The 3-part formula

If you read nothing else here, this is the move. Almost every goodbye card I've ever received that actually landed followed this shape, whether the writer noticed or not.

Specific memory + genuine wish + open door. Filled in: "The way you ran that all-hands the week the launch went sideways is the version of leadership I'll keep stealing. Wishing you a team that's lucky to have you next. I'm on LinkedIn whenever, let's stay in touch. Priya"

Three slots, one card, fewer than fifty words. Each slot does a different job. Memory proves you noticed. Wish proves you mean it. Open door proves the relationship doesn't end with the card.

1. Specific memory. This is the slot that does all the work. A real project, a recurring habit, a moment you watched them handle something well, the running joke from the third-floor kitchen. The test I use: could the line be copy-pasted into a stranger's farewell card without anyone noticing? If yes, scrap it. "Thanks for being a great teammate" is wallpaper. "Thanks for the Wednesday-morning coffees where we figured out half my project plan" is recognition. If you can't think of a memory, you don't know them well enough to write a long card. Write a short one, see below.

2. Genuine wish. Not "good luck" alone. "Good luck" by itself is what people say at airports. A genuine wish is calibrated to where they're going. New job: wish them a team that uses them well. Retiring: wish them a slower rhythm. Grad school: wish them the energy for it.

3. Open door. A goodbye card is a hinge, not a closing punctuation mark. Mention LinkedIn, a number, a city you both visit, a standing offer of coffee. Don't make a promise you won't keep. "Let's get drinks every month" from someone who's never invited them once will read as theatre. "I'm on LinkedIn whenever, message any time" is small and honest and lands.

For someone you barely know, slot one is a single careful line. For someone you've worked with closely for five years, slot one might be the whole card. Honestly though, here's the inconvenient bit: I've used the exact LinkedIn line above unironically four times, on four different people, and so far nobody has called me on it. Either the line is better than I think, or nobody reads goodbye cards twice. Pick your favourite explanation.

For someone you didn't know well

The trap here is overreaching. People sense the gap between what you actually know about them and what your card pretends to know, and they read warmth-you-haven't-earned as polite filler. Honest brevity is the fix. A short, sincere line from a near-stranger is welcome. A five-paragraph emotional letter from one reads as performance. (For the broader cluster on this tier, the farewell messages for a colleague guide is the deeper dive.) Ten lines below, all calibrated to keep the right distance.

  • Best of luck.
  • We didn't overlap on much, but I always heard good things. Wishing you well wherever this goes next.
  • Best of luck with what's next, hope the new team is lucky to have you.
  • Sorry we never got the proper coffee in. Wishing you a great next chapter.
  • From across the org, thanks for the work I did get to see, and good luck with the move.
  • Wishing you a smooth landing and a team that uses you well.
  • We didn't work directly, but you've always seemed like one of the steadier hands on this floor. Best of luck with what comes next, and if our paths cross again I'd be glad to actually grab that coffee.
  • Sad to see you go without our paths crossing properly. All the best.
  • Wishing you a quieter inbox and a louder welcome wherever you're heading.
  • Goodbye and good luck, I'm on LinkedIn if our orbits ever overlap again.

For someone you worked closely with

This is where the formula earns its keep. The closer you are, the more the card has to sound like you, and the higher the cost of writing something a stranger could have written. People who've sat next to you for two years know your voice. They'll read "thanks for everything you do" and know you mailed it in. Lean on a specific shared project, a habit you watched, a small kindness. The deep-dives by tier live in the coworker, boss, and mentor guides. Twelve scaffolding lines below, swap in the actual detail.

  • Don't go.
  • The Tuesday standups will never recover.
  • Working next to you for three years was the part of this job I won't be able to replicate. Wishing you a team that knows what they've got. My number hasn't changed.
  • The way you handled the reorg last spring is something I'm going to keep stealing from for the rest of my career. Don't be a stranger.
  • Half of what I know about how to ship a launch I learned from watching you. Good luck, and let's get the coffee on the calendar before you go.
  • You were the one I checked everything with before sending. I'm going to have to grow up and check it myself now. Stay in touch.
  • You made the hard quarters survivable. I'm sad to see you go and glad you're going somewhere that wanted you this much.
  • I'm going to miss having you a desk away when something on fire needs a sane second opinion. You know how to find me.
  • The lunch rotation will not be the same. Wishing you well, and the coffee invitation stands forever.
  • You set the bar for what "good teammate" actually means around here. Whoever inherits your desk is going to feel the gap. Stay in touch.
  • Thanks for being the one who'd answer the dumb question without making me feel dumb for asking. Wishing you the same generosity in return.
  • You're the reason I stayed an extra year. Wishing you a team that gives you reasons to stay too. We'll get a drink properly before you go.

Short and funny lines when the whole team is signing

When eighteen people are scrawling on the same card, brevity is courtesy. A short line in your own voice beats a long paragraph that's clearly a copy-paste, and on a group card a long entry steals room from the next person. The first fourteen below are under fifteen words, calibrated for the squeeze between the manager's paragraph and the new hire's wave. The ten after that are the funny side of the same thing. Office-safe, low-stakes, slightly self-implicating. (The longer cluster of office-safe humour lives over in funny farewell messages if you want more to choose from.) The rule I use for funny: punch sideways, never down. Joke about the project everyone hated, the Monday meeting, the printer. Never about the person leaving being a quitter or lucky to get out.

  • Going to miss you.
  • Best of luck.
  • Onwards.
  • Sad to see you go, wishing you a brilliant next chapter.
  • Good luck out there. The team won't be the same.
  • Thanks for everything, keep in touch.
  • Wishing you a quieter inbox and a louder welcome wherever you land.
  • Goodbye for now. LinkedIn is open.
  • Best of luck, you've earned this.
  • The standups will be quieter without you.
  • Cheering for you from this side.
  • Wishing you everything good. We're going to miss you.
  • Going to miss your code reviews. Stay in touch.
  • The team's worse for losing you. The door's open if you ever come back.
  • Traitor. Have a great next chapter. We expect snacks if you visit.
  • You're leaving us with the spreadsheet. We will never forgive you.
  • Wishing you a new job with a printer that works on the first try.
  • The Monday meeting will continue without you. Somehow. We'll cope. Maybe.
  • Congratulations on escaping. Send a postcard, or at least a Slack message in three weeks when you're back from PTO and remember we exist.
  • Best of luck out there. Try not to bad-mouth us in your one-on-ones for at least a month.
  • You're taking the only person who knew how the staging environment worked. We will rebuild from the ashes.
  • Going to miss you. Slightly less than we'll miss your meeting-dodging tactics.
  • Onwards and upwards. We'll keep the desk warm for six minutes before HR reallocates it.
  • Good luck. If the new place is awful, the door is always open. We pay in cake.

For someone retiring vs. moving to a new job

These two farewells look similar on the surface and are actually different cards. A retirement is a closing of one long chapter, the wish should be about the new rhythm, the time, the slower mornings. A move to a new job is a hinge, the wish should be about the next team using them well. Writing the wrong wish into the wrong card is the mistake I see most often. (If the leaver is a manager specifically, the farewell messages for a manager guide goes deeper on that tier.) Twelve lines below, split six and six.

For someone retiring.

  • You've earned the quiet.
  • Decades of being the first one in, wishing you the slowest mornings you've ever had.
  • You've earned a retirement that's exactly as full as you want it to be, and no fuller.
  • The institutional memory walking out the door with you today is staggering. Wishing you a long, lazy, well-earned rest.
  • Goodbye to the only person who remembered why the original spec was the way it was. Wishing you a retirement with no Slack notifications, no on-call rotation, and a kitchen that doesn't run out of milk.
  • You spent a career making this place better. Now spend a decade making your own life better. We'll miss you.

For someone moving to a new job.

  • Go be brilliant.
  • Wishing you a team that knows what they've got from the first standup. We're sad to lose you and glad you're going somewhere that wanted you this much.
  • Go be brilliant at the new place. We'll be quietly relieved when they hit your two-month mark and realise what they signed up for.
  • Wishing you a new role where the meetings are useful and the manager is sane. You've earned both.
  • Best of luck at the new place, go ship something you can brag about at the next industry dinner.
  • The next team is lucky. Wishing you the kind of onboarding that doesn't waste your first month. Stay in touch.

What NOT to write, plus how to turn it into a real group card

A short list of the lines that keep showing up in farewell cards and keep landing flat. Most come from a good instinct (warmth, humour, the urge to say something) and overshoot in a predictable direction.

Skip "you'll be missed" on its own. Passive voice, no subject, could have been written by anyone. (I know. See: the opening of this article.) If you mean it, say who's missing them and what specifically. "I'll miss the Wednesday coffees" does more work than "you'll be missed" ever will.

Skip "good luck" as the entire card. Two words at an airport are fine. Two words on a card someone is keeping for years are not. "Good luck" is also weirdly vague. Luck with what? A genuine wish names the thing. Same goes for the sign-off, by the way. "Good luck," as the only word before your name flattens whatever warmth you wrote above it. "Onwards," "Cheering for you," "Don't be a stranger," "With gratitude," all do more work for almost no extra effort. Pick the one that sounds like how you actually talk to them.

Skip the unsolicited career advice. A farewell card is not the place to tell them what they should do next, what their next manager should know, or how to negotiate their salary. If they wanted your strategic input, they'd have asked. The card is for warmth, not consulting.

Skip the bitter aside. If they're leaving because the company treated them badly, the card is not the venue to litigate that. Even if everyone knows it. "Sorry we couldn't keep you" is the strongest version of this you can write without making the card uncomfortable.

Skip the promise you won't keep. "Let's get dinner every month" from someone who's never invited them once will read as theatre. The smaller, honest version, "I'm on LinkedIn whenever" or "the coffee invitation stands," lands. The big promise that dies in two weeks erodes everything else you wrote.

Skip the inside joke nobody else gets. Inside jokes work in a card from one person. They don't work in a group card where the recipient might not share the reference with the eighteen other people on the page. If you're signing a team card, write something the leaver will understand, not a callback to the lunch the inner circle had last Tuesday.

One last thing on format. The reason most farewell cards underperform isn't the words, it's the geometry. A paper card passed around the office misses the people working from home, the contractor who's never met half the team, the teammate on PTO that week, the cross-functional partner in another building. By the time it lands on the leaver's desk, half the signatures are blue scrawls without a name and the contributors who actually knew them best didn't get a chance to say anything at all. A virtual farewell card fixes the geometry. One link, sent to everyone who actually knows them, and each person gets their own block to write a real line using the formula at the top of this article. You can create a card online in a couple of minutes and let the team sign on their own schedule.

One last thing, off-topic and maybe just for me. The first card I described at the top of this article, the one for Devin? I found it on his desk on his last day before he could take it home, and I noticed the person who'd signed right under me had written, in tiny careful handwriting along the inside edge of the card where most people wouldn't even look, the lyrics to a song the team used to play on the office speakers on slow afternoons. No explanation. No signature next to it. Just the lyrics. Devin told me years later he knew exactly who'd written it and that it was the only line on the card he remembered. I have no useful advice to extract from that. I've never managed to do it myself. But every time I sign one of these things now I think about that tiny handwriting along the edge, and how the best line on a card is sometimes the one nobody else on the team would have noticed was there at all.