In 2004, I worked for a national wedding magazine in New York City.

It was a good job for a lot of reasons.

My boss was cool, I was left alone a lot, and the pay was decent.

Still, when we were in the middle of big events, there was a lot of stress.

We'd host enormous three-day events in various big cities for thousands of brides to be.

The events would be scattered throughout the city at department stores, local boutiques,

and huge hotel auditoriums.

We'd spend all day running from one event to another, making sure everyone was happy,

fielding complaints, checking on venues, smiling, smiling, smiling.

At the end of one long weekend in Chicago, I was so tired of being nice to strangers,

of being helpful, of hearing, excuse me, do you work here?

We were wrapping up one of the last events at a department store on the Miracle Mile,

and I was suddenly and without warning, drawn to the dressing room.

I walked into the dressing room stall and just sat there, staring at myself in the mirror.

I was not even 30 yet, but I was tired.

I was tired of everything.

I remember staring into my face in the mirror and then just bursting into tears.

I was hugging myself and rocking a little and crying quietly.

And what can I say?

It was wonderful.

I hadn't realized that what I really needed after being so available 24-7 to my boss and

to the attendees was to be alone for only a second, to see myself clearly in the lights

...