I thought about a time when I was sitting in church at the annual Christmas service. Communion was being served. Being tall, I like to sit at the end of the bench toward the side so that I do not block the view of those behind me. As people exited their pew to the center aisle, received their blessing and then circled back along the outside aisles, I looked at the floor as they passed by. Scurrying across the tile was a single ant…and it set me to thinking.

I wondered where the other ants were. It’s been my experience that when you see one ant, a multitude of others must be nearby. Was this particular ant an inadvertent stow-away on a congregation member’s pecan pie destined for the fellowship hall? Or was this one small ant part of the lineage that had occupied the land on which the church was built for as far back as anyone can remember? Who knows, and there’s no way to tell. It could be that this ant wandered in under the weather strip on the front door and had never been in the building before.

I pondered the insignificance of this tiny insect within the great expanse of the building. I thought, just like this little ant, we, as humans, are but small creatures compared to the space we occupy in the vast universe. For all we know, ants are silent. They do not have a voice. Perhaps they do. We are simply unable to hear them.

Then I wondered, how far off from each of us must someone go in order to no longer hear our voice? Is it a matter of distance, subject matter, or age?

I thought about my own life and how distance, subject matter and age have all played a part in a small portion of my life surrounding my work as a newspaper editor. It’s been eleven years since I left the paper. Within that distance, the subject matter and the manner in which the news is covered has changed dramatically along with the method of delivery. Digital is king. Everyone is a reporter and everyone can have a platform.

Which leaves me in the role of that little ant. While at the paper, my words and work were read and seen by thousands of people each day. Now, there are thousands and thousands of sources, each seeking their own following and followers to influence. News is not meant to influence, but to inform.

I don’t fit anymore. And I’m ok with that.

As I enter my golden years of life, I realize that the only people from which distance, subject matter and age that matter are my family and friends. My voice in the public debate is no longer relevant, nor is it generally sought. But in my new version of a smaller universe, it is valued.

I’m happy as a little ant.

Now, where’s that pecan pie.