on the first day of Christmas (break)

... I stayed up with my parents drinking wine in front of the fireplace until 2 am (I know this doesn't rhyme with "pear tree," but I got tired of thinking about it).   The equally glorious part is I got to sleep in until 11 am this morning.  My dad is making potato pancakes, and I'm drinking coffee and blogging.  It's really nice to be home for Christmas.

I'm sure I'm not the only one who uses Christmas time as the evaluation point in the year to reflect on what has gone well and what changes I need to make in the coming year.  It isn't a conscious evaluation process.  I certainly don't sit down with a form and rank my experiences one to five, but instead, it seems to be something that just happens on its own.  This year, I had 16 hours of driving for this evaluation process.  16 hours of driving and some really great music.  It was like Pandora had a window to my soul and played all of the songs I didn't even know I wanted to hear.

The conclusion of my evaluation: It never ceases to amaze me the difference a year makes.

I think this can be best illustrated by comparing  last year's Christmas party to this year's.  First, read about last year.  How do you know you've hit rock bottom in law?  When your ranting offends the bartender at the firm Christmas party.  Bartenders have decencies of steel, and offending those decencies is quite the feat.

While I definitely "over-stepped" and succeeded in speaking my mind at both events, the messages were completely different.  Last year, the crux of my rant was that I was wasting my life, my hard work and energy, and I was miserable.  This year, my boss and I got into a heart-to-heart at the bar over tidal wave shots.  I went on and on... and on about how much I love what I'm doing and what an incredible opportunity I have with this company.  I told him point blank that I want to make a million dollars.  My inner Veruca Salt came out a bit, and I may have been embarrassingly adamant.  But the next day in the office, my boss gave me a high five and laughed.  I sheepishly apologized for talking his ear off.  He said, Nic, I want to make a million dollars too.  More than that.  So let's do it. 

It's been a good year.  A really, really good year.

the oyster

I have been waiting for this exact morning for weeks now... my own house, the Christmas tree coinciding beautifully with a Christmas playlist, a certain brown dog, a great cup of coffee with cinnamon and nutmeg, and absolutely zero obligations.  This weekend is my oyster.

Like so many times I sit down to blog, I'm prompted to get back after it because I received a really nice compliment from someone who "loves my blog" and wishes I would write more often.  Thanks Mary.

Also like the many other times I've sat down to write, I don't have a particular topic in mind.  There are so many places this post could go, and suddenly I'm overwhelmed by how much I have to write about.  It's a funny contrast from 15 minutes ago.  The coffee was brewing and the brown dog was eating his brown chunks, and the thought actually crossed my mind, "I don't think I have anything to write about."  Here I am, three paragraphs later, trying to prioritize where this post should go.

Friday morning, I randomly ran into a good friend and mentor (friend first, mentor second) on the corner of 16th street downtown.  I rolled down my window and hollered to get her attention.  She came running over to my car and immediately told me she's moving.  To California.  On Monday.  We haven't seen each other in a couple months, but she is responsible for a huge chunk of my current professional happiness.  Those of you who have heard my "how and why I got out of law" spiel, would know her as opposing counsel in the deal from hell.  My firm represented the borrower and she represented the bank.  Despite having to deal with my intolerable clients from hell, she was always very respectful to me and my team, even at 3 in the morning as we frantically made changes to the documents from hell (see if you can find the pattern here). 

Finally closing day arrived... this is the day you wait for - the day in a young transactional lawyer's career where you're supposed to feel like all the blood, sweat and tears contained in the thousands of pieces of paper spread out on the massive conference table were somehow worth it.  It's the culmination of months (and sometimes years) worth of work.  Even when your clients are nice and appreciative, you deserve one hell of a drink when the closing is over.  When your clients suck... you deserve twelve drinks.  My own team wasn't able to take for me drinks post-closing, and at the end of the day, as I cleaned up the conference table and organized all of my executed documents, blue pens and "sign here" tabs, I silently prayed that somehow all the i's were dotted and the t's were crossed.  Recognizing that I was the only one from my team left, my now-friend asked if she could take me for a drink.  A strong drink.  And I happily accepted.  We've been friends ever since.

She's the one who basically told me that I was on the path to being her in 8 years.  A go-getter attorney who knew early on that perhaps law wasn't the best fit but whose pride (and massive debt) wouldn't let her admit it.  She talked of the entitlement that comes with working ungodly hours in a job you hate - having the house and the car (on top of the law debt) that simply wouldn't allow you to make less than a six figure, big firm salary.  We drank wine and discussed the toll of law on relationships.  We compared the politics of big firms to small firms and acknowledged the "boys club"mentality of the whole "business."  I explained my view of how the law firm structure is inherently flawed, and how associates, partners and clients can never really be on the same team.  She told me that the work doesn't change, and more often than not, the politics don't change either.  Ultimately, her insight drove me to the conclusion that if I couldn't do it now - if I hated the work and the politics kept me up at night now... then I certainly wasn't going to be able to do it for the rest of my life.  So I quit.  And I've never been happier.

To hear my friend say that she quit her law job, packed her stuff into storage and didn't really have a career plan for when she got to California almost made me happier than my own decision to leave law.  She looked great, with excitement all over her face and sheer terror in her eyes - exactly the way she should feel... but she was doing it.  She was giving professional happiness a shot.  You can't win the lottery if you never buy a ticket. 

I don't know if she knows how influential her opinions and insights were on me and my decision to leave law.  Yes, of course, I had the perfect storm of opportunities and I was in the right place at the right time, and have a lot of people to thank for that.  But in the end, I get to do something that I love today because opposing counsel took me for a martini over a year ago and gave it to me straight. 

I wish her a world of happiness and a career where she can succeed simply by working hard and being herself.  The world is her oyster, and it seems she is finally understanding that. 

my v card

... I lost it last week, and it was glorious.  I couldn't stop grinning.  Really, it was magical.  I had heard that once you know, you "know," but I didn't really know... until I knew.  Ya know?

The analogies could go on...  and on... and on.

I did my first vlookup last week (sorry to those who thought this post might be about something a little different).  Vlookup, in Excel, is the coolest thing I have learned in a really, really long time.  I am, without a doubt, a right-brainer - abhorrent to numbers, calculations, budgets, math, directions, formulas... you get the picture.  In college, I studied my butt off for a D in Accounting.  Those who know me, know that "D's" aren't really my thing (in more ways than one... What is going ON with this blog post?!?!) 

Anyway, I had always figured that Excel was better suited to left-brain people and found irony in the fact that I the only time I used Excel was to manage my personal budget (translation: I didn't use Excel very often at all).  Miraculously, my colleague is an Excel guru, and in the short time we've worked together, I've learned a boatload about what Excel could do for me, my client management and (perhaps most importantly) my sanity.  After sitting on the Excel sidelines for a few weeks watching magic happen, I finally decided to take matters into my own hands and give it a shot.

With some straightforward instruction, a little left-brain thinking and a few key strokes, I was able to isolate a small, detailed and specific group of people out of a file of hundreds.  It was incredible, and beat the heck out of ctrl-F for hours on end.  I was glowing for the rest of the afternoon.

I had no idea it could be so good.

trying my fictional hand

As I've mentioned, I recently signed myself up to write a serial fiction piece with some other writers from The Docket (a legal publication in Denver that tends to be less "legal" and more "publication," and never insists that I actually write about the law).  Anyway, I was writer number three in the series and hadn't read either of the pieces before me until about two days before my deadline.  As I've also mentioned, they say that in order to actually become a legit writer, you should drown yourself with hard-to-meet deadlines.  If on these deadlines, you can produce some decent work, you might have a shot at making writing more than just a hobby.  That's not, however, why I waited until the 11th hour to start my piece.  It had just been one of those weeks after one of those weeks after one of those weeks, and all of a sudden, my deadline was in my face and I was less than prepared.  To make matters worse, I wasn't thrilled about the topic: law school meets murder mystery - a somewhat cheesy whodunnit about cops, law students .... and mmmmuhrrr-der.  


So I did what I could do.  I set up shop at a really cute local wine bar that conveniently had a one-person table outside.  I ordered a great glass of wine, and I stopped thinking about it so much.

This piece isn't necessarily my greatest work.  But for my first published attempt at trying my hand at fiction, it worked out.  And more than anything, I learned an important lesson on this one (a lesson that I've also been learning recently in other areas of my life): Sometimes, it really is better to not have a plan.

Part I of the series can be found here.
Part II found here.

And now... Part III here. Ta da.

Murders final

the more things change...

…the more they sometimes actually really change.

My view of airports and airtime has shifted dramatically in the last 6 months.  It used to be that going to the airport was something I planned my entire day (or week) around.  Like, I have to go to the airport today for a flight, so I better make sure I don’t leave any dishes in the sink.  Or, I have to fly on Wednesday, so I better get a car wash tomorrow.  Or, I’m flying today, so I should really buy a pair of designer sunglasses at the airport.  I know, it doesn’t make any sense, but we do it.  Or, I used to do it, anyway. [OK, fine, in full disclosure, I may have purchased a pair of designer sunglasses at the airport yesterday on my way to Jacksonville.  An awesome, yet unnecessary, impulse buy.  I’ll also be honest and admit that the thought crossed my mind: If the plane goes down, this will have been a total waste of money.]  But for the most part, these thoughts rarely occur to me anymore.

Maybe it’s that, for the general population, flying is still a novelty, and for many, a nerve-inducing novelty.  I’m not the only person I know who thinks the more I fly, the less scary, the less out-of-the-ordinary, the less… justifying? it becomes.  All of a sudden, flying just became a part of the day-to-day, and 8 hours spent on two planes and in three airports (and that’s with everything being on schedule) trying to get home after a one day trip hardly seems like that big of a deal.  It’s an interesting paradigm shift for me. 

I spent a year living in Madrid and a summer living in Argentina.  During those times, I had the incredible opportunity to travel.  At the time I was doing it, I knew it was an incredible opportunity, but I didn’t, for one minute, think it might be my only opportunity to travel like that.  And, for the record, I’m beginning to resent my own lack of realistic-ness (realism?).  I often found it ironic that I had seen more of other continents than I had my own - traveled more in other countries than I had my own.  It feels like I’m chipping away at that dichotomy now week-by-week.  For better or worse.

What never ceases to amaze me in my travels… is mankind.  The human race is truly unbelievable.  And I don’t mean this in an awe-inspired “wow, we’ve really done some amazing things [insert 'electricity, space travel and the iPhone' here] while on this planet” kind of way.  I mean that in a “sometimes I’m surprised at the failure of Darwinism” kind of way.  In other words, the human race is not unbelievable, it’s un-be-LIEV-able.  Like the woman at the Jacksonville airport, screaming at her two sons (who were running AMUCK) while also screaming into the phone at her husband (ex-husband? boyfriend? parole officer? whatever.) about how she really, REALLY needed a [explicative] cigarette, but “they’re gunna make her [explicative] go through security again to have one.”  Now, I don’t have a problem with the F-bomb, per se.  I just had a problem with that woman.  Seriously lady… get a handle on your life.

Or what about the man de-boarding the plane ahead of me, who realized that the one roll-aboard left in the overhead compartment was not his?  He pushed me, with both hands, and proceeded to get in the face of the flight attendant standing behind me and scream at her like the missing bag was not only her fault, but also contained the life-saving serum to cure his inoperable, flesh-eating disease.  It was ridiculous.  After hearing a few F-bombs from him and a couple of “sir, please calm down’s” from the flight attendant, I got off the plane and entered the jetway to see a gentle-looking woman holding a similar-looking bag, patiently waiting to clear up this mess.  Guess what.  She accidentally grabbed the wrong bag as she got off the plane.  Calm the F down… sir.

And don’t even get me started about the guy sitting next to us at O’Brien’s eating (slurping, slopping, licking, picking) his buffalo wings.  Or the woman pretending not to hear her (way too old for this) child screaming “MOOOOOMMMMMYYYY” incessantly at the top of his lungs.  Or the kid sitting in the aisle seat of our row on a virtually empty plane who absolutely refused to move to his own row. 

I met some of the coolest people in the world (literally) while living and traveling abroad.  Mankind continually surprised me – in a beautiful way.  Traveling within my own country, however, has shocked and awed me in a significantly less desirable way.

 

I started out this blog post going in a very different direction.  I actually intended to write about how surprised I am at the way travel doesn’t “affect me” like it used to.  However, what started out with good intentions has clearly turned into a rant… which convinces me that perhaps traveling is taking its toll.  At least for today.  I’m exhausted and irritable.  Can you tell?  Don’t interrupt me when I’m asking a rhetorical question.

Road Warrior: the hoedown

Our team got into Philly and drove two hours through rush hour, to arrive at what we thought was our hotel, exhausted and ready for a relaxing night.  But it was the wrong Holiday Inn.  So was the next Holiday Inn we tried.  It turned out that OUR Holiday Inn was at least 20 minutes outside the city (in BFE, PA).  Foiled by Priceline... again. 

We finally arrived at our location and walked into a rundown lobby, with carpet from 1984 and a surly receptionist.  Tired and a bit slap-happy after a couple margaritas with the client, I noticed the "Manager on Duty" plaque and immediately burst out laughing.  Mr. Daniel Morningwake? The hotel manager's name is Morningwake?!?  That's incredible.  My coworkers looked over and immediately started laughing too.  That's like having a dentist named Dr. Tooth.  You can't make that shit up.  The receptionist stared at us blankly, mouthing "Morningwake" to herself a couple times and shaking her head simultaneously.  She finally looked up at us, made a face that clearly said "I don't get it" and gave us our room keys.  Welcome to the Holiday Inn Grantville, PA.

We proceeded to our rooms to discover the most uncomfortable beds in the universe, but at that point, it didn't matter.  I was wiped.  They say going from west to east is easier with the time change, but I actually think it's worse.  There is no excuse to be falling asleep at the dinner table at 9 pm because on your time, it's really 7 pm, but that trick never seems to work for me.  Knowing I shouldn't be tired makes me more tired.  Anyway, we woke up the next morning to decent Pennsylvania weather that proved amazing compared to the foot of snow Denver was slated to get that day.  Our client-filled day went incredibly well and our team was in high spirits come 4 o'clock.  The client's suggestion of spending a couple hours at Hershey Park in Hershey, PA was the perfect end to a good day and the beginning of a night like none other.

We were kids in a candy shop.  Literally.  After the Chocolate Tour (with singing cows!), we could not get to the candy room fast enough to voraciously swipe our debit cards and shovel the treats into our mouths.  Whatever type of subliminal messaging was being used in that tour... it worked.  Between the milkshakes, cookies, T-shirts and chocolate bars, it was only a matter of minutes before we were fat, dumb and happy, snapping pictures with the Hershey bars and enjoying the bliss of the sugar high before the nausea set in.

We continued the night of decadence with an incredible dinner (which included fabulous wine and lobster mac and cheese) and over-the-top witty banter.  The indulgence and laughter left everyone with side cramps as we hobbled to our cars.  Team Holiday Inn BFE loaded into the Santa Fe to begin the trek back to our hotel.  When we pulled in, one of my coworkers suggested a nightcap at The Saloon - the hotel bar.  We agreed and figured The Saloon would have a total of about three patrons, who, collectively, would have 7 teeth.  Au contraire.


The place was packed - not a seat to be had.  Not only that, it was HUGE, which was surprising because it was very unassuming from the front.  Clearly, The Saloon was the reason Holiday Inn BFE stayed in business because it certainly wasn't the comfort of the beds or the politeness of the staff.  Wide-eyed and jaws gaping, we turned the corner to find a stage with a live band and a massive dance floor filled with line-dancers.  It was incredible.  We somehow found a table on the other side of bar and ordered $2 beers.  I had never seen line-dancing before, at least not up close like this.  Holy cow,  that is some impressive stuff.  There's a different dance for every song (or, as Beans adamantly argued, a different song for every dance), and they all knew all the steps.  People partnered with anyone and everyone - couples of all different shapes, sizes and ages, everyone smiling and laughing and having a grand old time.  It was like nothing I had ever seen, and it totally put the electric slide to shame.  I've never been in the presence of so much dancing and sat so idly on the sidelines watching in awe.  It was a new experience for me.  And the band... they rocked.  One beer easily turned into three and nine o'clock slipped away to midnight before we reminded ourselves that we had meetings in the morning and a long trip back to Denver.  I was sad to call it a night, but amazed at what an incredible night it had turned out to be.

Priceline, thank you.  I owe you an apology and perhaps an extra $50 a night. #chillinattheholidayinn

Finding out your crappy hotel is home to the greatest hoedown this side of the Mississippi (or Ohio?) River.  AWESOME.

truth in educating

For awhile now, I've been comparing the student loan crisis to mortgage crisis and calling for some form of "truth in lending" practices when it comes to student loans.  I feel like I'm a pretty good snapshot of the American public - they just announced that student loan debt now exceed credit card debt in the U.S.  This has been true for me for years.  I can't decide if that should make me feel good about my credit card debt or feel terrible about my loans.  But considering no one should ever feel good about credit card debt, I should probably go with the latter.  Besides, I blame the latter for the former.  That's probably not good either.

Anyway, the newest news (is that redundant?) is that student loan debt now exceeds $1 Trillion in the United States.  One. Trillion. Dollars.  And no one is paying it back.  That's the stick.  I think we need to start focusing on the stick.  No one is actually paying these loans back.  And while some people are living for free in brownstones, most of us are just doing the best we can with what we've got.  And the best we can doesn't include an extra $1000 to throw at student loans.  I mean, the chocolate lab needs to eat, people (NOT to be confused with "the chocolate lab needs to eat people."  That would be terrible).

I digress.  The reason I sat down to write was because USA Today published a good article yesterday:  Lairs, Liars Pants on Fires (or whatever the plural would be).  My coworker pointed out the real title as some guy was reading the article on the plane yesterday, and I knew I had to write about it.

The reality is - people need to know the truth about law school - the lack of post-education jobs, the low salaries, the DEBT.  If, after all that, people are still going to law school and are somehow thinking they'll be "different" (translation: they'll actually come out of law with a job they like that can pay the ginormous bill of law debt), then they have no one to blame but themselves.

and now the stick

Student Loan Bailout.  This is brilliant.   And it just might be crazy enough to work.

It appears I never actually published this post... so I will publish it now because I have nothing more to say.

a fresh perspective

The other night, it was late... very late, and I was still at the office with a deadline.  There are a few important things to note with this, however:  (1) I had a deadline because I was the one who created the deadline, (2) my dog was at the office with me, and (3) I was thoroughly enjoying what I was working on.  None of these things would have happened in law.  It would have been a late night because of someone else's (probably pointless) deadline, and I would have been doing work I hated with no trusty chocolate lab sidekick.  The other positive: I was there with my new AWESOME coworker, who is basically the beans to my rice.

At 11:30 pm or so, just as the wheels were starting to come off and columns were blending into rows, Beans decided we needed a 5 minute breather and sent me the website 1000 Awesome Things.  Go there.  See if you can read it for just 2 minutes.  You can't.  It's smart, funny, and most importantly, it's a really AWESOME perspective on everyday things that we take for granted.  The guy who writes this blog must be so happy, and I found myself saying, "Yeah!  TOTALLY!!" about every three posts.

We've decided to start writing down our Awesome Things.  As Tim would say, "It's important to make the invisible, visible."  Something about actually writing out a great thing when it happens makes it officially "Awesome."

So here's my first:  Bringing tomato soup to work for lunch and finding out there's a huge box of Goldfish in the office.  AWESOME.

Hiatus-itis

“The condition of being on haitus.”  And I’m so guilty.  Blog hiatus-itis.

I’ve been home in Wisco for an awesome weekend with family, friends and Bucky.  I’m on my way back to Denver now, happy to have a window seat but unhappy that Alterra’s espresso machine was broken (even if I was going for just decaf).  I almost deleted “home” from the first sentence when I realized I needed to also use “home” for Denver.  I guess what I wanted to say is: “I was home in Wisco, and now I’m heading home to Denver.”  If home is where the heart is, then both places are home.

Blog Train

A lot has happened in the last few weeks, and I’ve found myself on a bit of a professional emotional rollercoaster.  If you’re interested in receiving the chronological update, then scroll down a few entries and start with Tim leaving (“little holes of light”).  There’s no time like air time to catch up on my blog.

A huge thanks to Beck for (unbeknownst to her) giving me a swift kick in the butt to get back on the blog train.  Thanks Beck!

little holes of light

Ugh. 

Tim isn’t sticking around.  I’m so, so bummed out.  I knew he was making his decision this week about whether or not to accept our company’s offer to come on board as our COO and continue the magic, but I never really considered the possibility that he would say no.  But he did - He didn’t pick us, and as ridiculous as it is, I feel like the kid whose parent can’t make it to the championship game.  What do you mean you’re not going to be there?  You HAVE to be there. 

 

I don’t want to sound like Tim was cavalier about his decision because, honestly, he was anything but.  It was very clear that this had been an agonizing choice for him and he was as bummed out about it as I was.  And boy, am I bummed.

I’m going to try to put words to how I’m feeling because the immediate response of those close to me indicates that people don’t really understand why I’m so upset.  With the exception of one (who also gets other ridiculous things about me when no one else seems to), most of my friends and family have responded with something to the effect of “Oh that’s a shame.  I know you really liked him.”  No, people, you don’t get it.  It’s more than really liking him.  He is brilliant (If I could comfortably cuss in this blog, I would add a modifier to that). 

I learned more from Tim in the two months he was on board than I did working for anyone ever.  Yes, I tend to speak in superlatives and occasionally exaggerate, but in this instance – that’s the honest truth.  People learn in very different ways, and people teach in very different days.  I learn in the way Tim teaches, and I didn’t even know it until I met him.

And you probably want to know how… and I don’t know that I can adequately describe it.  Perhaps if I tell a story or two from Tim, you might start to get it.  One afternoon, after a project status meeting that brought a few “issues” to light, I was sitting around the table with Tim and one of the founders of the company discussing our next course of action.  The founder and I are a lot alike.  We like to do more than we like to talk about it.  We like to make a decision, and then act.  Tim was urging us to flush out a Plan B option, but both the founder and I were adamant our Plan A option would work just fine, and we wanted to get to work immediately implementing Plan A.  We didn’t have time to discuss a Plan B.  So Tim nonchalantly began to tell us a story…

I don’t know if you’ve ever been on a helicopter (Actually, no – he didn’t start that way.  That would be a bit elitist, and whether intended or not, it sounds condescending.  He would never start that way). 

Helicopters are incredibly noisy.  When you’re on one, you have to wear these noise canceling headphone things, and they really work.  You can’t hear a thing.  I was on a helicopter in the military, and I was standing next to my commanding officer, and I was… well – I don’t know what my rank was, but I was a minion.  Anyway, we were coming into the beach, when we began seeing little holes of light in the side of the helicopter.  And it was the strangest thing because we couldn’t hear anything, but we were being shot at.  Then, as I was looking at the holes trying to make sense of what was happening, there was red everywhere.  He [the commanding officer] was dead.  And now I was in charge.  That’s why you always want to have a Plan B.

I am really, really going to miss working with him.     

the mug

I'm in Chicago this weekend for the Chicago Marathon on Sunday.  I am so excited to get away for the weekend and be surrounded by friends and family.  The perfect weather is also a plus.  It's been a typical taper for me - I feel like I've gained 25 pounds and I'm incredibly emotional (for some legitimate and some not-so-legitimate reasons).  "Taper Madness" has always been a struggle for me, and I spend the couple weeks leading up to a race not feeling like myself and acting somewhat irrational.  Naturally, it's been a tough couple of weeks, even without factoring in lack of endorphins, the no running and other taper madness symptoms I've been experiencing.

So, needless to say, I'm so happy to finally be here, with the race just around the corner.   I'm staying with a couple of my best friends in the world (who are married to each other) right in the heart of the city.  You can blame the tapering, last night's late night arrival (after a very delayed flight) or just the fact that we've grown up, but there's a certain nostalgia about being here with them.  On the one hand, it feels like nothing's changed.  It's just like when we were living together in law school - the coffee is right where it should be; I know what beer I'm going to find in the fridge; and we can still make amazing meals with leftovers.  But on the other hand, everything's changed.  We're not in law school anymore, and my friends have gotten married, got a dog of their own and moved halfway across the country.  I remember 6 months ago, the night before they moved to Chicago and the marking of the end of an era, how heavy everything felt - how I thought nothing would never be the same.

As I poured myself a cup of coffee in the same mug I used to use 5 years ago in our apartment on Clarkson Street, the sadness I felt six months ago suddenly felt really far away.  Everything felt like it should, and I was struck by how true it is that the more things change, the more they stay the same.  While I'm counting the months until they move back to Colorado, I'm amazed at how the bond of a great friendship laughs in the face of distance. 

We're all under the same roof again and drinking beer at one in the afternoon.  See, nothing's really changed after all. 

flow

After a particularly insightful morning yoga class and a sense of zen ("new agey-ness" alert, Aunt Shelley), I arrived at the office to a number of good sized fires that required dousing.  My plan for the day had been to go "heads down" on a project plan that desperately needed my attention.  I had learned a lot about my time management, and I was gung-ho about committing the appropriate time to important, non-urgent tasks, like my project plan - which was a pretty ginormous task.

Anyone who knew me in law school knew my love for flow charts.  I love flow charts.  They're like choose your own adventure books, and they made law school make sense for me.  I found that almost everything could be reduced to an "if this, then that" statement.  And I love colored pens.  It was a win-win.  Ever since I took the bar exam, though, I haven't been asked to process anything or make logical sense of concepts or process.  I was asked to find typos.  And I was chastised for beginning sentences with conjunctions.  But no one really needed me figure out how anything should be done.  

Recently, with just a little bit of help from Tim, I realized that my flow charting was quite a handy skill to have and made me pretty dangerous in the project management world.  So that morning, with $30 worth of pens from Office Depot, I was ready to dive head first into project planning. 

Our clients and my team, however, had a different plan for me that day, and it was close to 4 o'clock when I finally had a minute to catch my breath.  Tim and I sat down to discuss the project plan that I had yet to execute on. 

"Do you know what flow is?"  He asked.  Tim always started one of our sessions with 5 minutes of wisdom.  I can honestly say, I've learned more from a handful of Tim's 5-minute wisdom windows than I have learned from any mentor I've had to date.  Anyway, I responded that I understood the concept of flow as it relates to the body (think vinyasa).  He let me explain what I meant and then promptly told me that wasn't what he had meant.  Yet, he did it in a way that didn't make me feel stupid or ashamed (an impressive skill that seasoned attorneys generally do not possess).  He went on to tell me that what he meant by "flow" was a place where you go to "get in the zone." 

Oh!  Well then, where I flow is in the mornings, at my house, sitting on the right side of the couch in the kitchen (yes, I have a couch in the kitchen.  It works, trust me), with a cup of coffee.  "Good," Tim said, "then go there.  Get it done.  Do what you have to do to get into flow."

Wait... you mean I don't have to force myself to work in an environment that's working against me?  You trust me to actually do my work even if I'm not in the office?  You don't even want to see a 6-minute breakdown of my flow-spent morning?  This is incredible.

I'm not in Kansas anymore.

the mind bend

Months ago, I agreed to be one of multiple authors in a serial fiction story.  I had totally forgotten about this commitment until my editor emailed to ask if I was still interesting in participating.  You see, since quitting law, I've been a little MIA in more areas than just this blog.  But "getting back into it" with a non-law piece that would still give me some great exposure?  Sure!  Sounds fun.  So I agreed and promptly forgot about it again until two days before it was due.  Shoot.  I ended up really liking the result, and I enjoyed the process of writing on a story line that wouldn't otherwise have been my first choice more than I thought I would.  But I did it at the last minute.  And, therefore, I was even more proud of myself for the end result because I delivered under pressure.

They say that aspiring writers should over commit themselves to unreasonable deadlines ("they" of course being writers that actually made it) and become masters at churning out respectable work product in an ungodly short amount of time.  That's how you get "good."  Lawyers are masters at this concept, and my two years of practicing law prepared me very well for this.  It's the fire drill philosophy - nothing gets done until it's on fire. 

I am learning a lot in my new non-legal career.  Like, A LOT a lot.  About business.  About treating your employees well.  And about time management.  I will first note the irony in my blog topic, given that my blogging will result in a fire drill tomorrow morning (so maybe I haven't learned everything I'm about to claim I have).  Anyway, there are a whole bunch of theories and schools of thought about managing people and projects, and I've only begun to scratch the surface.  It's fascinating... way more fascinating than reading the same contact for the 218th time and finding a misplaced comma.

There's a quadrant for time management that breaks activities and tasks up into 4 categories based on urgency and importance.  Some of you might be familiar with this concept, created by Stephen Covey in The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People.  See the chart. 

Tim recently asked me to divide up, by percentage, how much time each day should be spent in each quadrant.  I think I went with the common answer and said something like Urgent/Important = 75%, Urgent/Not Important = 15%, and the other two?  Eh, 5% (Does that add up to 100%?).  Whatever, you get the point.  I gave the fire drill response: I do the shit that absolutely positively MUST get done by the end of the day, so get out of my way and let me get it done. Oh, and by the way, I put out a lot of fires, so I'm totally important and an incredibly valuable addition to the company, thank you very much.

Wrong answer.  Well, not "wrong" because I was honest... but it's not the answer we should be striving for.  The majority of our time should be spent in the important and not urgent quadrant.  As we re-train ourselves to spend time planning and relationship building, the number of "fire drills" that end up in the Important/Urgent quadrant significantly decreases.  And when there are fire drills, we handle them much more competently because we're not simply reacting.

Law doesn't teach you this.  Lawyers are trained to react, to only react and to react well.  My head hurts just trying to fathom the concept that one day (hopefully in the near future), I could wake up and check my iPhone without the feeling of dread that I've forgotten about something hugely important that is going to consume my entire day with panic-stricken damage control.

So with that, back to my project plan.  I'll let y'all know when you can check out piece three of five in the serial fiction story.  I know you're waiting with bated breath, and I appreciate that about you.

new legal doctrine: shake whatcha mama gave ya

Like so many other topics I blog about... this one speaks for itself (res ipsa loquitur) and requires very little commentary, which is a good thing, because I have so much to get done today, I can barely see straight.

This woman, after practicing law for ten years, has now resorted to dancing topless to pay the bills.  The Topless Lawyer - It sounds like a bad porn and evokes images similar to Britney Spears' debut.  "The job is less hostile than any law office she's worked in, she said."  As a female (former) attorney, I feel like I should say more about this topic.  I feel like I should be more affected by this.  But I'm not.  I honestly can't even say I blame her.  More than anything, I feel a strange sense of pride for the renegade lawyer for her choice.  And that's what it was... A choice.  She chose to dance almost-naked at a strip club rather than seek another terrible legal job in a terrible market.  She's making more money by shaking it for complete strangers.  She appreciates and respects her coworkers more now than in her previous profession.  Heck, even her clients are more tolerable, despite that they "grab her, bite her, [and] kiss her..."  Wow.

I would include an image with this post... but I would hate to run afoul of the law.

the itch

I'm sad about my lack of writing lately.  And I'm disappointed in myself for letting my blog fall by the wayside in the last month. There's something about fall that makes me want to write.  Maybe it's sweater weather or pumpkin spice lattes or the preparation of hunkering down in front of a fireplace with endless cups of tea, but whatever it is... it itches. 

I have a couple articles coming up for the Docket that will force me to sit down and really write, with a deadline, which will be good for me.  But I still want to write a book.  I have pieces of chapters floating around in my head (and my laptop), but I'm lacking direction.  And time.  I'm really lacking time.  It was fall last year when I made the decision that I wasn't meant to be a lawyer for the rest of my life and I needed to write a book - sooner rather than later.  A year later, I don't have a book... but I'm not a lawyer anymore, so I'm hopeful I'm moving in the right direction. 

Fall inspires me...  In a spring cleaning kind of way.  Maybe it's the whole going back to school sentiment.  Or maybe it's college football.  Regardless, I have a renewed sense that at the end of the day, I'm a writer.  I guess I just don't know what that means yet... which is more than I knew last year at this time.

Road Warrior: movin’ on up

We are on the plane headed back to Denver after wrapping up a very productive, successful trip to Pennsylvania – one that left us with an optimistic, “can do” attitude… and lot of work on our plates.  Yours truly is seated comfortably in first class (on United no less - and you road warriors out there know what THAT means), awaiting delivery of her hot breakfast and beverages (I emphasize the plurality here).  Is it just me, or is the orange juice better in first class?

A few of you are probably thinking… Wow, already?  She hasn’t been a road warrior for THAT long, right?  No, I haven’t - certainly not long enough to earn the upgrade status on United.   People spend careers trying to achieve that.  In fact, I had a brief travel hiatus in the last month, so this is really only my 5^th trip.  Turns out, I just work with really great people.  We recently had a new addition to our team – a project manager extraordinaire with an incredibly impressive resume and the most positive attitude I’ve seen in a long time.  I not only get the pleasure of learning from him, but he also gave me his seat in first class.  And I didn’t even know it. 

It went like this…

After a two hour drive following dinner with our clients last night, we arrived at our hotel late, knowing we would have to be up bright and early to catch a 7:30 am flight.  The early flight was especially brutal knowing we were traveling from east to west and needed to put in a full, productive day upon our return.  Nonetheless, everyone was in high spirits, and we spent the last 20 minutes of our drive recapping the day, making fun of each other and laughing hysterically at ourselves.  The morning came earlier than any of us wanted, and we arrived at the airport to learn our flight had been delayed by at least an hour.  I hate plan deviations, and things like this usually leave me crabby… especially when I’m operating on very little sleep and the promise of a long day.  But this morning it didn’t faze me like it otherwise would have. 

While sitting at the gate, we chatted about our seat assignments, and I lamented my middle seat toward the back.  I love the window seat – so much so in fact, that I’ve foregone sitting with friends during trips just to ensure myself a window seat.  I don’t mind the aisle seat.  But I despise the middle seat.

Oh, excuse me… the hot towels are being passed around.  I’ll be right back.

Anyway, my new… Boss?  Mentor?  Hero? (Maybe I should just go with Tim) nicely suggested that I switch seats with him.  I asked him where his seat was.  "6B," he replied.  To which I responded, Oh, B is a middle seat too, so that’s ok – I’ll be fine.  Thanks though.  "No, it’s not a middle seat, and I don’t mind switching.  I’ve traveled a lot – the middle seat doesn’t bother me."  I thought about it some more and counted the seats in my head.  Knowing my seat, 25E, was a middle seat, I was almost certain B would have to also be a middle seat.  A-B-C on one side, D-E-F on the other side.  This was not my first rodeo.  Fortunately, I didn’t say this (I can almost hear your sighs of relief), and I just agreed to the switch and thanked him. 

When they announced that pre-boarding would begin, Tim nodded at me and said, "C’mon, let’s go."  Oh no, I replied, they won’t let me on yet.  "Yes they will," he said with patient confidence… and (there should be no surprise here) - they did.  As we waited on the jetway, Tim ripped off the stub of his boarding pass, with his seat assignment on it, and patiently waited for me to do the same.  He held his out, and instructed me to switch stubs with him.  Oh, no - you don’t actually need your seat assignment stub.  We can just switch seats.  They don’t check those things anyway.   Fortunately (again), I didn’t actually say this.  But I thought it and wanted to say it, and, holy cow, am I glad I didn’t. 

As we got on the plane, I turned right to go to coach and immediately noticed that the first row of seats was row 8.  Hm, that’s strange.  Confused, I hesitated momentarily, and from behind me, I felt Tim tap my left shoulder and say “6.”  I turned to the left… WHOA! First class?!?!?  I don’t even know if I said anything.  Instead, I numbly turned to the left and looked for room in the overheard compartments.  All of a sudden it all made perfect sense – of COURSE 6B wasn’t a middle seat.  There are no middle seats in first class.

So I did the only thing one can do in this situation… (As myDad would say) When you get to the end zone, act like you’ve been there before.  I tried to wipe the grin off my face and cop an elitist attitude… But I’m pretty sure they were on to me.  First, I tried to order my beverages from the food server (and was sweetly informed that the ‘beverage server’ would be by shortly to get my drink order).  Then, I politely took the napkin they offered to me, and laid it across my lap as I typed on my laptop and alternated between drinking my coffee, orange juice and water.  Yes, all three at the same time.  What?

When the server (“flight attendant” just doesn’t seem right here) came out with the meals, he promptly served the gentleman next me – an obviously seasoned traveler, who was on his third screwdriver before breakfast even arrived (on an 8 am flight).  The server paused when he got to me, patiently holding my tray and looking at me, clearly waiting for something… I just had no idea what.  "Oh dear, we need to get you a linen," he finally said.  A linen????  OHHHH, you mean the 'napkin' I had so properly draped across my lap like the high-class lady that I am?  Of course… the linen.  Oh, no – I have it, I said, shaking my head and trying to appear simply absent-minded, instead of classless.  Breakfast was divine.  Seriously.  Rosemary eggs, turkey sausage, breakfast potatoes, a warm croissant with butter and raspberry jam and a bowl of fresh fruit (pineapple!).  I ate every last morsel as slowly as possible, not wanting it to end.

I half expected dessert, or a foot massage, to come next.  And it may have… but I was happily napping off my food coma in my leather recliner. 

One thing is about this road warrior lifestyle is certainly becoming clear… You win some.  You lose some.

28 candles

I'm officially old.  28 has been "that" year for me, so I've spent the last month or so torn between dreading the big day and looking forward to it.  I'm a birthday brat.  I can admit that I love there's a day where it gets to be all about me.  And I unapologetically make sure August 3rd is all about me.  But this year, I was really concerned that the "oldness" would overshadow the "specialness," and so would begin the years of dreaded birthdays.  I am very happy to report that this year could have been my best birthday to date.  I did exactly what I wanted to do and had a day filled with great news, great people and great food. 
     
I love the phrase, "happiness is a warm puppy."  It has always held true for me (with the exception of that one time I was studying for finals and my warm puppy decided to take a warm dump under my bed.  That was the antithesis of happiness).  My warm puppy has been a constant source of happiness and the tear-absorber during the toughest times, so the adoption of my new mantra in no way displaces the brown dog and his unconditional love.  But recently, I've found myself drawn to the phrase, "happiness is knowing you're right where you're supposed to be." 

At the risk of sounding too "new-agey" (thanks, Aunt Shelley), the contentment that comes from an honest assessment of the present and the bumper sticker conclusion that life is good is like no other.  It's been a really great year.  Cheers!

why I love non-law.

Res Ipsa Loquitur

a total tool

A lawyer friend of mine recently sent me this awesome Above The Law article: 20 Ways To Write Like a Tool.  And the tool in me just hesitated about whether or not the "to" in that title should have been capitalized.  The tool in me also cringed at starting a sentence with "and."  But I'm getting over it.  Ha!  Another sentence begun with a conjunction.  How do you like me now?!?  It turns out, I make fun this concept a lot... so why am I still such a grammar-nazi?

Sitting around the conference table at work today, one of my coworkers was reviewing an intern's work and noticed she had missed the accent mark over CaféWell.  My coworker, who (bless his heart) has endured almost three months of my anal retentive, hyper sensitivity to grammar, looked at me sideways and warned our intern, "Don't do that again or she'll put a shock collar around your neck and make you bark like a dog."  Awesome.  Not really.

Due to my time as a lawyer, I write like a tool.  While I'm happy to report that "to the extent" has, in fact, magically drifted out of my vocabulary, I have to admit that I'm guilty of many, if not all, twenty (20) of the atrocities listed in the ATL article.  So much so in fact, our intern is undoubtedly losing sleep.  Typos are everything in law.  And I lost a lot of sleep over typos and potential typos.  The last thing I want to do is inflict the same torture I endured on someone else.  Especially someone who has to "report" to me.  In an effort to not become one of "those" supervisors (or in other words, a "partner at a law firm"), I am going to seriously make an effort to tone down my melodramatic relationship with grammatical errors.  Are they ideal?  Nope.  But the golden rule applies here too... and despite the fact that I effectively had a grammar shock collar around my neck for the last few years, I wouldn't wish my learned neuroses on anyone.

Arf.

Road Warrior: the learning curve.

As my chocolate lab will tell you, I have been traveling quite a bit lately, and I'm beginning to earn my road warrior stripes... especially after last week's little jaunt over to Albany.  I will report on the little tidbits of wisdom I gained through that (questionable) experience and others. 

1.  Lay longer.  Don't pick the flight with the shortest layover time.  Even though, on paper, it looks like the most efficient use of your time, you leave the airlines little to no room for error.  They're not that good.  In fact, they're not good at all.  More often than not, you'll end up sprinting to your connection, and, if you're lucky enough to catch it, you'll be the stinky kid on the plane.

2.  The flight that cried delay.  It is more common to be delayed than to have your flight actually leave on time.  HOWEVER, you can't count on this fact when deciding what time to leave for the airport.

3.  The board rarely lies.  If the flight status board reports that your flight has been delayed 8 hours, it's probably not a typo.  Yes, even if the delay is until 1:00 am.  If they were going to cancel the flight, they would have canceled it... So get comfortable.

4.  Disgusting default.  When you book your hotel through Priceline or Expedia, it automatically defaults to a smoking room.  YUCK.  Even if you know this, if you're checking in super late, there won't be any non-smoking rooms left.  Always call the hotel after booking and make sure they get you reserved for a non-smoking room.

5.  Rental car.  Don't pre-pay for your rental car (Orbitz doesn't require your credit card until you pick up the car... Priceline has your card as soon as you commit to the car).  When your flight is incredibly delayed (which, if you haven't picked up on by now... happens A LOT) and you don't get in until after midnight, there's a good chance your rental car company will be closed.  You'll end up renting a car with a different company and then spending the next few months arguing with the first company for a refund.

So after my incredibly delayed flight (well into the next morning), the rental car place being closed, and finally making it to the hotel only to be stuck in the smoking room (with BUGS!)... I think it's safe to say I'm earning my RW stripes. 

Stay tuned for more lessons and rants from the road... Eat your hear out Kerouac.

the soapbox

As someone who enjoys flights for the same reason she likes Mexican vacations – no cell phone service and no internet – I generally don’t like chatting on planes.  I prefer to pop in my headphones and catch up on work or read a good book.  Yesterday, I was on a plane bound ultimately for Zurich, but I was getting off in DC to catch a connection to Albany.  It was a massive plane with a very eclectic/European passenger scene.  The first guy to sit down next to me smelled like an ashtray and promptly informed me that I was in his seat.  Confident I had correctly located 38K (yes, THAT big of a plane), I told him I was pretty sure this was the window seat the gate agent had promised me.  He proceeded to argue with me about how my seat was his because he was also certain he was given a window seat.  Turns out there are two window seats on airplanes, and his was located on the other side of the plane (me: 1, stinky European: 0).  He huffed off like it was my fault.  Not the best start to my trip and just further confirmation of my headphones/reading material M.O. 

Not long after, a very nice man sat down in the aisle seat and began to chat.  I dutifully lowered my book, cautious to begin a discussion before the plane had even left the ground.  Almost immediately, however, I found myself pleasantly surprised by the pleasant conversation with my flight neighbor.  We easily conversed about our travels (ie. whether either of us was actually bound for Zurich and how badly it must suck for the people in the middle seats to have to fly like that all the way to Zurich).  As it always does, it quickly came out that I’m a former lawyer and the practice of law “wasn’t really for me.”  I never considered myself a loud talker (I know many of my readers would maybe disagree with that statement), but sure enough, a woman across the aisle heard my rant and chimed in with her friends’ similar experiences in law (and debt) and their similar subsequent renunciation of lawyerdom.  She assured me I was “not alone,” (which I didn’t think I was), and we had a very nice discussion, reaffirming that it wasn't me... it was the law.

My aisle companion, who was a hospital administrator and very curious about my current job (and passion) CaféWell, proceeded to pick my brain over the course of the flight.  He almost refused to let me ask him anything about his story, always incredulously turning the conversation back to me.  You mean to tell me… with THAT much debt… you just up and quit law?  How do you sleep at night?? (I’m taking a little poetic license there, but that was the gist).  I told him I sleep a heck of a lot better than I slept when I was a lawyer and told him about the Income Based Repayment program and the freedom it offers… the freedom to actually live you life and not be a slave to the debt.

Just as the pilot informed us that we were beginning our initial descent into Washing Dulles airport did I realize that I had spent the better part of three hours pontificating.  I apologized for being on my soapbox, to which he responded No, I’m fascinated.  And besides, we’re on a plane.  Not like there’s anything else to do.  So if you had it all to do over again… how would you do it?  I quickly realized in that moment that this was the first time I had outright preached about the ridiculousness of the legal profession since my career change (and for those of you who were at the Steamboat wedding and beg to differ with me on this, you have absolutely no idea what you were missing). 

So thank you, Mr. 38J, for allowing me to take the microphone and remind myself that I made a fantastic life choice.  Little did I know how much I would need that reminder, as I sat stranded at Dulles airport for 8 hours with a migraine.

reunion week

A good law school friend and his beautiful (now) wife got married over the weekend in the mountains.  It was the first time in over 2 years that almost all of our group was in the same room... And I was incredibly grateful to my newlywed friends for their emphasis on a casual, laid back celebration.  The guests drank wine during the ceremony, and our friend officiated, closing with "...and you may now tongue-kiss your bride."  It was hysterical.  I laughed.  I cried.  I partied. 

I wish I could tell you that "the more things change, the more they stay the same," but I would be lying.  The truth is things have changed, and nothing seemed the same at all.  While it was great to catch up with everyone, it was really hard to ignore how different each of our lives had become.  Those of you who know me only as the recovering lawyer, and only know my anti-law mantras, might be surprised to hear me say how much I miss law school... But I miss law school.  I really miss law school.  Two and a half years is a long time, and we're different people now than we were then.  Then, it was civ pro, admin, outlines, moot court and cheap beers till bar time at the Shadium.  Now it's babies, spouses, cases, clients, out-of-state jobs and early nights. 

As one of the few who stayed out till bar time after the wedding (for the record, the bride and groom did too), I was amazed by who wasn't there.  Our funny friend who performed the ceremony would have, in the past, led us till bar time with his antics, and we all would have met for brunch the next morning to discuss the shenanigans of the previous night.  Instead, after returning to town, I ran into him at the grocery store, dutifully buying the week's groceries.  He had retired early the night before and undoubtedly felt like a million bucks.  I, on the other hand, felt like three dollars and fifty cents and couldn't remember a time I had out partied him. 

The river we had all tubed down just three years before, when we seemed carefree and on top of the world, was flooded and raged through town.  I briefly considered drawing an analogy here between the rushing river and how quickly life seems to be flying by... but that would be cheesy.

Our ("for all intensive purposes") law school reunion made me feel old.  But to add insult to injury, my ten year high school reunion is this Saturday.  I can only begin to imagine next week's sentiments...