Tag Archives: working at a magazine

What’s your recipe?

Posted on by
16

I woke up one morning last week, after a night of pulling up nails from our old oak floors in our new/old house and after what seemed like a hangover of never ending To-Dos, to a phone call from my sister. (If you’re new here, you can read about my sister here and here.)

We talked about things… for an hour. I woke up sick sick sick as a dog that day (still am sick.. lost my voice) and so I couldn’t talk much. Good thing. My sister had a lot to say.

We talked about some of the goals I’ve had on my plate for a while – that I’ve been peppering with ideas and seasoning with my enthusiasm for wanting more out of my life (both a curse and a blessing, by the way). My sister has a way of putting things into perspective for me when I’ve been running through a fog for a while. My life has been busy, and I’m not even saying that to sound important or anything. I mean it.

Between Yoga in Motion, the renos, the move and a host of courses and commitment and Rob’s live gigs, even breathing has had to be scheduled. Oh ya, and work. That takes up more than 40 hours of my week, not to mention the time I spend thinking about work when I’m not even there (don’t judge me… you’ve done it, too). Side note:  If you added up all the time you spend at work, then thinking about work and, in some cases, even dreaming about work, how much would you really be making an hour? Just saying.

…anyway

So, my sister says to me, “Sandy, you have a recipe for what makes you tick, but I think your ingredients have been off lately, just a bit.” I don’t know about you, but that made sense to me.

Here is what I’ve decided the recipe for ME is:

-Love. I need to feel it in my relationships, my friendships, my yoga, my food, my writing, my ideas, my shoes, my home and even right down to my coffee in the morning. I want to love the things in my life, and I strive to. Being ‘gray’ about the things is not an option. I need to love it.

Love is... being close with my sister, Ashley

-Philanthropy. After the success of Yoga in Motion this past Sunday, I realize even more how valuable helping, connecting and networking with like-minded people is to me. I don’t do my charity work to be a do-gooder. I do it to do some good. I need this in my life.

-Writing. Only this year, after all these years of writing and publishing, do I finally feel like my voice is starting to appear in my work the way it does in my head. And, without the readers of this little ‘ol blog and my commitment to taking writing courses (here and here), I wouldn’t have found my voice quite the same way.

-Leadership. Not bossy, but leader-y (a word?). I love being a champion for change. Call it the Leo in me, call it what my momma taught me, but being a leader feels good and I take it head on, with the good, the bad and the very, very ugly. Being pigeon-holed into ‘following’ or ‘obeying’ isn’t my scene and I don’t do well with that kind of authority. I used to be ashamed of this, but I embrace it now. It’s my main ingredient, by far.

Living with passion is... Rob

-Fitness. One of the items on my List is “Get in the best shape of my life..” Um, ya. I’m in good shape, for the most part, but have been laxed in the weight room the last couple of months. I work (at least for the next two weeks) at the best women’s fitness magazine in the world. So what’s my beef? Rebellion maybe? I dunno. But I realized, especially from my time at the magazine, how much being fit – I mean really being in tune with my body – means to me. It’s my fuel and my sister reminded me about this often forgotten secret ingredient – kinda like that dash nutmeg in pasta sauce. Try it sometime.

-Ideas. I’m what some might call “An Ideas Person”. I spew ‘em, pump ‘em out, but have a hard time following through because of lack of resources or time (excuses!) Having big ideas – even if they fail – is in my DNA and I need to have a place to put them. Making the pieces fit like that just… uh!

philanthropy + yoga = yoga in motion (a photo from April 25, 2010)

-Yoga. The year my mother battled breast cancer, I turned to yoga, as a student as a teacher. In a time when I felt angry and pissed off at the universe for making my mother sick (or so I thought), I found a space to connect with myself from the inside-out. If leadership is my main ingredient, then yoga is the stuff that makes my recipe a little sweeter.

So, combine these ingredients and I get the most authentic version of myself. Take one ingredient away and well, I’m a whole other flavor.

I knew my recipe had been off lately, but I’m starting to put things back on my plate that matter, in equal measure. Hm, turns out that baking isn’t the only thing that requires precision.

That said, this long-winded post, my friends, has been my way to letting you know that, in order to make space on my plate for the things I really want to sink my teeth into, I quit my job today.

(read that again if you must, but it’s true.)

Yes, I quit a great job with great friends and amazing fringe benefits, not to mention several bylines in an international women’s fitness magazine each month. I’ve been to cities around Canada, the US and even Europe only to find the magazine I work for sitting on the news stand and think, ‘wow, how’d I get so lucky?’. Never fails and I don’t take my good fortune for granted. one. bit. But it took that conversation with my sister, when I was too sick to talk so had to listen, to realize that it’s time to spice things up again. It’s time to reinvent my recipe.

Life. Dig in.

So, I really wanna know… what’s in your recipe?

Share

Fluttering

Posted on by
4

Today my belly fluttered over the top of my pantyhose. More like plumped, less flutter. But I’d rather flutter than plump, or plop, any day. So let’s just say it fluttered, for now.

I work in an industry of beautiful people. Beautiful women, more specifically. And while this should technically give me a complex, it doesn’t, although believe me, the potential is there to be thoroughly, wrist-slittingly depressed about the state of my fluttering belly. The women I research, write about, talk to and present to the masses aren’t only beautiful, they’re fit. Very fit, and extremely driven.

Oddly though, it’s their drive I covet more than their bodies, which is why I didn’t fret over the flutter this morning. I know from personal experience (read: I achieved my goal and added two inches to my biceps last year) that a perfect body is attainable with exercise and the right things on your plate. This is true, I am not brainwashed. I’ve worked in fitness since I was a teenager, so I not only speak from personal experience, I preach from a professional one as well, which I know, I know, makes me slightly more annoying in a know-it-all kind of way, but it’s who I be. So, there. It’s been said.

Moving on.

A lot of my day is spent chasing: Chasing interviews, photographs, articles, tid bits of useless information, model releases and products. Even though I don’t leave my desk for the better part of eight hours (although I do get up to pee, a lot) I spend the majority of my day chasing things or people or both. I spend so much time running after things I don’t need or care about or want. I am exhausted by the end of the day. That’s not to say I don’t have energy to go out and do other things post-workday like house hunt, stroll Roncesvalles with Rob or teach a yoga class- there are some things I always muster the energy for.

But, and I’ve been asking myself this as least once a day for the last 30 days:  If I find myself in the same place I was yesterday, where exactly is all this chasing getting me anyway?


flut⋅ter

  1. to wave, flap, or toss about: Banners fluttered in the breeze.
  2. to flap the wings rapidly; fly with flapping movements.
  3. to move quick, irregular motions; vibrate.
  4. to beat rapidly, as the heart
  5. to be tremulous or agitated
  6. to go with irregular motions or aimless course: to flutter back and forth.
Share

A Christmas story about work, politics and teenage romance.

Posted on by
1

The holidays can get quite political, especially if you work in an office.

Where I work there are editors and designers. I’m one of the editors. For the most part the designers hang with the designers and the editors hang with the editors, whether it’s chit chat around the water cooler (which, by the way, we actually don’t have, but it’s proverbial in this case, so let’s go with that) or apres-work drinks, there is rarely any blending of the two tribes.

And then there’s me.

I dabble in both groups because I’m social and find the people I work with each offer something unique and valuable, whether it’s insight into my work as an editor, shooting the shit about our industry or just sharing a mutual addiction to Starbucks. I make it a point to get to know everyone. I believe that, if you try, you can find something in common with anyone, so sticking to any one group is, well, ridiculous and immature. Much like high school, but with paychecks.

But apparently, as I learned yesterday, I can’t expect everyone to feel this way. At least not all the time.

I was left out of one of these groups this week (the group I’m more social outside of work with, ironically) and couldn’t seem to figure out why. I was pissed!

On the whole, this really is a non-issue because work is work and in no way, I feel, does this reflect the way my coworkers feel about me. That would be silly. I know they like and respect me. However this small (yet stinging) incident reminds me that work is a breeding ground for politics, especially over the holidays. Like it or not. Politics, after all, is simply the way we relate to each other in any given environment.

When there is an outing with the designers I’m always invited and have even been to their homes for parties, which I love. They’re a fun and creative bunch, always willing to let loose- I’m so right there with them. (Read: performed the yoga “Crow” pose last week while nursing a wine buzz at one of the designer’s apartments last. No regrets). So it surprised me yesterday when I learned that they, the designers, and one editor (who also dabbles between groups) pitched in to purchase a Christmas gift for our boss- the very boss we all mutually feel intimidated by, at the best of times.

“Gotta say, I’m a little hurt, feeling left out,” I confess to one of the designers, after I find out the purchase has gone down. “I really don’t know what to get him and would have loved to pitch in on the gift.” (I should tell you that he, our boss, got us all gifts, so I’ve been contemplating the return-gift for two days now. Ugh.)

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she replies.

“Ya, well, put yourself in my shoes” I say, firm. “Why didn’t you guys tell me?”

She squints at me a bit and is thoroughly apologetic. I believe that. But I’m still left feeling awkward and, well, a bit like the kid left out at lunchtime with nowhere to sit. Oh, and I’m holding a plate of meatloaf.

To add a little insult to injury, just before the gift purchase happened, I asked the designers and the one editor who accompanied them where they were going (It was lunchtime, and I do love a lunch outing). They said, “to buy gifts for our staff” and said nothing of their collaborative plan. My point here? They made a decision to not include me in the plan and, in the end, I have to accept that. For them, it made more sense to stick as a group (with the exception of the one editor whose professional role in our office is to bridge the gap between editorial and design anyway.)

In the end, no hard feelings. I was simply edited out of their plan.

I learned something important though, and there it is (finally the point!): Don’t take office politics to heart; don’t try to understand them; and don’t analyze them. Just be aware that they, politics, do exist. Even at Christmastime.

I’ve filed this experience under “What I Know for Sure” because it’s the best way, I think, to keep track of what I’m learning this year, as I approach 30. I want to remember this lesson. Also, I want to pass it on to anyone who stops by and so kindly reads my blog.

In fact, I liken these lessons I’m gathering to the time I dated an asshole. I was in high school. It was awful, he was a jerk. But I remember thinking to myself, ‘Well, I’ll now know a frog when I see one and I’ll also know how to spot a prince, too.’ Good lesson to have learned so young and early on in my dating life. I did spot the prince and married a wonderful man.

So… along with politics + holidays + work = teenagers with salaries and bylines (and, really, it’s not personal) I also realized that everything I ever needed to know about the workplace and romance I learned in high school.

Win.

Share