Just wanted to share my editor's note from this month's issue of Good Housekeeping.
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We at the GH staff have what we call our “life pegs”—people
with seemingly perfect lives that we want for our own. You know the type: They
posts photos of their fabulous European getaways on Facebook, tweet about the
many fabulous blessings they receive on a daily basis, and Instagram their
fabulously made-up selves.
I used to look at all this evidence of perfection with envy.
But recently, a friend told me about how she thought my life was perfect, and she enumerated all the things
that made it so. “Some girls have all the luck!” she said. I was surprised and
flattered, but inwardly, I chuckled. See, at that very moment, I was going
through something major, but all she could see was what I chose to show the
world.
That made me think about our life pegs—if I could be seen as
having a perfect life at a time when it was so imperfect, then all these other women must have their own problems too;
they just choose not to show it. It made me wonder about what was going on
behind their beautiful selfies. And I was reminded of something we’ve been told
over and over again: Nobody is perfect. No life is perfect.
I’ve
thus decided to stop chasing after perfection. There are good lives, there are
seemingly better lives, but we all have our struggles. Instead of making over
every aspect of my life to make it just so, I’ve made over my mindset instead:
Life doesn’t have to be perfect for me to be happy.
While it would have been cool to share a birthday with little monster, he had other plans.
Went to see the doc, and it seems this one is quite comfortable in there, thank you very much. I'm taking something that will help hurry things along plus I have to walk two hours a day (!), but if that doesn't work out, we'll have to induce labor.
After our checkup, H and I had a lovely birthday dinner at one of my new favorite restaurants. The past week, I had been so impatient, wanting to get this pregnancy over with already. But the reality of childbirth hit me again, and now I'm perfectly content just waiting--he'll come out when he's good and ready. So I just enjoyed my nice, quiet birthday, the last one that I had my husband all to myself.
I really, really love this man. Even the quietest, simplest birthday is made truly happy as long as I get to spend it with him.
Murphy certainly had his way with me this morning.
First, I excitedly put on a beautiful maxi dress that I had been planning to wear for weeks. I figured the start of week 30 would be a great day to wear it. My husband tried in vain to zip it up, but somewhat hesitantly told me there was at least a two-inch gap, and it just wouldn't close. I don't even know why I was surprised--the fabric didn't have a lot of give, plus I've gone up at least a band and cup size since getting pregnant.
Next, I tried on outfit two, which was supposed to go with some wedges. A sandal strap had come off, so I was trying to mend it with superglue. The superglue cap was sealed shut, and some of the stuff was trickling out of a hole. H wisely advised me to toss it. I (very unwisely) didn't listen to him. I dripped superglue all over the floor and got some on my fingers. In a panic, I quickly dropped everything I was holding, and accidentally tossed my sandal down the stairs. (Even I don't know how I managed to do this.) So I wasn't able to fix my shoe, and I got a crust of superglue all over my digits.
Since I couldn't wear those shoes, I had to change my outfit again. No big mishap. But as I was trying to get my curlers out, one of them got all tangled up in my hair. My husband was running late, so I just tried to yank the damn thing out. I did, along with a clump of hair. On the bright side, it gave my hairdo a nicely disheveled look!
So finally, I got to work. I went up to the scanner for attendance--and the machine wouldn't recognize my superglue-covered finger!
In my youth (ha), I would have been in such a bad mood, and would have given Murphy's Law the finger. But today, I just laughed through it. I guess I've grown up huh? And at the very least, I had something to blog about!
I love this post by Alexis of Alexis Laughs. She works, goes to school, volunteers at church, runs a household, and she's pregnant--phew! Her post is all about how she learned to figure out the things that really mattered, and let go of the ones that just ate up her time. She cites an interesting talk, entitled Of Regrets and Resolutions. (And P.S. If only homilies at Sunday mass were like this, I think I would find them more engaging!)
Even if you aren't particularly religious, you might find that the talk has some great insights. My favorite part:
"Isn’t
it true that we often get so busy? And, sad to say, we even wear our
busyness as a badge of honor, as though being busy, by itself, was an
accomplishment or sign of a superior life."
My big realization: A busy life is not equal to a full life.
Lately, I've found myself with some extra time in my hands, mostly because I can't do some of the things that used to fill my schedule (like playing sports and going out). On some days, all I want to do is rest because this little monster is getting a bit heavy, so I do appreciate the slower pace. On other days, however, I feel incredibly bored, and I miss being on the go go go. But now, reflecting on the things that kept me busy, and on the things that I want to do, I have to ask myself some important questions: Do these things make my life fuller? Do they help me live the best life, a life with no regrets?
Are you living a full (as opposed to simply a busy) life?
No one could compare to Britney at her prime (i.e., pre-KFed). Sure, she was lipsyncing in this performance, but her body was perfection, and her moves were just so incredibly sharp. And that walk--who else could make a simple walk just drip with sexiness? Even without that snake on her shoulders, she would have totally worked it.
Yes, I love being preggers and all, but truth be told, there are days when I just feel so utterly unattractive. "Round" isn't exactly synonymous with sexy. Once this baby comes out, I shall 30-Day-Shred/Insanity/Asylum/disc my way to a "Slave-4-U"-worthy body.
(Spoiler alert) You know those scenes in the Amazing Spider-Man where Peter pretends to be an intern and sneaks into Oscorp? Well, here's the lobby...
...and here's where Gwen Stacy gave the interns their orientation...
This is right by the Hearst cafeteria, which is an AWESOME cafeteria. They have a salad bar, a pasta bar, a sandwich bar, a sushi bar, a dessert bar, a guest chef whipping up a special each week...I loved it there! Every time we went out to eat, I wanted to ask if we could eat at the cafeteria instead!
It was just so cool seeing these familiar places on the big screen. Next month: Manila and Palawan in the Bourne Legacy!
Snarky post alert. This is two days too late. I wanted to post it in June, traditionally wedding month (although it's been edged out by December in the Philippines) but, er, life got in the way. Anyhoo, let me present: my top five wedding pet peeves:
1. People who ask if they can bring a +1, even when the invitation indicates the number of seats allotted. Wedding-goers, please believe me when I say that the bride and groom thought long and hard about their guest list. I'll say what they're probably too polite to say: "There are 300 other people that rank higher on my priority list and that I'd rather invite before that guy you're 'kind of dating.'" (Wedding etiquette dictates that the only time it's OK to ask is if you're married to your +1.)
2. People who skip the church ceremony because they're tamad. Come on. It's the most important part!
3. Drill sergeant wedding coordinators. I don't like being barked at to get in line, or being unceremoniously herded into a venue. I'm all for being efficient, but efficient doesn't mean rude. There's a polite way to do it.
4. People who talk incessantly during mass. And they don't even try to keep their voices down! I know this might be the first time you and your seatmates are seeing each other since high school, but save the chit-chat for the reception. It's a wedding, not a reunion. It's still supposed to be a solemn affair.
5. And my biggest pet peeve of all: girls who wear white to other girls' weddings. Good grief, woman. Out of all the colors to choose from, why would you decide to wear the bride's color on her day? Sure, that form-fitting white dress flatters you in all the right ways, but get over yourself. Your name is not Pippa Middleton. It's someone else's color and someone else's day.
And while this isn't really a pet peeve, I can kind of understand why this writer believes that writing your own vows is a bad idea. It's a pretty entertaining read.
I was at a TV station, interviewing a big star, when another big star passed by. She exchanged pleasantries with my interview subject before tapping me on the shoulder, giving me a big smile, and kissing me on the cheek--she seemed so happy to see me. This was made surprising by the fact that we had never met each other before that!
This leads me to believe that 1) big stars normally just say hi to all people, in case they had met them before (a snub--especially of a member of the press--might get rumor mills churning, I suppose), and 2) this particular big star must be a terrific actress. She seemed genuinely pleased to see me!
She didn't stick around long enough for us to have a conversation, so it was just a funny incident. But in other cases, it's downright awkward. I have a very bad memory when it comes to people's names and faces, so this happens a lot. (My husband remembers my college batchmates better than I do--and he's from an older batch!) What do you do when you run into someone you supposedly know but can't for the life of you even remember? I know, I'm terrible.:s
On a recent evening, faced with the prospect of an all-nighter at work, I thought about how lucky I am to be doing something that I love. I don't mind working overtime for this job, and even when I'm faced with challenges, I just want to figure out how to overcome them (as opposed to just raising the white flag). It made me think about how many people are stuck in jobs they have lukewarm (or ill) feelings for. That, in turn, made me think about how people can tell if they have a job they truly love. And THAT reminded me of a story I read earlier in the day about three Mega Millions lottery winners in the US who'll be receiving $35 million apiece (*whistle*) after taxes.
The winners were two public school teachers and an administrator who pooled together to buy a bunch of tickets. The article said:
"The three winners have chosen to remain anonymous but did allow the lottery officials to reveal some details about them. All three reportedly currently work multiple jobs just to pay their monthly bills. Even with their newfound fortunes, all three told [Maryland lottery director] Martino that they would keep their jobs at the school. 'One said "I can't give up on my kids,"' he said."
How about that?
So that got me thinking: If you won megabucks at a lottery, would you quit your job? If your answer is a resounding "Yes!" then it might be time to think about going after your dream job. Life is too short to spend at least a third of your day doing something you don't have strong feelings for. If you're afraid of making the leap, seek professional advice. You can even email Good Housekeeping's career columnist (ghphils@summitmedia.com.ph) to help you figure out your next step.
Real Living asked me to write a home story for their April issue. It was nice writing again after so long. Ever since I became editor in chief, my job has entailed mostly...well, editing. I've written a grand total of one long feature for GH (although I've rewritten a number of things, and I often have to come up with cute little blurbs), so I relished the process.
It was a rush article though, so I couldn't do much relishing. But even the limited time was enough to remind me why I love writing--about homes, in particular. I missed playing around with words in my head, looking for the strongest verb, the most apt adjective, and the best arrangement to produce the rhythm I'm looking for. (Writing really is done by ear.) I know I could have done better if I had had more time, but I think I did OK. After I submitted it, I saw my former boss, who said, "I miss your writing. 'Yung no editing required."
"(But) take care not to perform righteous deeds in order that people may see them; otherwise, you will have no recompense from your heavenly Father. When you give alms, do not blow a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets to win the praise of others. Amen, I say to you, they have received their reward. But when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your almsgiving may be secret. And your Father who sees in secret will repay you." (Matthew 6:1-4)
It's Ash Wednesday, and for the past few days, my Twitter and Facebook feeds have shown so many people declaring their sacrifices for Lent. I used to do this too, before the age of Facebook. But one day I thought about why I had to tell the world what I was giving up. Was I asking people to help me stick to my commitment? Or was I looking for praise ("Wow, ang galing mo naman, 40 days without chocolate!")? When I was completely honest with myself, it was mostly because of the latter. It was then that I realized that a sacrifice made for God was best kept between a person and God. I know (or at least hope) that those making sacrifices mean well and have the best intentions--but perhaps, to think about their motives would be a good spiritual exercise.
While I do not consider myself religious, I invite you--one sinner to another (haha), trying to be a better person--to reflect with me: What does one hope to achieve by giving something up? Is it necessary for everyone else to know? For what purpose? I, for one, seem to have forgotten the essence of sacrifice--what does it do for one's soul exactly? Might God (and my fellowmen) be better served by good works rather than self-denial?
The night before I turned 32 (yes, I'm saying it out loud), Hamil took me to a swanky restaurant, tucked away in a nondescript building in Makati. I wanted to wear something both polished and relaxed, two key words to describe my style in my 30s. (BFF M would call it "effortless chic.")
My birthday suit: Dress by Philosophy; nude pumps by Parisian; belt (not seen), earrings, necklace by WWW; clutch by Aranaz
I pretty much wore H-to-T SM! Haha. Polished doesn't have to mean expensive. (I don't really do expensive. I'd rather spend my money on travel.)
The night before my birthday, I used to really freak out. But birthdays have gotten easier with my husband around. I still kind of fretted for a bit, thinking about jumping off the calendar and falling into the abyss (haha). But I think I've learned to embrace my age.
There are a lot of reasons to love being 32, but for now, let me focus on one: Appreciating the body I have. While I still have a dream body in mind, I love the one I'm already in. I used to avoid anything form-fitting, but I've learned not to hide behind loose clothing (much to the delight of ze huzband). I have learned that gaining five pounds does not mean the end of the world. But beyond that, I have a much greater appreciation for what my body can do, rather than what it looks like--I ran a half marathon. I did 30 days of Insanity. And even with my rickety bones and layer of belly fat, I can pretty much outlast my team when it comes to doing core exercises. The anxieties and insecurities from my teens and 20s are fading fading fading, and some days, I feel quite at peace. I imagine that, the older I get, these days will turn into status quo. (Of course, it doesn't hurt that people always tell me I don't look my age!)
What ever happened to good conversations over dinner? When eating out meant catching up with each other, reminiscing about the past, making new memories? Now, I see tables of people hunched over their gadgets, playing games, tweeting, BBM-ing away, paying no mind to the other people who are doing...the exact same thing.
I am guilty of checking my phone every now and then over dinner, but I think that paying more attention to your gadget than to the people you're with is just plain rude. It tells them that you'd rather be somewhere else. It tells them that games are more important than their company. It tells them that you are utterly lacking in the ability to carry a conversation.
It tells me that we need to start relearning how to communicate, the good old-fashioned way.
This Christmas, as we get together with our families and friends, may we remember to let go of our gadgets and focus on the people, right then and there.
Even with minimum effort on the part of most of the participants (not so much on mine--more on that later), we won! But I'm getting ahead of myself.
In the past, it was a Summit tradition to have a contest among its employees during the Christmas party--best presentation wins. My first one was in 2005, and we placed second, despite having practiced for probably a grand total of three times. The second was the year after that, where I and the rest of the Charmed Ones (Runner's World editor Marie and former Martha Stewart Weddings EIC Tata) conceptualized the 80s-themed performance. We placed first. We were dead set on defending our crown, but alas, for four years, there was literally no contest.
This year, the tradition was revived. But instead of being divided into departments (editorial, production, etc.), we were grouped together randomly. GH was put together with the other women's/kids'/parenting titles, Hand Interactive (our mobile arm), and internal audit.
We barely had two weeks to prepare, and I was the default "leader" (after HR emailed me. Through my personal address. While I was on vacation. I kid you not). I figured the easiest thing to do would be a flash mob. Inspired by the Oprah show, I chose the Black Eyed Peas' "The Time (Dirty Bit)," asked my husband to cut it (because who has the time to learn a five-minute routine?), watched some wedding flash mob videos on YouTube, and set about recruiting people.
It wasn't easy. The most common answer I got was, "I can't dance." We resorted to all sorts of tactics--peer pressure, thinly veiled threats, and even a direct order from the Big Boss. I made four promises to everyone I spoke to:
The choreo was going to be verrrry easy, a modified LA Walk (a number of them asked me to demonstrate, and I had to make up steps on the spot).
They only had to practice once.
They could learn it in 15 minutes.
I would make myself available whenever they wanted to learn the steps.
I was gunning for at least 30 people, but in the end, got about 40 (although about five of them weren't able to perform for various reasons), and probably taught the steps around seven times to as many different groups of people. (P.S. I also had to mix the music. Haha.)
I am incredibly grateful to those who helped out--OK!'s Kabbie, who came up with a Powerpoint presentation detailing costume options for those in the main group of performers; Cosmo's Camyl, who was supposed to be a co-leader but couldn't perform, so she took care of logistics instead; OK!'s Red and Cosmo's Paula, who took care of the party poppers; Marie, who absorbed some of my stress; all the others who taught the steps to their friends!
The result is this:
I was obviously pumped up. Har. Cosmo's Irish does an awesome imitation of me! What can I say--the cheerleader in me came alive!
Other groups played instruments and all that (although we were the only group out of five that didn't use the whole Victoria's Secret-"Moves Like Jagger" concept!), but I guess we had the most energy (plus Myrza Sison!). Our performance wasn't perfect, but we had fun, and I think it showed.
The win gave me something more than just a cash prize and bragging rights. At the end of the night, as I rested at home and worried about my disappearing voice, I thought about what this experience taught me. (I rarely do big confessions here, but here goes...)
See, the past few weeks haven't been easy for me. They've been full of self-doubt and a lot of fear. I was questioning many of my decisions, and even my abilities. I lost the vigor I once had, and kept thinking if I was good enough at what I do. I'll spare you the ugly details, but essentially, I was living under this cloud of insecurity, and I felt like I was too drained to face it head on.
It might seem kind of shallow, but this performance, this win, made me realize that I am still capable of doing great things. If I take charge, don't let anybody compromise my vision, put in the hard work, and have a wonderful team behind me, I can produce something spectacular.
This experience gave me back my confidence and my drive. What a priceless Christmas gift! Whenever I see those clouds rushing in, I'll go back to this moment. And maybe even do that modified LA Walk, just to remind me.
In honor of this day, I decided to do a post on popular misconceptions (er, and grammatical errors that really bug me). Feel free to comment with other stuff that you want the world to know!
The Immaculate Conception does not refer to the time Jesus was conceived. When people make a joke about single friends being pregnant, and single friends reply with, "Ano yon? Immaculate Conception?" that isn't accurate. The Immaculate Conception was when Mary was conceived without sin (December 8, today--nine months before Mary's birthday, September 8). Jesus was conceived during the Annunciation (March 25--nine months before Christmas). Although it can be argued that Jesus, too, was conceived without sin...
Since we're on the topic of Catholicism, if you do the Math, Lent isn't really 40 days long. (It's longer.) I just counted it three years ago. There are different schools of thought--I read somewhere that Holy Week isn't included, but that's strange because I always thought it was the holiest part of Lent. Others say Sundays aren't included. I still don't know the real explanation, but the fact remains: between Ash Wednesday and Easter Sunday, there are more than 40 days!
The Quarter-Life Crisis doesn't hit when you turn 25. It's a term that covers the period from late teens to early 30s (depending on where you are emotionally and psychologically I guess), not just your 25th year. I think the confusion comes from the fact the "25" is a quarter of a hundred. (Which still doesn't really make sense because how many people actually live up to a hundred?)
Frisbee is not the name of the sport. It's a brand of flying disc. The sport is called Ultimate, but people call it Frisbee, in the same way that Pinoys call toothpaste Colgate and photocopying Xerox. Funny thing is, we hardly use Frisbee-brand discs here (Discraft is preferred).
"Training" cannot be pluralized. You can say "training seminars" or "training sessions" or whatever, but I cringe whenever I read/hear "trainings." Don't get me started on furniture, equipment, and jewelry.
"Traffic" is a noun, not an adjective. So it isn't grammatically correct to say, "It's so traffic!!!" Better to say, "Traffic is heavy" or "Pay-day Friday traffic is bat-sh*t crazy."
Keep this in mind: "result in." It's either that or "lead to" but never "result to."
OK, glad I got all that off my chest! Although there is that bit about dangling modifiers that really bugs me...
It's December, y'all! Can you believe it? I haven't even done my Christmas shopping yet! Ack!
Ze huzband has been asking me about what I want, so it got me thinking about my own Christmas wish list. Presenting, the top 10 things on my list (although I may have missed a few things), in no particular order...
1. A new wardrobe. I have a lot of clothes already, but I really want to have a well-rounded wardrobe that stays true to my style (which I've determined is "classic with an edge"--except when I'm on the field!).
3. Hand vacuum. Yes, yes, this is the unsexiest thing I have on my list. But I'm convinced that I would vacuum more if only I didn't have to assemble-disassemble-store every single time I have to vacuum the couch.
4. Sheets. I really want to add to our sheet wardrobe! There's nothing like lying in a bed with fresh, crisp sheets.
And if you want to throw in a fluffy white comforter, that would be awesome. From here.
5. A good chef's knife. I think it takes longer for me to cook because I don't have a proper knife. I had a chef's knife a couple of years ago, but it has since gotten dull, and I wouldn't know how to begin sharpening it. P.S. Did you know that more kitchen accidents are caused by dull knives than sharp ones?
Hamil and I saw this on the Home TV Shopping Network and were so amazed! Haha
6. Design*Sponge at Home.I've been wanting this book for months.
8. My signature scent. I love love love L'Occitane Recolte Bleu. It was given to me by my good friend Marie a few years ago, and it's been my scent ever since. It smells like lavender--so fresh, clean, relaxing. But I just recently ran out of it.:(
9. Butterbeer cupcakes. My "sister" Priti found a recipe for Butterbeer cupcakes. We've been meaning to whip up a batch but a few ingredients aren't available locally. Sigh.
10. To travel. I really really really miss my family in New York. It's been a year.:( And I really really really want to go back to Europe, with Hamil this time.
I did throw a coin into the Fountain of Trevi on my last visit, so I have high hopes that I'll be going back!
I'm not asking for too much, am I?:) When people ask me what I want, I normally say "nothing," because really, I do have everything to give me a comfortable life. These big-ticket items are just fanciful bonuses. As it is--with everything (and everyone) I have in my life--I have more than enough to be thankful for.
I'm scared of cockroaches (especially the flying kind) and deep water and tunnels and small, cramped spaces. But it was only on Halloween that I realized just how claustrophobic I actually am.
This Halloween story doesn't take place in a big old haunted house. Instead, it takes place in a luxurious spa villa. On the 31st of October, I booked what was supposed to be an incredibly relaxing two-and-a-half-hour spa treatment, which consisted of a scrub, wrap, massage, and my first-ever facial treatment. For years, people have complimented me on my skin, and I was scared that a facial would change it somehow. But I got a gift certificate and some free time and, well, the sun hasn't been good to me and I ain't getting any younger, so I figured I'd give it a shot.
So anyway, it started off with a scrub. Then my body was wrapped in plastic, and I was a human lumpia. This has always been my least favorite part of any extensive spa treatment because it restricts my movements. Thankfully, Spa Lady 1 gave me a head massage while the wrap worked its magic, so that calmed me down some.
But then we moved on to the facial. Right before we started, Spa Lady 2 warned me, "Ma'am, matatakpan ng mask ang eyes at mouth." ("Ma'am, the mask will cover your eyes and mouth.") I said OK, not fully understanding what I was saying OK to. After she cleaned my skin thoroughly and removed all the blackheads and whiteheads, she began applying the mask--it was thick and heavy and cold, like cookie dough straight from the fridge. (Mmmm cookie dough. But I digress.)
As she covered my eyes with the stuff, I began to feel uncomfortable. (I never enjoyed being forced to keep my eyes shut, whether it was in surgery or during an eyelash extension application.) And then she covered my mouth. As she stepped away from me, I felt a panic I had never known before. I could feel my blood pressure go up, and I absolutely dreaded the thought of being left there by myself, with no sight and sound, even for just a minute. I bolted upright and frantically signaled to Spa Lady 2 to come back (I couldn't talk). I pointed to my mouth, and she started removing the layer that literally sealed my lips. "Pwede wala na sa mouth?" ("Can we not cover my mouth?") I sputtered. She consented. I asked how long it would take. Ten to 15 minutes, she replied. I begged her to just leave it on for 10; she promised to remove it as soon as it dried. Then I asked her to stay in the villa with me the entire time. Again, she consented. I think I would have gone nuts if I was left there by myself. I left her a nice tip.
The whole incident surprised me. I chalked it up to the fact that I've been heavily into A Song of Fire and Ice the last few months, and all forms of torture just ran through my head. The following scenarios have always terrified me:
being buried alive
being walled up and left to die (and years later, my bones would be found, broken fingers and all from trying to claw my way out of the space)
being stuck in a tunnel forever (there's this long tunnel that goes from NYC to Long Island that I absolutely HATE, especially when the traffic is bad!)
The common thread, I realized, is being trapped. I cannot stand the idea of being trapped. And losing my mobility and my sight and my ability to speak just made that fear all too real for me.
Silly, right? To feel this fear during a frickin' spa treatment. Afterwards, I told my husband that I really had to learn how to meditate. So that's on my list now.
At least I have the clearest skin I've had in a really long time!
One thing I forgot to include in my "10 Things I Love" list is old movies.
My absolute favorite
Recently, when I was on sick leave, I spent a good part of the day watching Turner Classic Movies. Was able to catch Julia Misbehaves (with a very young, breathtakingly beautiful Elizabeth Taylor) and Weekend at the Waldorf (starring Ginger Rogers--it reminded me of an old-school Love, Actually). And just last weekend, even though I was all dressed up and ready to go out, I decided to stay home the minute Casablanca started showing.
A friend asked me what it was about old movies that appealed to me. I think it's because they show a bygone era--they're windows to a past that I'll never experience. And in old movies, women are proper ladies, and men are proper gentlemen! Everyone is always well-dressed and polished, and there is always a hint of glamour. And even the worst cad can look absolutely dapper!
So y'all know what channel I'll be tuning in to this looong weekend!
That's a big question posed in this month's O Magazine. The feature--about finding your true passion--is something that really resonated with me because, truth be told, I have yet to find mine. I love my job, yes. I enjoy playing disc, for sure. I'm happy puttering about the house and cooking, true. But what is that one thing (or two or three) that'll make my heart sing?
Oprah says to ask three little questions to find your true calling (and it doesn't necessarily have to be your day job):
How does what you're doing make you feel? "When you're honoring your calling, there's an undeniable sense of stimulation and exhilaration...It just feels so right." I don't have that feeling yet, of knowing that this is what I'm really and truly meant to do.
Does it have a positive impact on others? "Nothing that really calls you is ever for you alone." My admission in number one does not come without some guilt--after all, my magazine reaches a staggering 244,000 (!) readers a month (based on the latest Synovate survey). This is a platform that I'm incredibly privileged to have, and yet, somehow I feel this isn't my be-all and end-all. I keep thinking that there's something...more.
Does it turn up the volume and increase the vibration of your life? "When others see your light shining, they'll be inspired to shine theirs, too." Lately, I've been feeling like my light is fading--not that I was a shining beacon of inspiration to others to begin with. But I've just been feeling all sorts of restless and burned out. (That's due in part to the fact that I haven't been on a plane in three months.) I really do need a break (even my boss said so), to recharge, take stock, and really figure out what my calling is.
Tomorrow, ze huzband will help me figure it all out, with O Magazine as kodigo. Have you found your true calling? Share, share, share! I'd love to hear your story.
1. What do you order at Starbucks? Cranberry juice. I'm quite possibly the only editor who doesn't drink coffee.
2. What's one thing in your closet that you cannot live without? I'm not particularly attached to any of my stuff...
3. What's one thing that most people probably wouldn't know about you? I was not a cheerleader in high school. Most people assume I was for some reason.
4. Name one thing that you want to do before you die. Watch U2 live.
5. What's one food that you cannot live without? Chocolate. Although meat is right up there--a vegetarian, I cannot be.
6. What quote/phrase do you live your life by? Age gracefully.
7. What do you like and dislike about the Blogger community? Like: Finding really talented writers. Dislike: Horrible grammar. People who think they're writers just because they have a blog.
8. What's your number one most listened to song on iTunes? Hahaha--right now, it's Wiz Khalifa's "Black and Yellow"! But if this were my old iPod, probably the Ying Yang Twins' "Shake"--great workout song!
9. What kind of style would you define yourself as having? Someone recently told me, "You always look so put together." Thank you very much. Classic, a bit trendy at times, comfortable for the most part.
10. Favorite number? 7. It's my jersey number, and the number of diamonds I have on my wedding ring.
11. Two hobbies: Disc and dancing. Is reading considered a hobby? I've been tearing through 800-page novels the past couple of weeks.
12: Two pet peeves: Just two? People who stand by the elevator buttons and don't hold the door open for you. Rude people.
13: Guilty pleasures: Eating whatever I want...and not working out. Sleeping in. Watching America's Next Top Model.
