If this were your last note to someone, what would you write?
Not that simple, is it? I totally get that. One simple, direct question that triggers lots of thoughts and emotions, along with the sobering realization that one day a note, or thought, or word will be your last.
In the long view, we’re really not that different from the mayfly. We come, we go, and the world keeps going. I doubt the mayfly wonders whether fellow mayflies will mourn its passage or reflect fondly on its time with them. More likely, they simply go about enjoying their brief time on earth doing whatever mayflies do.
Years ago, an expression wrote itself in my subconscious the way a tagger’s graffiti marks a rail car: “No one on their deathbed ever wished for another day in the office.”
I beg to differ. For the past quarter century, my office has included the outdoors.
What I do regret is having not spent more of my days actually being outside instead of indoors writing about it. The Outdoor Wire began to fill what I perceived as an information void in the outdoors. Ultimately, it created a dream that requires doing things most people have to burn up vacation time and money to enjoy.
There have been occasional misfires: a shooting trip came to an abrupt end when impromptu bass fishing went sideways, a turkey hunting trip in Texas that ended with a rattlesnake hatband and a funny story; and my personal favorite misadventure story about an Oklahoma dove shoot. It never fails to get a laugh, especially when retold over drinks.
Like life, the worst adventures make the most memorable stories. A fishing guide in Louisiana essentially wrote “What to Do If Your Fishing Guide’s Awful.” A hunting camp I described as “a long night in a Motel Three” got a lot of laughs, but reminded readers you can’t believe everything you read in a marketing brochure.
When the good, the bad, and the unexpected align, storytelling’s easy. Really good stories tell themselves.
Unfortunately, not every story is fun. Sometimes, it they require acknowledging the fact that loss is hard, friends can disagree, or that a much-ballyhooed product is more “hooey” than “bally.”
There are also the disappointments as you re-learn the difference between industry acquaintances and friends. One walks away whenever it’s expedient. The other you can’t chase off.
It’s all part and parcel of a job/calling I’ve pursued for over 50 years: journalism.
This isn’t what I’d planned to write as a year-end wrap-up. But I don’t really worry about what I write to close out each year until I actually sit down to begin writing.
That’s why this “holiday column” is different. 2024 has been everything but normal. So I guess it’s time for me to realize there really aren’t that many “normal” years.
Sure, they all have similarities, but they all contain jarring, unexpected occurrences for someone.
If you weren’t among the “jarred” in 2024, congratulations.
The rest of us feel, as 007 might say, that we’ve been “shaken, not stirred.”
That doesn’t mean I don’t have high hopes for 2025. In fact, I have very high hopes for the coming year.
In 2024, a whole cohort of our society has come to the startling realization that much of the “information” they’ve been consuming was actually misinformation. Thankfully, I don’t share their ideological values, but I totally understand their disappointment. Seeing the craft I’ve worked at mastering for more than a half century so far off the rails is disheartening, at best.
To win back trust, journalists need to remember to stick to answering seven simple questions: who, what, why, when, where, how, and how much. Stick to delivering facts, then trust the recipients to be intelligent enough to interpret them. History seems to prove that, given the true facts, Americans tend to do the right thing. I’m hoping for more “right things” in 2025.
Here’s my simple fact for today: this is the final publishing date for all our services.
Through January 6, we’re stepping away from the daily deadlines to enjoy our families. We’ll also clean up our computer systems and prep for the inevitable sprint that is January in the outdoor industry.
Going from family time to the trade show sprints have been just the proven remedy for the “itchy” sensations I get after only a couple of days away from deadlines. My first deadline was in 1967, I’ve been pushing them ever since.
Now, however, it’s time to wish everyone a blessed holiday (Christmas and Hannukah coincide this year)…and a prosperous 2025. When our first editions reappear in your inbox in January 2025, we should be relaxed, rested and ready-to-go….again.
We’ll keep that promise I made 25-years ago:
“We’ll keep you posted.”
God bless you all.
-- Jim Shepherd