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  • Writer's pictureKristin Woodward

that’s a wrap!

i can’t count the number of times over the past 6.5 years that i fantasized about writing my farewell email to Razorfish. there were angry versions, sappy versions, breezy versions, short versions, long versions, versions that included video, song lyrics and animated gifs, versions that referenced inside jokes and ghosts of other fallen fish . . . while my fantasies deeply indulged the emotion of all these versions, when it came to the actual words i would type, they confirmed only the vague notion that there would definitely be some words in that email. note to self: improve level of detail in fantasy life.

well, now that moment has come. and over the past few days, as i thought more specifically about what to say about leaving the job i’ve held for longer than any job in my 14 year career, all i could come up with was a big, fat blank. not that i don’t have a lot to say. i’m mad about how things ended (but i’m not here to bitch about it). i’ll definitely miss a lot of people. i decidely won’t miss a few people. over the years, there were a lot of good times, and a lot of really fucking horrific times. (there were usually cocktails either way.) there were successes, scandals, failures, many lessons and life skills learned—and taught. there were solid friendships, mortal frenemies and enough compelling stories to fill several seasons of the next critically-acclaimed TV drama (which i will now, finally, have time to write). it’s been a truly epic journey in many, many ways.

perhaps my writing skills are a little rusty. perhaps it was just too emotionally draining. but after several attempts, i decided a couple sentence email simply couldn’t do justice to everything that had happened and all that it had meant. it was like trying to create the digital equivalent of a high school yearbook signature, written to the entire graduating class and summing up all 4 years. i didn’t want to cheapen the experience by glossing over it. and i didn’t want to send some version of that farewell email i hate. you know, the one written by someone who thinks they’re much funnier, more poignant, more important and better liked than they actually are. so i chose not to say anything at all. i shut down my email for the last time this morning, without writing a word. and didn’t look back.

today, in the real and silent final version of my farewell, i realized that the people who mean something know it. they also know where to find me. and more likely than not, we’ll be tipping back cocktails (on French Papa’s tab, i hope) sooner rather than later. so, here’s to whatever is next.

(okay, i couldn’t help myself.)

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