It’s easy to get caught up in life’s bad moments, whether it’s being made redundant or realising the bread is mouldy when you make your toast in the morning. A lot of people I know, including myself, all too easily skip over their own good moments, their achievements, and choose to focus on any little niggly thing that they feel didn’t go exactly to plan, or they move on to start on the next thing without celebrating previous successes.
Another thing we lose sight of is those dreams we had when we were children. The careers we wanted, the things we’d be amazed by if we knew that we’d achieve them in the future.
The last pay slip I received was really special to me. In fact, as I opened it on the tube, I felt tears in my eyes… it sounds ridiculous now, but I was completely surprised by the sensation. I really hadn’t expected it as I picked up the sealed slip of paper off the mat of the building I live in with my boyfriend in North London. Rushing, I grabbed the post, slammed the door behind me – the damned thing sticks in hot weather – and was making my way down to Regent Street to check out the bunting on the day before the Royal Wedding.
The payslip in question was the first one I’ve ever received as a freelance writer, which could have been the reason for my later shaky moment among total strangers in a quiet tube carriage. It also came from the National Magazine Company, whose publications I’ve been reading for over a decade, which set it apart from the money I’d been earning as an online editor and writer for the past three years at a celebrity website – which I also loved. I launched that site with my co-editors on behalf of a US company that had been around for only a couple of years, but I had a history with this brand, with their publications, and they’d influenced and educated and entertained me as I navigated my teenage years.
My parents and other half have both had their trials with me and magazines. As I sit here writing this there are two piles of publications by the sofa, and in the bedroom there are more. I don’t just buy UK magazines from basically all publishers, I buy US ones too, as well as the occasional copy of French Vogue. They’re something of an addiction, I suppose…