  Randy, the most soulful person on the planet.  Norene, my absolute favorite escapee from the snapping turtles of Pennsylvania.  Jon, is there a high-end retailer you have not helped?  Jorge, for selling more chocolate in Chile than there are people.  Ted, possibly the funniest, most provocative person I know.  And the many unnamed, faceless readers from around the globe who returned week after week.  Who are you?  Oh, how I wish I knew.

Thank you all for spending a few minutes with me each week.  Thank you for your emails.  Thank you for overlooking the foibles of this space and the shortcomings of its author.  Thank you for telling me I was full of it or, from time to time, that I had touched your heart.  Mostly, thank you -- whether you know it or not -- for pushing me, prodding me, driving me to try to be relevant.

This is not a 'good bye'.  Instead, consider this a 'see you soon', for this is only a break.  Please check back from time to time to see if we've picked up where we left off.  Because unlike Click & Clack (a.k.a., Ray and Tom Magliozzi of NPR's Car Talk), I will be back.

In the meantime, stay safe, sing out loud, make someone laugh hard, and tell your friends and family how much they mean to you.  And while you're at it, have fun at work.

See you soon.