First of all, reader, please know that this letter is to you, too. Calliope is made up of writers, artists, creators, and readers. Calliope is nothing without an audience, and art is nothing without someone to make meaning of it. (If art exists in a forest but no one is there to see it, is it still art?)
Second, dear Calliope: I’m sorry for always pronouncing your name in the most American accent ever. Forgive me for that.
Third: I hate goodbyes. Goodbyes are stupid and sad, and I’m not dying. I don’t believe in endings. Forgive the cheese, but leaving Calliope is just the end to an awesome chapter. It’s not really a goodbye. It’s a “see you later.”
Fourth… There are no words. Or rather there are too many words I could say, and none of them are concise or unique, because gratitude is a hard emotion to express. I don’t want to bore you, reader. Instead, I’ll let you say the goodbye for me. Imagine every sappy sentiment, every farewell song about hope and love, gooey speeches about the future and possibility, and imagine the things written on every thank you card ever. Whatever’s passing in your mind right now is all I could hope to say.
Fifth? Thank you.
Sixth– After two years on the board, first as Managing Editor and then as Editor-in-Chief, I’ve learned so much about myself and the artists of Chapman, much more than I would have in any classroom. I’m starting to understand the saying “It takes a village to raise a child.” Calliope was my baby, and I wouldn’t trade my time spent on the magazine for anything. Well, maybe a million dollars. Just kidding. I’m not selling out just yet. Unless you’re offering? Just kidding again.
Seventh, and lastly, best of luck. To you wherever you are, I hope you don’t lose your love for art. We might not make a lot of money doing it, but at least we can say we’re making life a little more meaningful.
Editor out. (｀･ω･´)ﾉ ♥