Eleven years ago this week, I stood on the platform of Toronto’s Wilson subway station waiting for the southbound train, hands jammed into the outer pockets of my winter jacket. I don’t remember it being particularly cold that evening – but even if it had been, it’s doubtful I would have noticed. Rather, my hands were reaching obsessively inward to guard the box hidden in my breast pocket from evil spirits. Inside it was an engagement ring.

When I presented it to Alexandra – having built up for some time that I was going to be giving her a “special” Hanukkah present – she happily said yes (though, as she would explain some time comfortably later, she was not at all surprised). We were married in August 2009. That fall, as the first decade of the 21st century drew to a close, we moved into our first apartment, a rickety two-bedroom south of Queen Street, steps from the beach, and started to learn how to live together.

Naturally, perhaps, it wasn’t all smooth sailing early on, yet we grew together, slowly but surely. We eventually moved into a house, and then welcomed two incredible children into it (along with one dearly departed dog, and two cats who are thankfully alive). As the decade ends, the kids are opening their eyes and minds to a world we could never have imagined at that age. Sometimes, amid the mess of crayons on the dining room table, the lineup to get into the bathroom in the morning, the dirty dishes from last night still in the sink, it feels like our house – indeed our life – is bursting at the seams. But all is good.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that the 2010s have been, generally speaking, pretty good for me. And in true 2010s fashion, maybe I feel a little guilty about that. At a time when it seems like most people are increasingly dissatisfied with their lot, it might be politically incorrect to say I’m satisfied with mine. But there you have it.

The fact that I can say so with confidence is thanks in no small part to The Canadian Jewish News, which picked me up at a point in my life when I was feeling professionally stuck. Next month marks seven years since I started here. As with my kids, I have no idea where the time went.

More importantly, though, the first month of the new decade will mark the 60th anniversary of The CJN, which published its inaugural edition on Jan. 1, 1960. (Check out page 2 of this week’s edition, where Marc Weisblott takes a look back at some of the highlights from that first eight-page CJN.) The current staff and board of The CJN feel fortunate to be tasked with carrying on that legacy. And we thank you for joining us on this adventure.

So, what’s in store for the next decade? I’m not one for bold predictions, but I can say with certainty that we’re always working on new projects, and a few of them will come to fruition in the coming year, including news podcasts and a new book (you might have seen the teaser ads in these very pages). Our website, which has attracted record numbers of visitors in recent months, and social media channels are putting us in touch with a new generation, and giving our devoted readers another point of contact with The CJN. And who knows? Maybe the 2020s will be the decade when print media once again gets its due. One can always wish.

Happy Hanukkah.