I want to tell you something I'm not particularly proud of.

When I leave a job — when a chapter ends — I don't just walk away and let things fade naturally. I don't slowly stop returning calls or drift into the comfortable distance that time creates between former colleagues. I blow the whole thing up. I move forward so completely, so deliberately, that I leave nothing behind me but silence.

I've done this my entire career.

And for a long time I told myself it was just how I was wired. Forward momentum. Eyes on what's next. No looking back. It sounded almost noble when I framed it that way — like I was someone who didn't get caught up in the past.

But lately I've been sitting with a harder truth.

The Cost of Moving On Too Completely

I hear it all the time. Someone gets a great opportunity and when you ask how they landed it the answer is almost always the same: "A friend from my old job put my name forward." Or: "We worked together years ago and he thought of me."

That's how careers actually move in broadcasting — and in most industries if I'm honest. Not through job boards. Not through cold applications. Through people who remember you, respect your work, and think of you when something comes up.

I've had great relationships over the years. Genuinely great ones. People I respected deeply, people who I believe respected me. People who knew my work ethic, my instincts, my ability to deliver under pressure.

I didn't lose those relationships because something went wrong. I lost them because I moved forward so completely I never looked back.

That's not the same as burning a bridge in anger. This is quieter and in some ways sadder. These weren't dramatic exits. They were just — disappearances. I left, I moved on, and I never reached back.

Why I Think I Do This

I've thought about it a lot. I don't think it comes from anger or bitterness — at least not always. I think it comes from something simpler and more human: I'm a forward-facing person.

When a chapter ends I close the book completely. I don't linger. I don't look back. There's something in me that needs to be fully in the next thing — and fully in the next thing means letting go of everything from the last one.

The problem is that people aren't chapters. They don't belong to a specific period of your life that ends when you change jobs. The colleague who knew you at your best in 2008 is still that person in 2026. The friendship built over years of working under pressure together doesn't have an expiry date — unless you let it.

I let it. Over and over again.

What It Cost Me

I've spent years in the same place professionally — not because I lack talent or experience, but because I systematically dismantled the very network that could have opened doors. Twenty-five years in television and I have almost no one to call.

That's a strange thing to write. But it's true. And I think it needs to be said — not just for myself but for anyone reading this who recognizes the pattern.

Your network isn't a strategy. It's the people who actually know you. Who saw you work. Who watched you handle pressure, solve problems, show up. Those people are irreplaceable — and once you lose the thread it's much harder to find it again.

Where I Am Now

I'm at a point in my life where I'm rebuilding — professionally and personally. Launching VicMar Productions more seriously. Putting myself back out there after years of keeping my head down.

And I find myself thinking about the people I've lost touch with. Not with regret exactly — more with a quiet recognition that I'd like to find my way back to some of those connections.

I don't know exactly how to do that yet. A cold message after years of silence feels awkward. But I'm starting to think that the awkwardness of reaching out is far less costly than the continued silence.

If you're someone who worked with me at some point — in broadcasting, in production, anywhere along the way — and you're reading this: I'd genuinely love to hear from you.

And if you recognize yourself in any of this — if you're someone who moves forward so completely that you leave everyone behind — maybe this is the nudge to reach back. The people who knew your best work still remember it.

That bridge might be more intact than you think.