I worship alone in the early morning, my coffee as black as the sky outside. . . . Here in the darkness I won’t be confused with a busy editor whose calls are screened, who gives generously to all the right causes, who every month assembles the wisdom of the ages on the last page of his magazine. Here I remember that so many fools like me have come and gone. We eased out of bed before our wives were up, sat on the floor, talked to God. How skillfully we bargained. How beautiful our words.
When Sy and everyone at The Sun found me two years ago, I was standing on the edge of a cliff inside myself. Writing about what I saw from that vantage point was the only thing that prevented me from jumping. Since then The Sun’s editors and readers have said: Step back. Don’t jump. Enjoy the view with us. And I’ve listened.
In the final Sunbeam of the December 2023 issue, Sy writes that running the magazine sometimes occupied him “like a conquering army” and other times “like the Holy Ghost.” He goes on to say: “Even living your dream can feel like a burden now and then. But, my oh my, to live your dream!” While reading this, it occurred to me—for the first time—that I’m living my dream. It’s a holy burden, and I’m happy to shoulder it.
Thank you, Sy. I know you will get that desk in heaven. And I hope that when you sit at it, your hair is down to your shoulders and your feet are bare, just as you were when you stood on the street, sharing the first issues of this gift you’ve offered to the world.
