F
rom the age of 15, I have been someone’s employee. My parent’s answer to the typical teenage name brand obsession was to drive me down to the local casual dining chain to have me secure a hostessing job that would allow me to buy all the overpriced denim and sneakers my little heart desired. Seven years and a university degree later, the time came to cross the Rockies to Calgary, chasing the dream of becoming a magazine editor. Against all odds, that dream came true. Now, from the outside, being a lifestyle editor looks like one of the most glamorous careers a girl could have, all fancy clothes and shiny event invites. The reality of magazine publishing is that an entry-level salary can barely cover your rent, never mind head-turning heels, and when you spend hours staring at a computer screen, by the time you are supposed to head to an event all you want to do is head to bed. Still, I loved my job, and I was taken by surprise when I was told it was disappearing. I don’t think I had the same reaction to being laid off that most people do, as there was no real anger or panic, and I didn’t experience the stages of grief I was warned about. Instead, I felt this was the universe’s way of resolving a situation I didn’t have the guts to deal with on my own. I had known for some time that I wasn’t meant to be sitting at a desk for eight hours a day. Whether I had miscalculated my dream, or my priorities in life had simply changed, I don’t know. But this was my chance to figure out what I wanted and build a career — and a life — that I would be happy with moving forward. Quarter-life retirement seemed a tad improbable, but my severance did leave me with a bit of time on my hands to reassess, well, everything. The prospect of free time was simultaneously thrilling and terrifying. What if I looked at this cosmic kick in the behind as an identity opportunity, rather than suffering through an identity crisis? Easier said than done. CONTINUED ON PAGE 36
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