Next chapter beckons, but I’m not finished writing this one

Ellen Futterman, Editor-in-Chief

Published November 5, 2025

I recently turned 69, an age that feels both momentous and a bit surreal when I say it out loud. Some might say my “best if used by” date has come and gone, yet here I am, still working full time because I want to.

That’s not to say retirement isn’t on my mind — I think about it — but I’m not quite there yet. Still, I can feel that next chapter hovering nearby, like a book on the shelf I’m not quite ready to open, though I keep finding my eyes drawn to it.

Retirement, I’m learning, is less a moment and more a slow, creeping curiosity. It’s like a dessert tray at a buffet: You know it’s coming, but you’re still finishing your entrée and maybe sneaking another dinner roll. You think about it, but you also tell yourself you’ll relish it later. And by “later,” I mean sometime after I’ve finished editing the next issue of the Jewish Light, convened another meeting, or gently corrected one last misused Oxford comma (don’t even get me started on those!).

I imagine retirement as a kind of playground for older adults. I’ll have time to read just for pleasure, work out and play mahjong during the day, and maybe even learn to bake challah that rises properly on the first try. I’ll have the time to sit with my thoughts without a blinking cursor, an inbox ping or a calendar message reminding me of yet another commitment. And yet part of me suspects I’ll miss the office chaos and camaraderie, the annoying hum of the printer as I wait for it to spit out my notes, the thrill of a breaking news story coming together at 11 p.m. and the small, quiet victories of helping to shape community conversation.

Over the past 17 years at the Light, I’ve had the extraordinary privilege of getting to know so many people in our community, so many of you. Your stories of triumph, struggle, humor and resilience have informed my life in ways I could never have anticipated.

I’ve laughed at weddings, cried at funerals, marveled at mitzvahs and been inspired by acts of courage both large and small. Each interview, each conversation, has been a reminder of the richness and complexity of our shared lives, and of the ways our community continues to teach, challenge and sustain me.

Retirement, surely, will have its perks. It promises more time with my husband, my children and my grandchildren, a prospect that, on paper, sounds downright delightful. Still, I suspect it might be a mixed blessing. More time together could mean long, lazy afternoons filled with laughter, stories and games, but it could just as easily mean more family meals for me to prepare, tidying up after everyone leaves and even more (than normal) “playful” teasing from my kids and their father.

Still, I’m looking forward to it. Well … mostly.

And then there is travel. I’ve been lucky to see a lot of the world already, hopping from city to city, chasing stories and experiences. Retirement promises more time, but probably less money, which turns the dream of leisurely wandering cobblestone streets or museum-hopping into a bit of a balancing act. Maybe I’ll swap nice enough hotels for less expensive B&Bs, planes for trains, or restaurant dining for street food — then again, maybe not.

Travel will still be thrilling, but I’ll need to pace myself, learning that the joy isn’t just in going everywhere, but in savoring what I can, when I can, without staring too hard at my credit card statement. After all, it’s the break from routine that helps make travel so invigorating. And in its own way, retirement is the ultimate break from routine, just with fewer jet lags and, hopefully, more naps.

Humor is my lifeline here. I joke with myself about taking up (dreaded) yoga or watercolor painting, knowing full well I’ll probably spend the first month whenever I retire reorganizing my numerous junk drawers and wondering why anyone ever thought “retire” meant “stop being useful.”

I’m also bracing for the existential pangs: the quiet mornings when the only breaking news is the sound of my own thoughts. But perhaps that’s the gift of this stage: learning to listen, slowly, to the rhythms of my own life instead of the urgency of everyone else’s.

In Judaism, we talk about tikkun olam, repairing the world. Retirement feels like an opportunity to keep doing more of that, through family, community, volunteering, writing or simply helping wherever I can, on my own schedule and maybe with fewer emails. It’s a comforting reminder that meaning and purpose don’t retire when you do.

So, here I am, still fully immersed in the work I love, occasionally daydreaming about what the next chapter might hold, and plotting — purely hypothetically, of course — how to make it just as full, rich and, dare I say, rewarding as this one.

About the Contributor

Ellen Futterman, Editor-in-Chief

A native of Westbury, New York, Ellen Futterman broke into the world of big city journalism as a general assignment reporter for the Los Angeles Herald-Examiner in the latter part of the 20th century. Deciding that Tinsel Town was not exciting enough for her, she moved on to that hub of glamour and sophistication, Belleville, Ill., where she became a feature writer, columnist and food editor for the Belleville News-Democrat. A year later the St. Louis Post-Dispatch scooped her up, neither guessing at the full range of her talents, nor the extent of her shoe collection. She went on to work at the Post-Dispatch for 25 years, during which time she covered hard news, education, features, investigative projects, profiles, sports, entertainment, fashion, interiors, business, travel and movies. She won numerous major local and national awards for her reporting on “Women Who Kill” and on a four-part series about teen-age pregnancy, ‘Children Having Children.'” Among her many jobs at the newspaper, Ellen was a columnist for three years, Arts and Entertainment Editor, Critic-at-large and Daily Features (Everyday) Editor. She invented two sections from scratch, one of which recently morphed from Get Out, begun in 1995, to GO. In January of 2009, Ellen joined the St. Louis Jewish Light as its editor, where she is responsible for overseeing editorial operations, including managing both staff members and freelancers. Under her tutelage, the Light has won 16 Rockower Awards — considered the Jewish Pulitzer’s — including two personally for Excellence in Commentary for her weekly News & Schmooze column. She also is the communications content editor for the Arts and Education Council of St. Louis. Ellen and her husband, Jeff Burkett, a middle school principal, live in Olivette and have three children. Ellen can be reached at 314-743-3669 or at [email protected].