Stay of Execution

August Cucumber

Remind me when I'm not rushing off to NYC to tell you about the time I was eating oysters and the oyster guy told me to notice how the taste of this one kind of oyster was just like an August cucumber, and indeed it was, wet and fresh and tasting the tiniest bit of earth and water.  And how that reminds me of tasting wine with people who know the language, so they can mention the raisin or the rust or the toast in the taste and suddenly a flavor that would have just slipped by becomes something I notice and savor and experience.  And how that makes me aware of all the things I don't have the language for, and how they sort of move past me in an indiscriminate blur, even if I am trying to notice and feel and articulate nuances.  Without the words it's hard to grab an idea or a notion or an impression before it's gone.  I have been listening to a musician who is really super talented musically, although only so-so lyrically.  And I'm trying to capture for myself what I am digging about the music, and it's something about complexity and layering and something else that all I can do is go "aha! there it is" when it happens and it makes me wish I knew the language of music, because the experience without words and names for the moments I'm trying to notice is like trying to tie a knot with mittens on.

Start Spreading The News.....

I'm heading to NYC today, for a couple of days.  New Years Eve plans still officially up in the air, but I'm leaning towards getting out of the city before the big night and finding something quieter between NYC and here.  I may be persuaded otherwise by my friends.  We'll see.

Not sure if I'll get to write much, although I'll be hanging with Rufus and with Jeremy, and perhaps Tony too, if we can get our schedules to work.  And my traveling companions are the great Gates of the Mountains bloggers.  The great thing about NYC is how many good friends are all gathered there.   

Happy New Year, if I don't talk to you before.   

Not Much To Say

Today I realized that all of my CDs had been stolen out of my car.  My whole collection -- three of those pouches with lots of CD sleeves, plus a 20 CD sleeve that was usually on my sun visor, but that I'd taken off so I could show my teenage cousins my musical taste.  (Amazingly, my teenage cousins seem to think I'm cool, and wanted to have serious conversation with me about music, which mostly involved me going, hmm, nope, never heard of them.)  So I was really bummed out about that, and I was thinking about whether the RIAA would consider it an act of theft if I burned myself new copies of the stolen CDs from my digital music collection.  And I was wondering if this means that I need to start locking my car, which would be an enormous hassle and would, more importantly, be a mental capitulation to the idea that Portland's not this friendly small town.  And I was wondering which of my CDs, if any, aren't on my digital collection, and was chiding myself to make sure to burn all of them from now on just in case something like this happens again.

And then, like an idiot, I saw that I was wrong, and there all the CDs were, safe and sound on my backseat.  I'd looked all around the car, but clearly I was not looking properly because they were there all along.

And suddenly I felt like I was having a great day, like I'd just been given a valuable gift -- all my favorite CDs!  For me, to keep and have!  Hooray!  My faith in humanity was restored and I'm so excited to have all this music again.  No locking the doors for me. 

All Request Day: Deceptive Blog Practices

Yeoman Lawyer emails requesting a response to his post and an analysis of the whole Anonymous Lawyer phenomenon.  He wonders whether anonymous blogging is harmful.  He seems to identify two kinds of betrayal -- the betrayal of a blog's readers, who can never tell how much of it is fiction, and the betrayal of the profession by anonymous bloggers who speak truthfully about the ugly side of the profession in ways they wouldn't do if they were attributed.  He suggests that some of my readers may feel betrayed by my flirtation with a fictitous blog. 

Here's what I think.  The blog as a medium, at least now in these early days, carries an inherent credibility.  The human voice speaks across a blog in a way that we don't see in many other places.  We respond to that -- we form friendships, we develop blog crushes.  We believe we have a sense of other bloggers from their persistent voice. 

Does that mean blog authors have a responsibility or an obligation not to misuse that inherent credibility?  I'm not sure.  I've felt it, from time to time.  I feel guilty sometimes keeping secrets from y'all.  Although I try to write authentically and truthfully, there's plenty that I omit, and I am aware of those omissions.  But I think my standard for authenticity is very, very high.  I think other bloggers are far more deliberate in the voices and fragments they present; no reader of such blogs will believe they are getting anything other than a purposeful contrivance.  So there's little betrayal in omissions or embroideries in those kinds of blogs.  I think Anonymous Lawyer's disclosure that it was fictional met such an obligation to its readers, if one exists. 

Anonymous Lawyer, and my own little dabbling into blog fiction beside it, tells me there is great potential in the medium.  I wanted to recruit Evan and Rufus, and get them to start fictitious blogs of characters within the same law firm -- AL's gossipy secretary, perhaps, and a wide-eyed first year associate, or the fellow who delivers the interoffice mail.  We could have had a collaborative soap opera, with each character reporting on similar events in the same space from a unique point of view.  Readers who read all four blogs would have a great daily drama to look forward to.  I couldn't figure out how to build a readership without giving away the fiction of the Becky Turtle / Anonymous Lawyer gig (an essential premise was that Becky Turtle knew about AL's blog, but he didn't know about hers), but I see the medium as being virtually untapped.  You can do some really fun writing with the blog form.  I don't think it all needs to be personal, revealing, and truthful.  That's not the way any other written medium is; no reason blogs should be.   

As far as Yeoman's question of whether the profession is ill-served by anonymous blogging, which grants an unattributed author the opportunity to speak more freely, and more critically, about the profession than anyone might do publicly?  I don't buy it.  I believe in transparency.  I don't think the public or the profession is well-served by a fear-driven silence, or a public front that admits no warts.  If the only way for lawyers to write critically about the profession and their experiences is to do so anonymously, I think anonymity is worthwhile. I do think that those who need the protection of anonymity to speak their own truth should examine carefully why they've chosen lives where they can't speak freely.  But I don't at all believe that we, as a profession, should only say nice things about it in public.  That's silly. 

All Request Day: Girly Stuff

First, let me say that I'm not very girly.  I'm a late blooming girl.  I'm still learning a lot about girliness.  For example, last night I just learned that I should be using light eyeliner on my top lid, because it will bring out light eyes.  I had to ask whether my blue eyes qualify as light.   I was told they do.  I've been very proud of myself wearing a nice smoky brown eyeliner and now need to cash it in for a light one.  Live and learn. 

I think I'll direct my readers who want to read girly posts to This Fish, and to Stephanie Klein.  They're both excellent writers and a kind of feminine that I'm not. 

My own girly thoughts have been a hodgepodge.  I've noticed that mousse makes my hair look good for a few hours and then really bad later in the day -- flyaway and stringy  Is it better to have flat but shiny clean hair all day, or a flippy full style for half a day?  I've been considering cream eyeshadow.  I suspect the new birth control pill I'm on of making me feel sadder, more fragile.  I rediscovered a bra that I used to love at the bottom of my underwear trunk and have been delighted to reintroduce it into circulation.  And, since it's winter, there are lots of camisoles to wear under sweaters, and considerations about whether it's acceptable for a little border of camisole to peek out from under.  There are the usual moisturizer dilemmas.  Etc. 

And then there are boys.  There's been a little activity of late, some flirtatious overtures from hither and yon.  Enough to have me alert and confused, and to trigger a bunch of reactions in me.  I'm not sure I like my dating self.  I am critical and indecisive and defensive and alternately vulnerable and careless, impatient and skittish.  It's not the me I am most of the time -- in other areas I'm more generous, more playful, more relaxed.  I've been listening to my own inner narrative and can't tell if this is a set of outmoded defense mechanisms that I should dump, or the manifestation of a promise I made to myself when I got out of a long, lousy relationship that I would never again ignore the little voices of doubt in my own head. 

I've been thinking, too, about the Ghosts of Boyfriends Past.  This is part of my pondering about failure.  If I'm not going to be afraid to fail this year, what does that mean, exactly?  What do I consider failures thus far in my life?  The answers that are most resonant involve boys.  They're not so much failures as much as missed opportunities, risks not taken.  I should have taken the year after law school to go off sailing in the Bahamas with the surfer.  I should have followed the scientist, my first love, to the West Coast after college, to see if that could have worked.   I should have realized, before it was too late, that the really handsome one was, in fact, smart enough. 

All Request Day: Interviewing Pitfalls

David asks me what to avoid during law firm interviews, and what to watch for.  My brain is sort of empty on this topic, so I should send you to some better sources of information.  But I wrote a bit about how to approach job hunting in a small legal market here. 

Essentially, I approached interviewing pretty straightforwardly.  I tried to know something about the firm, and to do my homework beforehand.  I didn't always succeed.  My philosophy was that I didn't want to "trick" anyone into hiring me -- that seems a recipe for disaster.  So I tried to be myself, and to ask reasonably straightforward questions.  E.g. one firm asked where I wanted to be in five years and I told them I wanted to be living on Peaks Island in Casco Bay.  (It's a commutable distance, so the answer didn't eliminate me from consideration.)  They were expecting something more professional.  I confessed that I don't think about my career that way, because I turn out to be a poor long-term predicter of the path my interests will take.  They seemed to think that made sense. 

My last question was usually, "What questions would I be asking you if I knew more about this process?"  Sometimes that yields interesting answers. 

All Request Day: Friendships

Woman of the Law asks me to blog some thoughts about friendships and how they develop and change over time. 

I've been thinking about friendships a bunch these days, although I'm not sure I have anything profound to say about the topic.  It's the one area of my life that doesn't confuse me at all.  I have great friends, and lots of them.  I keep making more, and I hang on to the old ones.  It's easy for me to make friends.  I feel known, seen, loved, respected, wanted.  Even as my confidence about my professional path teeters, and my trepidation about romantic possibilities waxes and wanes, I feel great about my social life.  Thank goodness for this, I think.  It makes a lot of things easier.  I realize, for example, that the outside world doesn't care very much what I do for a living.  I don't need to be achieving Big Things to have the love and acceptance and respect of my friends.  This is basic, I know, but you'd be surprised at how wonderfully freeing it is to really, truly feel it.  My friends don't care that I don't have any money.  They make me laugh when I'm feeling trembly and sad.  It's neat.  I feel like I fit in my life because of the strength of my social network.

It wasn't always like this.  When I moved down to Portland from the middle of nowhere in 1998, I was pretty isolated, within a small and crumbling relationship.  I only had a couple of friends in law school, and my best friends from college and childhood were scattered across the country.   My boyfriend at the time was very guarded and I led a pretty circumscribed life.  Looking back sometimes I can hardly recognize myself.  It took me a couple of years to build a tribe of friends here that felt real and compelling. 

I think the biggest thing I've learned about friendships is to say what you want to say.  Ask the question that you want to know the answer to, even if it's scary or embarrassing.   I learned that the hard way, when a dear friend was raped.  I thought about it a lot, and had a million questions.  My friend walked around sad, and it broke my heart, but I was too scared to ask her anything real.  I was afraid of the answers, maybe, but I was also afraid that I might bring up the topic when she was thinking of something else and ruin her day.  Instead I tried to dwell on happy things and kept our friendship at a surface level that was rotten for both of us.  The longer this went on the guiltier and more estranged I felt, and the wider the gulf I didn't know how to cross.  Luckily my friend saved me, and in a tearful conversation she said, "I'm always thinking about this.  I don't want to be alone with it.  I don't want it to separate me from you."  And I realized my clumsiness and fear was really small compared to my desire to be close to her.   Not long after, a dear friend's mother was dying.  And I felt the same bafflement and shyness, the same not knowing what to say.  But I charged in and asked all the questions I was scared to ask, and even though the conversation was painful and scary, my friend's response was gratitude.   It was a big life lesson for me.  People want to be known.  And if you're trying, with love and sincerity, to know them, it's hard to screw things up, even if the words aren't happy or easy. 

As for friendships changing over time, I don't have too much to say about that.  Of course they do.  Sometimes I'm in close orbit with a friend, and other times we're loosely connected.  That feels okay to me.  I love people pretty easily, and I don't need very many people.  I'm not wedded to a particular form of a relationship with anyone.  So although from time to time I feel disappointed by a friend, I've rarely felt betrayed or angry.   Generally, it feels pretty easy and fluid for me to move from an active super-in-touch friendship to a mode where we check in from time to time and look forward to the rare occasions when our paths cross. 

Note To Self

After walking outside for four or five hours, your body cannot take drinking whiskey and half a bottle of wine or more, and staying up late.  You woke up feeling under the weather last week, and this morning's sore throat appeared out of nowhere.  This is not a coincidence.  Even if you take a nap before you go out, you just can't stay up late.  Water and an early curfew next time.  For today, hot tea and a blanket around the shoulders. 

All Request Monday

All I feel like writing about these days is really girly stuff, topics I don't blog about.  Mostly about boys, and dating, and my observations, musings, and regrets.  But also about hair and clothes and personal care products and feminine wiles.  I keep having to rein myself in.   That sort of thing is nobody's business but mine. 

So let's open this blog up for requests.   I have a couple of old ones that came in after the last AR Day sitting in my email box that I'll tend to shortly.  If you have a question or something you'd like to hear more about, I'll respond as honestly as I can. 

Tired

I walked 20 miles today.  It took me almost five hours.  I walked the first five miles with my dog, then headed out on a long journey alone.  I talked to a couple of friends on the phone, but was facing the cold winds and the 16 degree temperature by myself.  My legs were really tired by about mile 8 or 9.  I ate a couple of granola bars at mile 12, where I got to a monument by the ocean.  I raised my right hand, hooted into the windy waves, and began the long trek home.  I've been feasting on leftovers and now am going to take a quick little nap before going out to watch football with friends.