Three hours per week at $36 per hour was more in the realm of “gas money” than “building up a safety net,” but it was less about the money. I found a gig one night a week at a studio a few blocks away from the agency. I’d taught dance on-and-off since high school, and although I had intended to take some time off, I realized at that point that I needed passion in my life. Here’s how: I side-hustled for my sanity. Two, I had to do it while I was still working there. I knew two things: One, I had to find something else, fast. Jobs in my field didn’t grow on trees, and I’d just pulled myself out of the industry. I had an English degree and two years of experience at a local magazine. But how could I pull that off? Two years at a low salary (at least, in Toronto) and semi-significant student debt didn’t give much of a safety net, especially not a big enough one to quit my job with no way of knowing when I’d get a new one. Working hard and being nice didn’t seem to matter. The founder also had very different values from me and was always looking to debate me on issues like feminism. I was the only woman in the office and by far the youngest, and the guys, who were all at different places in their lives, really didn’t care for me. The blogging felt haphazard and improvised. The work was uninteresting and unchallenging. In seven months, I contributed to exactly one script.īy the third day, I woke up with a dark cloud over me. The blog would serve to communicate the company’s (his) values, to be an industry “disruptor.” I hated blogging and had been looking forward to learning copywriting, but it turns out (he didn’t mention this during the interviews) that the company had a part-time writer who worked remotely and didn’t want to give up writing the scripts. The founder revealed that he wanted me to focus less on scripts and more on blogging - which wasn’t the job description. I was ready to reject any potential offer, until it came in at $42,000 CAD ($31,168 USD) - 40% more than what I’d been making. He was super enthusiastic, but seemed very stuck on the company’s identity and “culture,” and he was enamored with the idea of becoming an influencer and thought-leader. It’s not that he felt “sketchy,” but the environment felt off. When I met with the founder, I seemed to impress him, but he didn’t impress me. According to the post, I’d be writing ad copy for clients, mostly in video formats. I got a request for an interview right away from a small agency just outside of Toronto. But being too inexperienced to catch the attention of better outlets and too poorly paid to sustain much more time at the magazine, I applied for a few out of desperation. One of my colleagues suggested copywriting, but I wasn’t sure - reporting was my passion. At first, I tried to find another journalism job - I told myself that even if the whole industry was this tough, hopefully, I could be paid a little more to take it. So: if my first job was so great, why leave? While the work itself was great, the company was dysfunctional (my boss had a temper), I was only making $30,000 CAD ($22,263 USD) per year, and I worked regular overtime. This is about how I kept myself sane and pushed my way to a new job without gaps in employment. This is a story about the job that came next, where I couldn’t fall back on “this is my dream.” This job made me miserable, when on paper it shouldn’t have. Even when times were tough there (and trust me, they got really tough), I was able to remind myself: “You are working the job you’ve wanted since you were little.” In 2012, after months of struggle, I got my first full-time job out of university, working as a news editor at a local magazine.
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