head up, hair down

I got in to Salt Lake the other night after a very delayed flight with a very early meeting scheduled for the next morning.  I was exhausted, and the only thing keeping me from being in the worst mood ever was that it was still kind of light out at 10 pm, and the Utah mountains looked like they were on fire.  It was gorgeous.  The radio stations in my compact rental car had clearly been programmed by a teenager, but I was too tired to change them, so I was stuck listening to pop...  (I realize that I sound 45 when I say that).  This horrible song came on, and despite its general lack of rhythm, I found myself listening to the lyrics.  It was all about holding your head up while letting your hair down.

The whole notion of holding your head up while letting your hair down is an intensely difficult balance to achieve.  Most of us have been coached to hold our heads up at all times... even if we're completely unsure of ourselves - the whole "fake it till you make it" philosophy, and all too often (especially in law), we maintain confidence at the expense of our true personalities.

It took me a long time to feel comfortable with my hair down (I mean that figuratively as much as I actually mean it literally), to allow myself to be myself without caring if I was disliked.  I'm a girl.  I went through high school. Being disliked sucks...  Everyone knows that.  But there's something liberating about being totally and completely myself and not being liked. 

It's weird, and I have a hard time putting words to the concept of knowing who you are and sticking to it... even if it means not everyone is your biggest fan.  I'm your typical first child, August-born Leo with a  type-A personality.  I like to make everyone happy.  I like people to like me.  The shift I've felt over the last year in my outlook on personal relationships has surprised me.  I find I'm bothered less and less when I sense that I don't necessarily mesh with someone else.

Keep your head up, but let your hair down. 

ella-ella-ella, eh eh eh.

There’s a guy sitting in front of me on the plane… and he has an umbrella attached to his backpack.  I am suddenly struck by the fact that I don’t own an umbrella.  I’ve never owned an umbrella.  This is weird for me.  I’m type-A and I love plans, yet I don’t own an umbrella.  Not only that, but I straighten my wavy/indecisive hair every morning and really hate when it gets wet.

This guy not only owns an umbrella, but he brings it with him when he travels. 

It always makes me happy to see people more neurotic than I am… I almost feel normal :)

hidden manna

Gil Jones, a phenomenal speaker on faith and life, spoke yesterday about this concept he called the “hidden manna,” and he finally put words to something I have been trying to get my mind around for over a year.  While it’s technically a “religious” concept, hidden manna is like yoga in that it transcends a specific belief system and is readily applicable to humanity as a whole.  I’ve struggled my whole life with the notion that there is some kind of “plan” out there for me and that everything bad “happens for a reason.”  This cavalier, blind-faith type of philosophy always struck me as naïve and often trite, especially in the face of catastrophe.  Admittedly, on a smaller scale, my type-A personality and I have had a hard time throwing up our hands and relinquishing that kind of control over our life.

What’s weird though, is that I believe it… I believe that there is a plan for my life and that bad things happen for a reason.  I do.  So why are these phrases like nails on a chalkboard for me?  How can it be that something I believe in is the absolute LAST thing I want to hear in times in crisis?  My mom recently experienced my wrath when she quickly dismissed important bad news with a wave of her hand and a simple “well, this is just part of God’s plan.”  And I let her have it… But then I was left wondering why, if I believed it, did I feel so strongly that she shouldn’t say it?   

It’s because the manna is hidden.

I’ll pare down the concept of hidden manna and make it less “Bible-y” so as not to alienate any of my readers.  Basically, manna is this sweet, honey bread that was (and probably still is) delicious and wonderful.  Hidden manna is quite literally, “sweet, yummy, warm gooey wonderfulness that you can’t see.”  I picture manna as the most perfect comfort food imaginable.  It’s basically monkey bread.  So for the sake of this description, just think of monkey bread.  During tough times, the monkey bread is hidden… literally impossible to see.  Telling someone who is going through a tough time that “bad things happen for a reason” and “this is part of a plan” is like telling a starving man that there’s fresh, warm monkey bread right there, but he just can’t see it (much less smell it, or taste it).  It's infuriating, regardless of whether it's true.

It’s only after everything happens and the difficult time passes that we can look back and see the manna in it all.

I rounded out my totally spiritual Sunday by going to yoga last night.  It was far and away one of the toughest yoga classes I’ve ever been to, and every muscle of my body aches today with wonderful exhaustion.  The instructor, Billy, was the Gil Jones of yoga.  Billy made me deeply question my life (and my decision to go to his class) at least 14 times over the course of an hour and a half.  He too talked of the hidden manna, although he didn’t quite use those words.  As our quads shook, our shoulders screamed and sweat rolled down our bright red faces, Billy calmly told the class: And isn’t this just like life?  What is torture now is really a gift… you just don’t know it yet.

And that was the missing piece for me.  Knowing that holding the most painful and difficult yoga pose would make me stronger in the end didn’t take away from the fact that it was painful, difficult and tortuous. 

Two days later, despite barely getting my suitcase into the overhead compartment, I can already taste the manna.  Namaste.

i'm still me.

Last week, I made my first mistake at my new job, and I very quickly learned that I'm still me.  Despite the laid back environment, my wonderful and incredibly nice boss, my phenomenal team of co-workers, and my recent renunciation of coffee... I'm still me.  Still the anxiety-ridden employee who feels intense shame and guilt at the discovery of even the tiniest mistake.

I once drafted a letter to the Delaware Secretary of State informing them that a check was enclosed for a state filing, only to seal the letter and send it off without the actual check.  Upon the realization that I had forgotten to include the check (about 15 minutes after the mailman had come to collect the mail), I immediately began to freak out.  FREAK. OUT.  My supervising partner is going to yell at me.  The client is going to be so mad.  What am I going to do?  Who do I need to tell?  I can't believe I did this.  STUPID.  STUPID.  STUPID.  While she didn't yell, she certainly gave me the "I'm very disappointed in you.  You need to do better than this.  Now what did you learn?" speech, and I didn't sleep for a week.  Every day thereafter, I rushed into the office, desperate for a message from the Delaware Secretary of State letting me know they had received my 17 emails and 32 voice messages about "the incident" and that they were willing to work with me to right the situation.

In retrospect... it certainly wasn't the HUGE deal I (or almost more importantly, my supervising partner) made it out to be, and all I would have needed to hear was "hey...relax."  I'm neurotic.  I'm pretty sure I would have been this way regardless of the law; however, I am confident that law fueled my neuroses like gasoline to a flame and almost made me downright crazy. 

I am slowly beginning to feel like myself as I get deeper into my new career... and while I'm still me, I am realizing how much I liked my old self... before the law got into me.

it's the law.

I know my recent posts have been “heavy” and “deep.”  I think those were the actual words my parents used to describe them… basically asking between the lines if I was ok.  So just to clear up any confusion – yes, I am SO ok.  Better than ok.  Awesome actually… and really really happy on a level I have a hard time explaining.  Maybe that’s why I’ve been so deep and long-winded lately.  I’m not sure I have the words to describe my current emotional bliss.   And while I do think I deserve this kind of happiness and worked my butt of to get here, I have definitely been pinching myself regularly…

In the last two weeks, I’ve been inundated by random emails or blog comments from disgruntled, fed up and exhausted lawyers who have hit rock bottom and are looking to the Internet for guidance.  It’s incredible actually, and I’m proud to be a part of a safe haven for those seeking refuge from the billable hour.

I am traveling right now, coming off an incredibly successful whirlwind trip to Salt Lake City, Utah.  SLC is a GORGEOUS city, with in-your-face mountains, a park around every corner and some of the nicest people you’ll ever meet.  I could live there but for the lack of wine stores.  I know I should have known this.  I’ve heard there are no liquor stores in the land of Zion.   It’s the law.  That Utah was like Fight Club: “The first rule about Utah is we don’t talk about liquor stores.”  But I didn’t know exactly how bad it was until I tried to “swing by a wine store” to pick up a celebratory bottle to take to dinner with friends.  Two hours of driving and 20 minutes of Googling later, I finally found a liquor store, The Utah State Liquor Store.  And the place was packed.  Not “Costco on a Saturday” packed, but “the apocalypse is coming” packed.  And it was just a regular Tuesday.  There was not a parking spot to be had, but I had driven around for 2 hours and wasn’t about to turn back now.  Turns out, it was worth the wait.  Apparently when the state is regulating the sale of liquor, there’s very little price gouging.  I was shocked to discover Utah had really good wine for very competitive prices!  Anyway, I digress.  It wasn’t my intent to discuss access to wine in Utah, but it kind of goes hand-in-hand with the topic I had planned to write about: Comradery.  Especially among women.  Especially women lawyers.

A recent email I received from a female entertainment lawyer in LA mentioned how many women could benefit from hearing the stories of other women getting out of law.  I’ve never considered myself a feminist in the traditional sense, but I have definitely felt that whatever men can do, women can do just as well.  Law was a different animal, however.  There is still a great deal of sexism in the practice of law, and you would think this would bring women together to fight the system and overcome the inequalities.  Au contraire.  Instead, many women in the legal profession have an “every woman for herself” attitude and believe it’s her versus the male masses. 

I’m fortunate to have a group of phenomenal girl friends from law school, all of whom are still attorneys.  We get together often to drink wine and talk about life, love and the practice of law.  I don’t know what I would do without these women and their support.  They have been the first ones to build me up when I’ve felt worthless, when the profession had me feeling two inches tall and full of anxiety and self-doubt.  They’re the ones who reassured me that I wasn’t alone in my frustrations and convinced me that I really was a good lawyer.  It’s funny, the older generation of attorneys – the partners, the mentors, the senior associates – they never tell you you’re a good lawyer.  The best compliment you can hope for is “You’re going to make a great lawyer someday.”  Gee, thanks.  What about today and that project I just busted my ass on?  Anyway, my legal support group never said anything like that to me… ever.  I’m so lucky to have them. 

I hope this blog provides some kind of support… something similar to the strength I take from my group of amazing women… to those who aren’t sure what to do next and only know their misery.  I hope if nothing else, reading this, they know they’re not alone, and perhaps more importantly, that they’re not crazy. 

Ladies, it’s not you… It’s the law.