Even after “the end,” our stories have staying power

In journalism they say, never bury the lede. So here it is: This will be my last editorial for LJ. For me, this news is bittersweet; I’m excited to begin a new role elsewhere in libraryland, as managing editor of CQ Researcher at SAGE Publishing. But I will miss my colleagues, the opportunities I have had here to learn from and collaborate with librarians across the country, and my chance to bend your ear every month.

While LJ conducts a search for my successor, Lisa Peet, who has received a well-deserved promotion to executive editor, will drive the fulfillment of LJ’s 2023 plans for in-depth feature articles, and keep the news and opinions coverage nimble. As always, Neal Wyatt powers the reviews engine that drives our deep coverage of books and other materials.

For myself, I’m looking back on what I’ve done, for better and worse, through my 10+ years of evolving roles at LJ, and what I’m not going to get to guide to fruition personally. I look forward to seeing my coworkers achieve the goals we worked toward together, and the new projects they and the next editor-in-chief will dream into being.

Of course, this makes me think about library workers. Like many fields, ours has seen an unusual rate of retirement and job and career change since COVID began. That’s part of a nationwide reevaluation of work and what workers want, need, and expect from employers. Sometimes, that means remote work, or stepping away from a culture where they didn’t feel safe or heard. Some such change is driven by the escalating attacks on materals, displays, and programming about and by LGBTQIA+ and BIPOC people, and the pervasive harassment and risk to staff as a result. And some may be as simple as people reaching retirement age in a pandemic.

Regardless of the reasons, many people in libraryland are, like me, reflecting on their work as they change roles. Perhaps because library people tend to care so much about making a difference, I hear them worry about stopping.

It can be easy to lose sight of—especially since we’re all so busy with our day-to-day tasks—but the work you’ve done still exists and has value after you leave. This is easiest to see structurally. If you created an affinity group that supports you and your colleagues, if you rewrote a policy to make challenges easier to navigate, if you started a book club or furnished a makerspace or conducted a collection diversity audit and set goals for representation, that impact will continue. Books that you chose will stay on shelves and in the hands of readers. At LJ, the thing I am proudest of is instituting sensitivity reading of our content. And I’m glad to say that is now a permanent part of the process that will continue long after my tenure.

Even if a project goes dormant for a while, you proved it to be doable and useful. It will be easier for someone else to revive. The relationships you built can’t always be handed on, because personal trust is, well, personal. But people who had a good experience with you will be more likely to turn to a library staff member again in the future.

Of course, not everyone’s role lends itself to making structural change. And not every change persists. That’s when it can feel like work is written in water. But we need to look at the pass-along impact on individuals and communities.

The job seeker who recieved a better offer because of you, the recent arrival who got their green card, the parent who learned to read to their child, the patron who found the funny book that got them through a hard day—those gains keep on giving long after the interaction is over. And those people pay it forward to the next person—in part by referring them to the library.

I think it’s important both to celebrate what’s been accomplished, and to recognize when it’s time to stop and pass the torch to someone else, whether to try something new or simply rest. Change can be complex and bring both grief and joy. It’s okay to feel and to express both. I hope I have.

I will miss you. I will still be around. Stay awesome. You are, even when you don’t believe it. Even when you screw up. Do good work, and let yourself stop. Send your ideas to Lisa and Neal; they are great listeners. And re-read a book you love for me.