She’s Gone.
When you’re good at radio. When you’re really good at radio. When you know why you do radio and what radio means, it’s supposed to hurt when you leave. It’s supposed to be grief.
It’s supposed to feel like a gut wrenching loss of intimacy.
Because if you’re good at radio, if you’re one of the greats. If you’ve dedicated your breaks to the connection you create… that sever should destroy a part of you. The pieces of you that you’ve invested. Not in yourself, but in that relationship where you spent of yourself for her day. For her to feel okay. And safe. And good. Where you devoted your heart and mind to that public interest. Where you put yourself in a position to only serve the needs of your listener and that station. Every time you cracked that mic.
Because that’s the gig.
If you’re good at radio, really excellent at your craft, every time that connection ends you should feel that break in your back. Your spine should weep. Your eyes should stream. Your loss should be a tangible reckoning, where there are moments you think you cannot breathe. Because suddenly, someone you’ve spent hours upon countless hours with… has disappeared from your life. In an instant.
If you’re good at radio, you miss her. You miss chatting it up about the everyday shit to help her navigate everything from parent pick up to zoom meetings to…