Contracts is the bane of my existence. After some research, i.e. Googling "bane of my existence," I found that to say something is the bane of your existence means said thing is killing you because "bane" literally means "slayer" or "killing." In other words, Contracts is the slayer of my existence. My research revealed that the saying used to carry a very heavy connotation, but now it is common in English vernacular and has since lost its serious meaning. Perhaps that is this Google Answers scholar's opinion, but I think the phrase can still be very real, as I definitely feel farthest from life when sitting in class discussing whether a court should order specific performance, an injunction, or expectation damages when the amount of the plaintiff's lost profits is nearly incalculable.
I have about nine pages left of this case. I choose not to read the rest for three reasons: (1) I'm exhausted after a five-mile run and a long day of classes, (2) I'm at the point where I'm just reading words on a page and will most likely have to go back and reread the case tomorrow morning anyway, and (3) I couldn't care less about what happens to these people. This isn't an issue of whether Harry Potter lives or dies, or whether Bella chooses Edward or Jacob; therefore, I am not emotionally invested in this story.
That's your nugget of lawyerly terminology for the day, and a bonus useless fact about "bane of my existence." Both are free. You're welcome. Moving on.
The other day, a friend of mine from undergrad told me about this book called "The Element." She described "The Element" as where your passion and what you're good at meet. She wants to be a teacher, and her eyes light up every time she talks about her experiences in the classroom as a student teacher and as an observer. She reads books about education all the time, and I know that the kids who walk into her classroom over the next several years are going to remember her for the rest of their lives. Clearly she has found her element. As she was telling me about this book, I realized that I am definitely not in my element.
Am a good at law school? Yes. Am I good at chemistry? Yes, but I didn't go to med school for a reason. Can't do blood. So again, am I good at law school? Yes. Do I like reading cases and doing meaningless paperwork and wearing suits and sitting at a desk all day long? I would like to answer this question with an emphatic "NO!" According to the logic skills I have acquired in my legal research class and according to the twin goals of "The Element," I probably shouldn't be doing this law school thing. Sure it looked great (and fashionable) when Elle Woods was doing it, but I've come to the conclusion that I'd rather have Reese Witherspoon's job than her character's in Legally Blonde.
As I sit in class every day, I can't get over these people sitting on either side of me who eat this stuff up. They ask question after question and apply for every job and internship that shows up in our inboxes from career services. Recently my classmates have been having interviews with their respective firms, so there have been a lot of people dressing up, implicitly sending the message, "I have an interview. I'll be working at a law firm this summer while you'll be lucky to get hired on at Starbucks." Also recently the weather has taken a turn for the better, and I've been able to dig my dresses out of the back of my closet. Every time I don a new dress, the classic inquiry is, "Who are you interviewing with today?" My response is always the same, "No one, it's just a great day outside." And then I go on about my business as they stand still, baffled and bewildered.
At first I felt a little insecure about my lack of interviews for summer jobs. I'm used to being the one who has the interviews, who gets the jobs, who succeeds, you know? But then I had to take a step back and say, "You don't WANT these interviews! Why do you care if other people are interviewing in their shirts and ties while you're slumming it in a hoodie? You would rather do anything but work for a law firm this summer." And then I feel a bit sorry for the poor schmucks as they file into their interviews or crowd into a classroom for a networking event. (Networking events are a completely different topic that I could write a book on by themselves, so I'll stay away from them today. Let's just say I think it's brainless to have events in which people meet one another for the sole purpose of using the other person to climb the career ladder, almost parasitic. Networking should happen organically, not over forced conversation and mediocre finger foods.)
But I also understand something else about my classmates. They are in law school because they want to be attorneys. Novel concept, right? Maybe that's why they enjoy (or at least tolerate) reading cases. Maybe that's why they ask questions. Maybe that's why they want jobs this summer. Ah ha! An epiphanic moment. You can high five me through the screen if you like. I expect to see a handprint on my monitor next time I log on. It makes sense now. They like law school because they care, because they are invested, because some day they are going to do this stuff for a living. As for me, if I never set foot in the lawbrary again, never opened a case book, never wrote a memo again, I would die a happy woman. That's saying something. That's saying something huge.
To close, it seems I've identified the bane of my existence, what's slowly killing my spirit from inside the brick, dreary, lifeless lawbrary walls. Now my task is to discover my element. A trip to Barnes & Noble is in order.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
The best possible worst-case scenario
Last time I left you with the worst-case scenario of what my next entry would be about - failure. Well, ladies and gentlemen, today I will be talking to you about failure. However, after some serious reflection, I hardly think it was the worst-case scenario.
I'm not saying last weekend's audition experience was by any means the best-case scenario, but it was definitely good for a lot of reasons.
First, I was reminded of what it's like to audition for a play. I felt the nerves and shivers that comes from anxiously waiting (in a frigid theater) for that one shot to show the directors that (1) you know the material, (2) you know how to deliver the material, and (3) you can deliver their material. I remembered what it feels like to utter lines to yourself over and over again until you either forget them because the words have lost all meaning or you know them so well that they become second nature. With the end of one sentence automatically comes the beginning of the next. Thankfully for me, I experienced the latter during the actual audition, although I had my fair share of forgetfulness in the hours immediately preceding the moment I took the stage. I delivered both my monologues flawlessly, and I felt great about my performance.
Second, I was reminded that I need to teach myself how to read music. I've dabbled in musical instruments, took piano lessons, and played the clarinet for three years, but all of those skills are long gone now, and I couldn't read a piece of music if my life depended on it. I've always been able to get by just by listening. I know I can't keep doing that, especially in an audition. I immediately tensed up as I heard the opening notes to my music selection, and, well, let's just say I'm glad Simon Cowell wasn't judging my singing ability at that moment. I probably would never have opened my mouth again if he had. Bottom line, though, it took guts for me to take the stage and sing my little 45-second ditty. I have guts.
Third, I was reminded how much I love to dance. I was a dancer in high school, but never had much in the way of formal training beyond a couple of years while I was 5 or 6. I just decided my freshman year of high school that I didn't want to be a cheerleader anymore, so I'd dance instead. And that's what I did. For four years I only counted up to 8, wore glittery costumes and bright red lipstick, and taught myself any of the technical elements I needed. It's been five years since I've laced up my dance shoes, and I don't own any proper apparel for "real" dance anymore. I was optimistic, though, and decided just to wing it.
The second I walked into the dance audition, I felt completely inadequate. All the girls had dance shoes. All of them. What did I have? $10 tennis shoes from Old Navy. Most of them had leotards. What did I have? Some spandex I bought in England and an old sorority T-shirt. All of their lips were coated in red lipstick. What did I have? Clear cinnamint lipgloss. So my first instinct is, "Shit. I'm screwed." I walked into the bathroom to change and decided to wear the spandex but to keep my shirt on that I wore to the first auditions earlier in the day. It passed as something someone would wear to dance in, and looked a lot better than a T-shirt. Then, by the grace of God, I found my only tube of obnoxious red lipgloss in my purse. Crisis #2 averted. But I still had an issue with my shoes. I walked into the audition room and began stretching, still wearing my tennis shoes. I scoped out the room, praying that someone would be wearing something other than ballet shoes or character shoes - to no avail. But I did see some girls with no shoes at all (Granted, all of these girls put on shoes later, but that's beside the point.). I thought to myself, "I can either wear these ridiculous shoes and be self-conscious the whole time I dance, or I can take them off and take this thing on barefoot." I went for the second option, kicked of the tennies, and began learning the dance combination. This leads me to the fourth thing I learned last weekend. I still got it.
It became evident that even though I haven't danced in years and I didn't have the shoes I should have, I can still break it down on the dance floor (or at least learn movements that correspond with 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8). When it was my turn to perform, I showed them my absolute best, and I know that I did well. The feeling I had as I walked off the dance floor was the best feeling I've had in years. It gave me the chills.
At the end of the night, call-backs were posted, and I had to endure the anxiety of searching for my name on the list of the chosen few. I searched. And searched. And searched one more time - praying I'd overlooked it. I hadn't. It wasn't there to find. I walked away with my shoulders slumped, my enthusiasm gone, and my eyes filled to the brink with tears. I don't like to cry when things don't go my way. I don't like to wallow in self-pity. But that night, after my name was nowhere to be found, I cried. And I cried. And I cried. I cried because I was disappointed in myself. I cried because I could have done better, could have tired harder, could have done something different. But then I cried for a completely different reason altogether. I cried because I had just had the best day in years, and the day was over. There weren't going to be more days like that in my immediate future. No rehearsals, no lines to learn, no dances to perform, no curtain calls... Instead? Casebooks, briefs, motions for summary judgment, the Lawbrary. I cried because I finally, finally had a chance to surround myself with what I really love, and I lost it. I cried because I had to go back to something I'm not interested in, something I'm not passionate about. I cried because the feelings I felt that day aren't going to come back anytime soon.
This is beginning to sound like it would be the worst-case scenario. But it's really not, I promise. My weekend shed some light - a lot of light - on my life and what I want to do with it. I'm going to keep reading these cases, keep pretending to be interested, keep doing the work, but I'm also going to keep auditioning, keep singing, keep dancing, keep holding onto that feeling I had last weekend - and to the dream I've had all my life.
Maybe it's not that I'm aimless, per se. I have a destination. Now I just need a map.
Third, I was reminded how much I love to dance. I was a dancer in high school, but never had much in the way of formal training beyond a couple of years while I was 5 or 6. I just decided my freshman year of high school that I didn't want to be a cheerleader anymore, so I'd dance instead. And that's what I did. For four years I only counted up to 8, wore glittery costumes and bright red lipstick, and taught myself any of the technical elements I needed. It's been five years since I've laced up my dance shoes, and I don't own any proper apparel for "real" dance anymore. I was optimistic, though, and decided just to wing it.
The second I walked into the dance audition, I felt completely inadequate. All the girls had dance shoes. All of them. What did I have? $10 tennis shoes from Old Navy. Most of them had leotards. What did I have? Some spandex I bought in England and an old sorority T-shirt. All of their lips were coated in red lipstick. What did I have? Clear cinnamint lipgloss. So my first instinct is, "Shit. I'm screwed." I walked into the bathroom to change and decided to wear the spandex but to keep my shirt on that I wore to the first auditions earlier in the day. It passed as something someone would wear to dance in, and looked a lot better than a T-shirt. Then, by the grace of God, I found my only tube of obnoxious red lipgloss in my purse. Crisis #2 averted. But I still had an issue with my shoes. I walked into the audition room and began stretching, still wearing my tennis shoes. I scoped out the room, praying that someone would be wearing something other than ballet shoes or character shoes - to no avail. But I did see some girls with no shoes at all (Granted, all of these girls put on shoes later, but that's beside the point.). I thought to myself, "I can either wear these ridiculous shoes and be self-conscious the whole time I dance, or I can take them off and take this thing on barefoot." I went for the second option, kicked of the tennies, and began learning the dance combination. This leads me to the fourth thing I learned last weekend. I still got it.
It became evident that even though I haven't danced in years and I didn't have the shoes I should have, I can still break it down on the dance floor (or at least learn movements that correspond with 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8). When it was my turn to perform, I showed them my absolute best, and I know that I did well. The feeling I had as I walked off the dance floor was the best feeling I've had in years. It gave me the chills.
At the end of the night, call-backs were posted, and I had to endure the anxiety of searching for my name on the list of the chosen few. I searched. And searched. And searched one more time - praying I'd overlooked it. I hadn't. It wasn't there to find. I walked away with my shoulders slumped, my enthusiasm gone, and my eyes filled to the brink with tears. I don't like to cry when things don't go my way. I don't like to wallow in self-pity. But that night, after my name was nowhere to be found, I cried. And I cried. And I cried. I cried because I was disappointed in myself. I cried because I could have done better, could have tired harder, could have done something different. But then I cried for a completely different reason altogether. I cried because I had just had the best day in years, and the day was over. There weren't going to be more days like that in my immediate future. No rehearsals, no lines to learn, no dances to perform, no curtain calls... Instead? Casebooks, briefs, motions for summary judgment, the Lawbrary. I cried because I finally, finally had a chance to surround myself with what I really love, and I lost it. I cried because I had to go back to something I'm not interested in, something I'm not passionate about. I cried because the feelings I felt that day aren't going to come back anytime soon.
This is beginning to sound like it would be the worst-case scenario. But it's really not, I promise. My weekend shed some light - a lot of light - on my life and what I want to do with it. I'm going to keep reading these cases, keep pretending to be interested, keep doing the work, but I'm also going to keep auditioning, keep singing, keep dancing, keep holding onto that feeling I had last weekend - and to the dream I've had all my life.
Maybe it's not that I'm aimless, per se. I have a destination. Now I just need a map.
Friday, February 11, 2011
I Don't Want Pie
I'm sitting in the lawbrary with my Property book glaring me in the face saying, "If you don't read me today, you have to take me home, and I'm really heavy." I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. Instead I'm going to talk to you. Shouldn't you feel special? I'm sacrificing my lumbar health for your reading pleasure. Yes, you should feel special. One more thing to add to your "Why I'm happy it's Friday" list.
Ok, down to business.
A couple of weeks ago, I spent some time with a friend from undergrad who has always inspired me. I spent her first year as a college student listening to her cry about mean sorority girls, waking her up when she fell asleep studying in the hall at 3 a.m., and taking in too many calories with her drinking Mocha Frappes at the campus coffee shop. She's wrapping up her junior year now, and instead of being her mentor, I now find myself being mentored. She has a wonderful way of making you feel like the most important person in the world, and she has a joy that emanates to a 50-mile radius. Anyway, while I was hanging out in her dorm room, I noticed a list taped to her desk. I asked her what it was, and she said it was a list of 21 things she wanted to do while she was 21. She was currently trying to find something to replace "Get scuba certified" because she knew it would be too expensive to get scuba certified, go skydiving AND ride in a hot air balloon. College kids' budgets just can't handle that much adventure.
Her list really got me thinking, and I thought to myself, "I just turned 23. I should have a list." So I've begun my list of 23 things I'm going to do while I'm 23. I have about 13-14 right now, as I'm seriously contemplating my year-long bucket list, so to speak. I thought having (and checking off) goals on such a list would bring a little more "aim" to my life and help me figure out what truly makes me happy. One of the top goals is to run a half-marathon. I ran my first "long run" today of six miles, and I have to say that six hours later the endorphins are still pumping. We'll see if they can last through my Civil Procedure class. The scope and limitations of discovery might kill them all, but I'm optimistic (maybe because of all the endorphins). But that's not what this is about...
This is: Another goal I have that I didn't put on my list because I had already decided to do this before the whole list thing is to audition for a play. I didn't put it on my list because I feel like that's a cheap freebie, like writing "Brush teeth" on a check off to-do list. You're going to brush your teeth anyway, so you shouldn't get any kind of satisfaction from crossing that one off. (If you're one of those folks to whom brushing your teeth is a big deal, maybe you should get off the computer and grab some Colgate.) All of that to say: Tomorrow I'm auditioning for three shows. I've picked my monologues and my song, took my headshots, sent in my application, and now I just have to convince the directors that (a) I have talent and (b) I'm cute. As long as my hair straightener works tomorrow and I don't break out overnight, I'd say I've got (b) covered. We'll see how (a) goes tomorrow.
Now you may be wondering, "Why is a law student auditioning for a play?" Good question. It may make more sense if I tell you that I was originally a theatre major in college. I grew up a little actress, constantly dressing up, quoting movies, and being as dramatic as possible. And I was good, too. So why did I give it up? Stability. I wanted a job where I knew I would make money and not waste my intellect and potential waiting tables and going to auditions in anticipation of my "big break." I'm far too logical to take that risk. The cost-benefit analysis speaks for itself. But now, after hours of being sedentary every day as I read case after case and line after line of information I'm not remotely interested in, taking a shot at acting doesn't seem so bad. In fact, it sounds like the best idea. A professor of mine once said, "Graduating from law school is like winning a pie-eating contest where the prize is more pie." I don't want pie. I won't take pie.
So tomorrow I'm rejecting the pie and going for what I really want to do, what I really love. I may fall flat on my face (literally; there's a dance audition), but I am putting myself out there, and that is what matters. I have no expectations, but I also have no doubt that this is the right thing to do.
I may regret writing this post as it requires I follow up on the events of tomorrow, and there's a 50/50 chance that I'll be writing about failure, something I fear and despise more than anything. But right now, that's a chance I'm willing to take.
Ok, down to business.
A couple of weeks ago, I spent some time with a friend from undergrad who has always inspired me. I spent her first year as a college student listening to her cry about mean sorority girls, waking her up when she fell asleep studying in the hall at 3 a.m., and taking in too many calories with her drinking Mocha Frappes at the campus coffee shop. She's wrapping up her junior year now, and instead of being her mentor, I now find myself being mentored. She has a wonderful way of making you feel like the most important person in the world, and she has a joy that emanates to a 50-mile radius. Anyway, while I was hanging out in her dorm room, I noticed a list taped to her desk. I asked her what it was, and she said it was a list of 21 things she wanted to do while she was 21. She was currently trying to find something to replace "Get scuba certified" because she knew it would be too expensive to get scuba certified, go skydiving AND ride in a hot air balloon. College kids' budgets just can't handle that much adventure.
Her list really got me thinking, and I thought to myself, "I just turned 23. I should have a list." So I've begun my list of 23 things I'm going to do while I'm 23. I have about 13-14 right now, as I'm seriously contemplating my year-long bucket list, so to speak. I thought having (and checking off) goals on such a list would bring a little more "aim" to my life and help me figure out what truly makes me happy. One of the top goals is to run a half-marathon. I ran my first "long run" today of six miles, and I have to say that six hours later the endorphins are still pumping. We'll see if they can last through my Civil Procedure class. The scope and limitations of discovery might kill them all, but I'm optimistic (maybe because of all the endorphins). But that's not what this is about...
This is: Another goal I have that I didn't put on my list because I had already decided to do this before the whole list thing is to audition for a play. I didn't put it on my list because I feel like that's a cheap freebie, like writing "Brush teeth" on a check off to-do list. You're going to brush your teeth anyway, so you shouldn't get any kind of satisfaction from crossing that one off. (If you're one of those folks to whom brushing your teeth is a big deal, maybe you should get off the computer and grab some Colgate.) All of that to say: Tomorrow I'm auditioning for three shows. I've picked my monologues and my song, took my headshots, sent in my application, and now I just have to convince the directors that (a) I have talent and (b) I'm cute. As long as my hair straightener works tomorrow and I don't break out overnight, I'd say I've got (b) covered. We'll see how (a) goes tomorrow.
Now you may be wondering, "Why is a law student auditioning for a play?" Good question. It may make more sense if I tell you that I was originally a theatre major in college. I grew up a little actress, constantly dressing up, quoting movies, and being as dramatic as possible. And I was good, too. So why did I give it up? Stability. I wanted a job where I knew I would make money and not waste my intellect and potential waiting tables and going to auditions in anticipation of my "big break." I'm far too logical to take that risk. The cost-benefit analysis speaks for itself. But now, after hours of being sedentary every day as I read case after case and line after line of information I'm not remotely interested in, taking a shot at acting doesn't seem so bad. In fact, it sounds like the best idea. A professor of mine once said, "Graduating from law school is like winning a pie-eating contest where the prize is more pie." I don't want pie. I won't take pie.
So tomorrow I'm rejecting the pie and going for what I really want to do, what I really love. I may fall flat on my face (literally; there's a dance audition), but I am putting myself out there, and that is what matters. I have no expectations, but I also have no doubt that this is the right thing to do.
I may regret writing this post as it requires I follow up on the events of tomorrow, and there's a 50/50 chance that I'll be writing about failure, something I fear and despise more than anything. But right now, that's a chance I'm willing to take.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
"Poor" and "Aimless" defined
Since graduating from college, I have learned several very important lessons: Ramen noodles should not be part of any food pyramid approved in the past, present or future, naps were never a waste of time, and the relationships and memories I made are more important than any lecture I sat through in my four years as an undergraduate. Perhaps the most unexpected nugget of truth I acquired, though, is this: College gives you the tools to do whatever you want to do, but it doesn't choose for you what it is you are going to do.
I imagine my college experience being this magnificent airplane tour of the world, where I see all of these beautiful places out the window and can't wait to land, so I can explore the terrain. Except instead of making a smooth landing, I have to jump out of the back door and hope, first, that my parachute opens and, second, that I have what I need to survive wherever it is I find myself once I am on two feet again.
Thankfully for me, the parachute did open, and I have begun a post-graduate career as a law student (thus the "poor" in the title of my blog). However, I am not one of the power-hungry, networking-obsessed, casebook-engrossed students you see living in the lawbrary 24 hours a day. No, I'm the one militantly resisting the gloomy room full of books no one has touched since the creation of Westlaw and LexisNexis databases and the one who responds to the question, "What kind of law do you want to practice?" with the unheard of answer, "I don't want to practice law." That's right. I don't want to practice law. You can pick your chin up from your keyboard now. You're getting drool on it.
Now, I suppose you understand the "aimless" portion in my blog title.
Most of the time, after people hear my answer, they immediately ask why I am in law school if I don't want to be a lawyer, and so far I have yet to come up with a satisfying answer. The truth of the matter is I never wanted to be a lawyer, but I always found law fascinating, so I came to law school to learn. I didn't come to compete or be ranked or raise my hand more than everyone else in the class. I came to learn for learning's sake, and I suppose I will continue to do so until I either succumb to becoming a lawyer or find something less aimless to do with my time.
I have already considered some options, and they will follow, but I don't want to purge myself of all my good ideas so early on, so I will leave you in suspense for now. This is simply an introduction to my blog, a speed-date of sorts for all those who peruse the blogosphere. There will be stories of my aimless wanderings, law school anecdotes, and a fair amount of cynicism.
But I vow never to refer to Snooki, Pauly D, or The Situation (other than right now), so that in itself is promising, right?
I imagine my college experience being this magnificent airplane tour of the world, where I see all of these beautiful places out the window and can't wait to land, so I can explore the terrain. Except instead of making a smooth landing, I have to jump out of the back door and hope, first, that my parachute opens and, second, that I have what I need to survive wherever it is I find myself once I am on two feet again.
Thankfully for me, the parachute did open, and I have begun a post-graduate career as a law student (thus the "poor" in the title of my blog). However, I am not one of the power-hungry, networking-obsessed, casebook-engrossed students you see living in the lawbrary 24 hours a day. No, I'm the one militantly resisting the gloomy room full of books no one has touched since the creation of Westlaw and LexisNexis databases and the one who responds to the question, "What kind of law do you want to practice?" with the unheard of answer, "I don't want to practice law." That's right. I don't want to practice law. You can pick your chin up from your keyboard now. You're getting drool on it.
Now, I suppose you understand the "aimless" portion in my blog title.
Most of the time, after people hear my answer, they immediately ask why I am in law school if I don't want to be a lawyer, and so far I have yet to come up with a satisfying answer. The truth of the matter is I never wanted to be a lawyer, but I always found law fascinating, so I came to law school to learn. I didn't come to compete or be ranked or raise my hand more than everyone else in the class. I came to learn for learning's sake, and I suppose I will continue to do so until I either succumb to becoming a lawyer or find something less aimless to do with my time.
I have already considered some options, and they will follow, but I don't want to purge myself of all my good ideas so early on, so I will leave you in suspense for now. This is simply an introduction to my blog, a speed-date of sorts for all those who peruse the blogosphere. There will be stories of my aimless wanderings, law school anecdotes, and a fair amount of cynicism.
But I vow never to refer to Snooki, Pauly D, or The Situation (other than right now), so that in itself is promising, right?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)