"I Moved 3,000 Miles Away—Alone"
Although I used to love to cook, I made over my life in a vigilantly nondomestic way—I ate from plastic containers in the office cafeteria for breakfast and lunch and ordered takeout or met friends for dinner. I was too busy, and too empowered, to be bothered. I worked at the frenetic pace of the city, putting in 10-hour days, hoping to prove my worth and be assigned bigger stories.
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In five years, I'd also published two books I'd written during the nights and weekends. New York is a city of strivers, fighters, and achievers, and being around so much drive and creativity pushed me to put in more, more, more. But there were cracks in my armor. I wanted to write, not edit, so when I looked up the ladder at magazines and saw it was mostly editing and managing, I wasn't sure what to do. Work-life balance was something we wrote about, but I didn't know a soul in the city who had it. I started to realize that no matter what I accomplished, it may not be worth what I was giving up.
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