The Bane of My Existence

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.