Why this is not the farewell card

If your team is signing two things, the farewell card for the leaving and the good-luck card for the new role, keep the jobs separate. Mix them and you end up with a card full of "we'll miss you so much" on the one meant to wish them well at the next place. The leaver opens it on day three of the new job, sitting in a strange building, and the whole card reads as backward.

The fix is mechanical. The farewell card looks back: what you learned, what the team is losing, the specific Tuesday that proved they were good at the job. The good-luck card looks forward: what the new team is about to get, what you hope the first ninety days look like, the specific thing about the new role you're rooting for. If you only have one card going around, lean forward. The leaving is already obvious from context, and the leaver will appreciate a card that doesn't double as a small printed eulogy.

One other rule, and the one I'd defend even though it sounds harsh: don't make the card about you. The "don't forget us!" line, in some form, piles up across signatures until the whole card becomes a series of statements about the team's grief rather than the leaver's future. The line I've used unironically four times, in different cards, is "text me after week one." Tiny. Forward-pointing. Survives the move. We'll get to the lines that don't survive in a minute. Farewell messages for a colleague is the right home for the backward-looking version.

For a coworker moving on

The most common version of the card. Someone on your team has accepted an offer somewhere else, the start date is set, and the team is signing something. Avoid "we'll miss you" or "the team won't be the same" (true, wrong card). These lines name the new role, the move itself, or the thing they're walking toward.

  • Wishing you a brilliant first ninety days. They have no idea what they just hired.
  • Good luck. You've been ready for this move for at least a year and I'm glad you finally took the jump.
  • Wishing you a manager who reads your emails, a calendar with focus blocks, and a Slack notification volume you can live with.
  • Go build the thing you've been wanting to build for the last two years.
  • First month that's interesting without being chaotic, and onboarding that actually works. That's the wish.
  • Send me a screenshot of the new offer email pinned to your desktop a year from now.
  • You sharpened a lot in this job, and the new place is about to get the benefit of all of it.
  • The version of you walking in on day one is exactly the one they wanted. Let them figure that out for themselves.

For a friend starting somewhere new (and for the nervous starter)

The peer-voice version. Your friend tells you they got the offer, you celebrated over the weekend, and now you're writing something on the card the office is sending, or sending your own. Skip the corporate-warmth lines. The closeness shows in specificity: the role, the company, the long search, the salary jump, the thing they were grinding on for six months. The more particular the better. A note before the list: if your friend is the terrified kind of leaver rather than the excited kind (career change, a stretch role, first job back after a redundancy), the "you've got this!" lines land flat. They read as a pep talk from someone who hasn't done the math. The better move with the nervous starter is to name the worry, name what you trust about them, and stop. The last seven lines below do that.

  • Good luck Monday. You called every shot of this hunt and it landed. Earned.
  • Wishing you a first week that's mostly Wi-Fi setup and a slow lunch.
  • The right place finally caught up with you. Tell me what the new office coffee tastes like.
  • Going to be insufferably proud of you on Monday. Try not to fix the whole product in the first month.
  • Wishing you a manager who's even half as good at their job as you are at yours.
  • Six months of you telling me you might be done with this industry, and then this offer landed. Funny how that works.
  • Wishing you a first ninety days that feel less like proving yourself and more like being yourself.
  • The new place gets the version of you that's been getting sharper for the last three jobs. Lucky them.
  • Nerves are normal. The move isn't. You've thought this through more than anyone realises.
  • Wishing you a quiet first week. The version of you that handled the last hard quarter handles this one too.
  • I know it's a bigger jump than the title suggests. You've been making bigger ones quietly for years.
  • Wishing you a kind onboarding partner and a manager who explains things twice. You've earned both.
  • You don't have to be amazing in week one. You just have to show up, and you've never not done that.
  • Wishing you a first ninety days where the imposter syndrome shuts up by lunchtime on day three. It will.
  • Whatever the new role asks of you, you've already done a harder version of it in the last job. Trust that.

For someone going to a competitor (careful version)

This one needs handling. The leaver is going to a direct competitor, the move is awkward, and half the team is signing the card with one eye on what's appropriate to say. The clean version doesn't pretend the awkwardness isn't there. It just doesn't dwell on it. Wish them well in their career, not in beating you. Skip the "don't take our customers" jokes; they always land flatter than the writer thinks.

  • Wishing you a strong run at the new place. The industry's better for keeping you in it.
  • See you on the other side of the trade-show floor. I'll buy the coffee.
  • Wishing you a smart next chapter. The competition just got a little sharper.
  • We'll probably end up on the same panel at some conference within eighteen months. Looking forward to it.
  • Industry's small. See you around, in the best sense.
  • Wishing you a role that makes use of you, full stop.

Short lines for a team-signed card (and a quick list of what to skip)

When fifteen people are signing one card and you have a corner block of space, brevity in your own voice beats a longer line that is clearly the result of staring at a blank rectangle. Each line below is under fifteen words. Pair it with a specific reference (a project name, a meeting, an inside joke) and you've already outperformed most of the other signatures on the card.

  • Good luck on the new job. Go nail it.
  • Wishing you a brilliant start. They're lucky.
  • Wishing you a smooth first week.
  • All the best at the new place. Go well.
  • The new team has no idea what they just got.
  • Wishing you a first ninety days that lives up to the move.
  • The next chapter looks great on you already.
  • Wishing you a strong start. Send postcards.
  • Crush it.
  • Wishing you a brilliant new role and an even better second one after it.

And a small parallel list, because the failure mode for these cards is so consistent it's worth naming. The eight lines below are not mean. They're just on the wrong card. They belong on the farewell, if anywhere, and on the good-luck card they read as guilt-trips no matter how well-meant. If you've written any of these, swap them for one above that points at the new role instead.

  • Don't forget us when you're famous!
  • The team won't be the same without you.
  • How will we cope without you?!
  • Come back and visit, and bring snacks.
  • You'd better not love it more than you loved this place.
  • Wishing you a job that's only slightly worse than this one so you regret leaving.
  • This place is going to fall apart without you.
  • Tell the new team we'll be waiting when they realise you're too good for them.

Turn it into a group card

The geometry of a good-luck card is the same as a farewell, only worse, because the leaver is usually already half-out the door. The paper card goes desk to desk and misses the contractor they worked closely with, the remote teammate who never came in, the colleague in a different office who happens to be the one with the best memory of working with them. By the time it lands on their last day, half the signatures are squiggles from people who had ninety seconds between meetings. A virtual farewell card online works for the forward-looking version too: one link, sent to everyone who actually worked with them, regardless of office or status, and each person writes a real block instead of scribbling something generic. You can create a card online in a couple of minutes and schedule delivery for their first day at the new place rather than their last at the old one. For the matching congratulations card, congratulations on new job messages is the natural sibling, and if the team is sending both alongside a free congratulations ecard, seed the good-luck one with a forward-looking line so the tone is set at the top.

One last thing, off-topic and maybe just for me. The card I still think about most was one I signed in 2017, for a guy named Marcus who left our team to go teach high-school history in Bellingham. I wrote three lines, none of them clever. He emailed me eleven months later from the back of a classroom on his lunch break and quoted the middle one back to me; I had completely forgotten what I'd written. Most of the cards we sign never come back like that. A few do. You don't get to know in advance which one it will be, which is, I think, the only real argument for trying with every single one.