Hi,
On the inside of my partner’s wrist, there is a permanent reminder in a dark, curling script: ‘Keep Going’. It is on her left hand, which is the one she most often uses to reach for me--particularly when I’m in need of comfort. I’ve felt that tattoo against my skin a lot in the last two weeks.
By now you must know that The Correspondent is shutting down. In the weeks since this decision was announced to us all in the newsroom--and since I’ve had to tell my family that the pandemic did impact us significantly, after all--that tattoo has taken on a new meaning.
"Keep Going."
I’ve set up a different newsletter. I’ve considered a podcast. I’ve let my loved ones care for me while I try to make sense of my life now. I’m trying to keep going.
I’ve said it many times before because it’s true: writing for TC was my absolute dream job. When you’re a person with my identities in a world with such a huge appetite for exclusion, it is a rare opportunity to be able to think out loud about alternate realities alongside 55,000 people. From the moment we launched in October 2019, the enthusiasm of our team and members made it almost inconceivable that in 18 months we would end up here, at the end of the road, with nowhere left to go.
In the midst of wrapping up the tumultuous year that was 2020, catching up with family and trying to come to terms with my new circumstances as an unemployed writer, I haven’t been able to properly grieve the loss the Othering beat. I’ve been floating in a state of suspended disbelief, putting one foot in front of the other and just trying to hold on to joy.
But as I write this final newsletter as your Othering Correspondent, the tears are brimming. I’m grateful to be alive. I’m grateful that I haven’t lost any loved ones to the pandemic. I’m grateful to have had this space with you and the rest of my TC family. Still, I really really hate the fact that this journey is ending so abruptly, so early, with so much ahead of us.
In my early days of writing to our members and readers, I shared how difficult it was to ‘become’ a journalist. It took me a while to learn how to tell meaningful, inspiring, progressive stories on a schedule. It was a struggle to figure out how to be part of a team, especially when so many of us were scattered all over the world. I often felt like I was failing.
Then, just when I finally started to feel confident, the pandemic hit. Like many of you, I was scared, confused, and worried that everything would collapse. Instead, I got to witness the rallying done by the amazing people I considered my team for a year and a half.
First, we checked in on one another, as human beings. Then we checked in on the work we were doing or struggling to do. We came up with brilliant ideas for covering this new global crisis. We implemented suggestions from our members. From the newsroom to the contribution section, we resolved conflicts or found ways to keep building together while agreeing to disagree. We were a community not just in word, but also in deed. I started to believe we were beyond collapse.
Unfortunately, it’s now very clear that we were never quite as safe as I believed. As I write this I realise I’ve been secretly hoping that somehow it’ll all go away and things will go back to normal. I’ll keep writing to you. You’ll keep writing to me. This will remain my dream job and I’ll never have to wake up.
It feels like such an immense loss to have had my wildest dreams come true, only for them to suddenly vanish like an oasis on the horizon.
This is my final newsletter as your Othering Correspondent, but I don’t have anything pithy to say. I just want to thank you for being part of my dream. Thank you for reading my words, sharing my work, disagreeing productively with me and sending me encouragement upon encouragement. Thank you for the unlikely relationships that you have offered me. Thank you for reminding me that our differences exist, but so do our similarities.
I don’t know what the future holds for me, but I’m (very!) slowly starting to make my peace with that. For now you can keep up with me on Instagram or better yet, at my new newsletter, Power at the Margins, which I’m hoping will become a community of dreamers just like the one I enjoyed here at The Correspondent.
The future feels foggy, but that’s okay. I will keep going, no matter what. I hope you’ll come along with me.
For the final time,
OluTimehin
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