Four months of waiting is over

A friend reminded me that I have not yet told you about the Bar results.  I took the California Bar Exam at the end of July, and immediately after I tried very hard to forget all about it.  I came home from a long trip on the day results were posted, November 21. Even that one day seemed interminable as I waited, but eventually it was 6pm and time to look at the list.

So much was riding on passing the bar, making it difficult to view it with any kind of perspective.  As the day crawled past, I pulled further and further inward, seeking solitude in the last hour before results were released.

And then, there it was.  My name, on the pass list.  What a huge relief it was, and then almost immediately, the realization that now nothing stands in the way of being a lawyer except me.  This going out and getting a job thing, that's scary too.  It seems that one success just leads to a new challenge, new stomach-churning moments.

For a minute one day this week, I realized that even this is not all that big.  It too will fade, and even if I can't find a job right away, life will somehow go on.  If only I could hang on to that perspective, I would.  But it slipped from my fingers almost as quickly as it came.

This blog was meant to chronicle the story of my law school experience, and here we are at the very end of that road.  Life of course will carry on, but it's time for this blog to lay its proverbial head down and rest. Taking its place will be a new venue to discuss legal topics and far flung peripherals, if this blog is any indication.  I'll come back here to post the link for the new blog once it's up and running.  Thank you for your attention to my four years of incoherent ramblings.

So Hercules and Sisyphus went for a walk...

I decided to count the rows of tables this morning, because my computer was all set up and I had time to kill.  39 rows of 30.  That's a lot of bar takers.  Plus those in Santa Clara, Sacramento, San Diego, LA and maybe someplace else.  Statistically we can't all pass.  But it eludes me how to tell who is who.

The mood in the room has altered perceptibly today.  Part of it is that we have all gotten somewhat familiar with our assigned seatmates but mostly it's the realization that we are almost done.  The head proctor had no difficulty gaining our attention on Tuesday, but by noon today he had to ask us to quiet down.  1,100 plus of us, almost done.  Hard to sit quietly with all that going on.  Whether we have done enough to pass is an open question, but all that remains now is one 3 hour PT.

And then a drink or two and discovery of what lies beyond his herculean task.

I don't feel great about how I've done, nor do I feel I've surely failed.  I'm somewhere in I-don't-know-and-I-won't-know-for-four-months.  Well, fuck.  I knew this was coming but I like it less now that it's here.  Still, I have a rational understanding of the gift of this thing.  Having done this, I know I am capable of more.  And having to wait to learn the results is the only thing that makes my planned trip possible.  So I shall stop whining shortly.  In a little while.

I wish it done

I was asleep by 9 last night, and good thing, because I was awake this morning before 4.  It turns out that Peet's doesn't open until 5:30, but the early morning was pleasant as I waited on the plaza steps.  I drank my coffee, reviewed my outline and people watched, nodded to the music in my headphones and sometimes fretted.

I am trying to forget the last two days and focus on today-easy to say and a little harder to do.  I don't know if I've done enough to pass, and I have a feeling that the ease I thought I'd find after this is over will be pockmarked with a new worry-what if I didn't pass?  Already I can think of things I should have said, should not have said, MBE's I am sure I got wrong.  Ahhh...the joy of the experience escapes me this morning.

I can see why people seek out others who also have just taken the exam, so that they can alternately disassemble the experience piece by piece, and then reassemble it into something they can live with for four months.  On the other hand, part of me is tempted to avoid them altogether.  What use is such false assurance anyway?  Besides, I'm frightened of the abyss that is rimmed by realization that I missed something big.

I worked so hard for this, I can't imagine how I could have done it better.  Which begs the question of what to do if I don't pass this thing.  That question will have to wait, because I still have a job to do.

Time to step over the edge of today.

Day two

I spent the early morning walking around my neighborhood some more, and then sitting at Peet's, reading about permaculture and chicken evisceration, among other things.  Why?  Because for a short time it removes me utterly from my purpose in being here, to take the CA state bar exam. 

Day two awaits, slightly less daunting than day one, if only because it is not entirely new now.  It also helps my nerves a bit that today is all MBE's.  They are not easy, and a full day of them will no doubt be very tiring as each requires a new investment of energy and mental process.  But the risk is spread over 200 questions rather than a few.  Not knowing a particular answer is not quite so devastating to my mental well-being, and probably doesn't harm my chances of passing so very much.

I've heard so many stories about people vomiting or crying or running from the room in these exams.  So far, no drama that I'm aware of.  Of course there are about 1,000 people in the room, so I don't know what's going on way over there.  I feel older here than I did in law school, so many of the bar takers are in their 20's, fresh from undergrad plus three years of law school.  For once my age serves me well, as I can draw on some real life practice at managing nerves and crisis.  Still, I do feel a bit like an interloper.

I am steadfastly refusing to talk about the questions, other than to say the general topics, because I can't afford the emotional chaos that will result if I hear that someone saw an issue that I did not, or that I talked about one that wasn't really there.  I need all the confidence I can muster going into Thursday, so I'm wearing my virtual blinders and ear muffs, and moving forward.

I went for a walk yesterday after the exam, and it was lovely.  All the stress had temporarily dropped away, and I was in a city I don't know, gone walkabout as so many times before.  This morning, as the time to start draws near, my gut begins to clench, and I have to remember to breathe.  I suppose each day will be like this.

Examsoft had a problem yesterday, with bar takers all across the country unable to upload their exams.  I would have been freaked out by it, but I had uploaded my morning exams during lunch, so I knew there wasn't a problem with my account or setup.  And then I heard fairly soon after not being able to upload last evening that everyone was having the same problem.  Still, it was a load off my shoulders when it finally went about 8:30 last night.  

Time to beard the lion in its den.

the day before

The last couple of weeks has been a welcome respite from the anxiety I felt previously over the bar exam.  This morning once again my mind is free to worry because I don't have definite tasks in front of me.  I'm told that I need to rest today, and that makes sense.  A three day test is nothing if not an endurance test.  Still, my mind hasn't gotten the message and since it's not engaged in today's topic, small things start to surface.

I'm sure it would be entertaining to survey a large group of bar-takers, but for me the worries seem to center on my computer malfunctioning. I really don't want to have to handwrite the exam.  I suppose if it wasn't that, it would be something else.  Oddly, I worried less each day the exam got closer about actually knowing the law.

The plan calls for some diversion this morning, and travel to Oakland midday.  My cup of coffee calls from Peet's, and the day commences.

periodic and intermittent

After this, then what?  I've been so busy trying to scale this mountain that it's easy to push the thought of the other side away.  I can readily justify putting it off, so much is required today-for the next step, the next hours.  I'll take the bar exam next week, and then wait four months for the results- a sort of limbo.

I was talking with my friend last evening, and we happened on to the topic of life after the Bar.  When you are 21 or 25, it's perhaps acceptable to take a sabbatical from grown up life.  But I've been either Mom or wage-earner so long that the thought feels illicit, foolish and a little frightening.

Yet why?   This time in front of me is a rare gift, it will pass so quickly, and will never come again. Perhaps I'll have such time if/when I retire but that is a long way off, and my ability to go on far adventures at that point is, at best, uncertain.  I feel slightly embarrassed, as though I must explain myself, but I wish I did not feel so.

This trip I'm planning is in accord with who I am, my view of life, with my priorities.  I do not wish to play it safe and end with regret for not having tried.  If I were that person, I'd never have gone to law school in the first place.  I sometimes wish that adulthood did not also mean the end of unmitigated joy.  And yet that very characteristic is part of what makes intermittent joy so precious.

opposites or not

I had expected my anxiety to increase as the bar exam grew closer, but oddly this has not been the case.  In fact, about two weeks out I came upon what I thought was the eye of the storm.  A mixture of calm resignation and dogged onwardness.

I can't say that the anxiety doesn't continue to raise its head, because it does.  And I dream-a lot.  But some sort of undertone of either capacity or foolish belief has taken hold, and I feel it too, along with the worry.

This combination makes for an odd coupling-like most, I suppose.  At variance and yet accustomed to the other's presence so that both end up part of the other.  I am unable at times to separate the dance in my head and see who is who.

I know I will miss it when the music ends.

Accoutrements and excess baggage

I like to travel light-I'm a believer in what someone once said (I've forgotten who) about the joys of travel being inversely proportionate to the amount of baggage.  But these days are a different kind of journey.

What is required to study for the bar exam?  Well, there's my laptop, which has a lot of my notes and practice exams, plus it provides access to Barbri's web site.  And then I need a bag to carry it in.  And the power cord.  And books, several of them. Notebooks full of notes I will probably never look at again, but I might need that today. And lunch, and coffee, and my water bottle.  And kleenex and my ipod-not that those two are related, exactly.

You see where I'm going with this.  How much do I really need?  At what point do I realize I can't possibly use all the things I just carted in from the trunk of my car, which is currently serving as my 'office'?  Well, no, that's not my question.  More importantly, when is it too much to carry in one trip?

If I were a more disciplined person, I could just study at home and then all this schlepping would be unnecessary.  But I'm not, so instead I've gotten good at carrying it all at once.

Jack's view on things

Do snails have teeth?

Today when the alarm went off, I hit the snooze and decided I needed sleep more than a run.  But the chickens called and I got up anyway.  I'm sitting in the classroom now, listening to Kate Wolf, contemplating all that I should do.  My body aches in various places, the coffee's cooling in my cup, and I know I should be trying to commit equitable defenses to memory, or making sure I have Pereira and Van Camp down.  Yet still I just sit here.  Soon enough the day will commence in earnest, so I'll sit here like a snail on the basil in my garden.  It looks like I'm doing nothing but I'm really getting ready.

To whom much is given

We are 20 days from the first day of the CA bar exam, and I am fluctuating daily between terror and some level of confidence that I'll be able to fake whatever I don't know.  We are all dreaming about the bar, fighting sleeplessness and other physical, mental and emotional manifestations of this extended stress.

A fellow bar prepper shared an article from a law professor who bi-annually makes predictions about what will be on the bar exam-there are 14 subjects and they can't give us essays on all of them.    

In wrapping up his specific suggestions about what to be prepared for, the professor talks about how fortunate we are to have the opportunities for education that we have, and how that compares to the rest of the world.  

He says that many people in the world can't even read or write because even basic education is denied them based on their ethnicity or gender, or because their parent cannot afford the fees.  I can't vouch for the stats he quotes, but the underlying message rings true.  He says that approximately 793MM people in the world are illiterate, and most of them are women. (Professor John Heilman, Southwestern Law School)

I'd say this will stop my whining, refocus me on what matters and elevate my thinking to a higher plane.  Of course it won't, at least not for an extended period of time.  But it has the effect just now of quieting my mind and helping me look past myself for a moment.  There's a whole big world out there.

the words roll off my tongue

Severally, jointly, or in the alternative

Poetry, isn't it?

gratitude

These halcyon days of bar prep are marching inexorably to a close.  Only three weeks now.  I took a little field trip to Oakland yesterday to scope out the location, and my nearby hotel.  My laptop is registered and so am I.  All that remains is three weeks of full on memorization, practice exams and MBE's.

Time to pause for a moment today and be grateful for this experience and for this time.  It's a hollowed out space in the vast sand dunes of life, where I can burrow in and pull a blanket over my head, protection against the coastal winds, and the vagaries of weather.

As happens whenever I contemplate the actual exam, my heart races, anxiety roars up like a wild thing.  And I try to remember to come to this place where my quiet terror meets with some perspective.  This is a big thing- for me at least, but there are other, more difficult battles being waged daily, endlessly, around me.  I saw a face this morning on my run that reminded me that many face challenges not of their choosing.  I am blessed.

dependent relative revocation

Makes you wonder, doesn't it? Who comes up with these names?  It's a sort of "oops, can I have a do-over?" legal doctrine.  We move on to Wills and Trusts, and on again to Professional Responsibility.  And on.  The line up seems endless.  What began as an attempt to keep up in assimilating the onslaught has come to this:  a whimpering child slunk down behind the garbage can, hoping for an end soon to the snowballs flung by the neighborhood bully.  When will they run out of snow over there?

Alas, this thing has been done before, so surely it can be done again.  We mark ourselves against each other, against the national averages, we cringe at missed issues in an exam, and wonder how it was we could forget so much.  We laugh about the daily, almost hourly crisis of confidence that is followed by a sense of competency, followed yet again by darkness and doom.  I can't, I must, I will, oh shit.  All in a day's work.

Copycat

They say there's nothing new under the sun.  I think they may be on to something, because while each new revelation appears as a new and exciting discovery to me, I inevitably find it laid out in someone else's words, written long before I stumbled on to the life altering (for a second) truth.

Take this, for instance:  "Failure (or success) -- or at least the prospect of failure (or success) -- is what gives the journey proper context, rich consistency, and towering emotional, physical, financial and spiritual stakes that fertilize the soul for quantum growth irrespective of outcome. And growth is everything. But it can only result from earnest investment in experience." from http://www.huffingtonpost.com/rich-roll/stop-life-hacking_b_5522006.html. 

I've been talking about the experience of law school, the journey of these past four years.  I definitely had a concrete goal of finishing, and while that is tremendously gratifying, I discovered that it was in the process that I found the real reward, the things that I will carry with me.  I discovered a love of the law, of mulling over a philosophical aspect of justice.  I savored those discussions with Peter, Jean, Abigail, Dave, and others.  I found in myself the whatever-it-is that made me dig down deep and push forward when it just seemed like too much, to stay with it and test what I could do.  That alone was worth the price of admission, but I got so much more.  Most of all, I got the day to day experience of the hard work, the fun, the joy and the sorrow, the aliveness of fully inhabiting my days.

". . . not a day goes by that I don't feel tremendous gratitude for the process endured to arrive at those seminal moments in my life . . ." (see above)

 I'm not the first to pass this way, I see signs of those who have walked ahead of me.  I may be lost, but I'm not the only one.

Keep your boots on

It's been a long week, and it's only Wednesday.  But at last, a break in the clouds gives a hint of sun above.  It's temporary but it energizes my step and pushes me forward.  I suppose it helps that a) I broke down around 4pm and got a Pepsi, and b) the new subject for tomorrow is agency and partnership, then corporations on Friday.  I dearly love this area of the law, and it's a welcome respite from criminal procedure and evidence.

I will have to return to those less exciting areas of law a great deal in the coming month, because of course they are the areas I know least.  But just this little recess is refreshing.

The bloom is off the rose by now, and it's pure slog.  Not surprising but painful anyway.  Real life invades in gentle ways: the birth of a new baby in the family, time with a friend, a glass of wine on the porch on a warm summer evening.  It crashes the party too, sometimes, in less welcome ways.

I said I would remember to enjoy this time.  This makes me smile today.  Still, I hope, and limp along.

moving forward

plod, tramp, trudge, toil, plow, slog, trek, tromp

All the various modes of locomotion

Gambler's paradise

Three kinds of water:  watercourses, groundwater and surface water.

Two kinds of water rights in watercourses:  riparian and prior appropriation (I had it first)

Five kinds of groundwater rights:  Absolute, reasonable use, correlative rights, appropriative rights and the Restatement

Three ways that liability is determined for re-direction of surface water:  natural flow, common enemy and reasonable use

Of course the odds are low that there will be more than an MBE or two on water rights, and probably no essays on it.  More likely conveyance, security interests, estates and landlord/tenant law.  So do I bother trying to stuff this minutia in?

A roll of the dice. . .  tomorrow we march on to criminal law and procedure and leave real property in the dust.

If I can't see it, it isn't really there

I seem to be able to find the energy to keep doing what I must for the bar, yet I'm overwhelmed by simple things.  I spent my day at school yesterday, and I got home around 5:30 to water leaks in the garden.  And the water to all of the zones had been turned off because that was the only obvious way to address the small geyser in the vegetables.  Fuck.  Fuck, fuck, fuck.  I know I have a few hours before it's time to crawl in bed, but I didn't want to have to use it for, well, anything.  To turn my focus to other things, though simple or small, is just one thing too much on this camel's back.

I seek a cave in which to hide from all the everyday chores.  I don't want to get the oil changed, I don't want to deal with the paperwork involved with my former employer, I'd rather just take the easy route on insurance, the dentist, and yes, the water leak.  In truth, I knew I had a leak already but not that it was that bad.  I was closing my eyes, turning up the proverbial radio, and hoping it would magically disappear.

What a surprise, it not only did not disappear, but got worse.  Turns out my safety net is me, and me is tired, weary, overwhelmed.

In fairness, I confess that once I resigned myself to it, fixing the leaks was not so bad, and in the process I harvested some garlic.  The pleasure of brushing against a tomato plant and inhaling that musky scent-I had put that off too.  And will for a while longer.

dog paddling in the sea of doubt

The tides ebb and flow with the results of the most recent practice essay exam or set of MBE's.  I'm either hopelessly lost or maybe I'll manage to survive this, in 15 minute increments.

I'm mired in the mud of secondary evidence rule, character evidence rules and impeachment.  It does not help that I don't like this part of the law.  I'm pretty sure the bar examiners don't care what I like though, so I'll keep treading water.

the eye of the storm

Sitting in the quiet of the morning, I know that at any time the wave of humanity will come crashing in and invade my serenity for the day.  And off we will go, careening through the day, to arrive breathlessly at the other end.  To what avail?  To pass the bar, of course.

I found myself putting foot in front of foot this morning, mindlessly, tired and slightly bent in my mind.  "Self!" I said to myself.  "Squander not this gift."

This interlude from now to August is singular, and while it comes freighted with anxiety and heavy expectations, it is nonetheless a sweet and quiet pocket outside the maelstrom of life.

The day wanes all too quickly

When this thing is done, I shall go in search of more.

"How dull it is to pause, to make an end, 
To rust unburnish’d, not to shine in use! 
As tho’ to breathe were life! Life piled on life 
Were all too little . . ."

Because it is the only tenable choice.

" . . . you and I are old; 
Old age hath yet his honour and his toil; 
Death closes all: but something ere the end, 
Some work of noble note, may yet be done, 
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods. 
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks: 
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep 
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends, 
’Tis not too late to seek a newer world. 
Push off, and sitting well in order smite 
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds 
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths 
Of all the western stars, until I die."
from Ulysses by Alfred Lloyd Tennyson

the morning of

It's graduation morning, at last.  Not an end, not even a beginning.  Just a day of celebration because we've made the ascent to the top of this particular mountain.  I know there will be yet another summit to attempt tomorrow.

I'm alternately nervous about my speech and trying to just savor the day.  I'm amazed at the kind things people are saying and doing, and afraid I'll be too nervous or too busy to stop and appreciate each one.

Just now my younger son is ironing his shirt, the house is quiet and I am remembering things.  I remember attending graduation in my first year of law school and feeling how amazing it must be to be one of those who made it up there on that stage, and feeling that surely something was going to prevent my achieving that goal.  Even last year at graduation, realizing it was just a year away, with the worst behind me, I still doubted.  Well, here it is.  It's difficult to get my head around it all of a sudden.

pedestrian words

I'm disappointed in my inability to write a speech with the cache and poetry of, say, "I have a dream."  Alas, my efforts are just so-so, or somewhere in that vicinity.  Of course, current life events surrounding our law school and community do not demand a call-to-arms, or profound consideration of deep things, and five minutes isn't very long to develop any kind of theme in any case.

So I'll have to be satisfied if I deliver the chosen words with poise and appropriate timing, and if my classmates feel I've adequately expressed our collective voice.

I'll relax and start enjoying graduation about the time I'm two sentences into the delivery.  It'll all be downhill from there.

dinner with the plumber

What is the difference between a depending intervening force and an independent intervening force?  And why do I tend to confuse res ipsa loquitur and negligence per se?  Why, oh why, is a dinner guest a licensee and a plumber come to fix my drains is an invitee?

Sitting here in the coffee shop on a sunny Sunday morning, and feeling good.  It's not just that I'm slowly moving the ball forward, inch by inch.  It's having this time, when my world stands still, to have the opportunity to mono-focus, something I never got to do during law school.  I alone structure my day, what gets done is what I do with it.  Lovely freedom, heavy responsibility and abject terror all rolled into one.

the world remains at large

Early morning in the library at school, where I spend my days for now.  I've had my coffee, checked Facebook and email and now nothing remains between me and launching another day of studying.  I've been told by more than one attorney that I should enjoy this time, that there will never be another time like this in my life.

So I shall endeavor to do this- cherish this time, all of it.  I'm alternately fretting about my speech, viewing the mountain of studying to be done with alarm and lost in whatever subject is in front of me, but let me try, try to understand the gift I've been given, and to immerse myself in it.  Tomorrow is tomorrow.

taking applications

I think I need a 'wife'.  The old fashioned kind, that picks up the dry cleaning, cleans house, handles social arrangements and packs my lunch.

I need to breathe.

dog sleds and bar exams

I took the day yesterday to be a tourist in San Francisco, with a particular aim in mind.  In spite of reading thousands of pages of case books over the past four years, I still find that one of the things I do at a break is to tear through a few books for pleasure.  Such an appetite must be fed.  So I went walkabout in search of some independent bookstores, of which SF has quite a supply.

As a result of the day, along with a new blister and some sore muscles, I have several new (old) books.  I'm reading one named 'Sledge' by Martin Lindsay, the account of the first British trans-Greenland expedition in 1934.  The story is one of day after day of unrelenting hard work, boredom beyond belief, and never enough food, never really getting rested.  Ok, I know this is a stretch, but I found myself thinking about law school.  It's not that I was ever underfed during this four year stretch but there are some things to find in common, if you squint so that everything is blurry, and turn off the lights.  Then it all looks like the same thing.

What I would say is that it seems there is a certain satisfaction in attempting something very difficult, and in accomplishing it.  Even though at times during the actual doing of it, you lose sight of the overall purpose and see no reason to keep moving forward other than the fear of being looked on as a quitter, or of feeling about yourself that you must not be up to the challenge- still after the journey is done, you feel such a sense of completion, of knowing you have met the hard thing face on.  Sure, there is probably some self-righteousness in that mix, but it still serves to fuel the next big thing.  Because of course there must be the next big thing.

You wonder why I'm reading this book instead of studying for the bar- well I confess to being a few days behind schedule on that count.  I had hoped to return home on Monday night and commence a two hour per day MBE schedule immediately.  But it has not yet happened, and I'm hoping that my sense of timing and rhythm is not self-delusion.  I confess to feeling uncertain how to proceed without the Barbri schedule as a guide, and to having a list of things still incomplete that I had hoped to have done before commencing.  But I know that if I do not start by Monday, I will begin to be very anxious.  So start I must.  Just after I read the rest of this book.

roll of the dice

These days life feels a lot like a high stakes game of poker, and I'm the only amateur at the table.  I can't even remember whether a full house beats four of a kind, so you can guess how confident I feel about this.  Then again, I do want to play.  Carrying the analogy further than I really should, it's all-in for me.

New things always come with some uncertainty, and changing careers mid-life is no exception.  But I did ask for this, didn't I.  And to be honest, it's also fraught with opportunity for new experiences, new challenges and I seem to be a sucker for such things.

I think I was supposed to be playing Parcheesi.

To dither, to dally, to debate

What I don't know may not kill me but it may profoundly impact the path I take.  How to know what one doesn't know?  If there is a supreme being, he/she must have a well developed sense of humor, watching humans make decisions that have far reaching impact, yet with little of the information needed to make it intelligently.  I only want a little glimpse forward, is that too much to ask?

I'm almost glad to have bar prep coming soon, as an excuse to set aside the world for a time, a valid answer to any question.

sitting on the sidelines

I attended a conference on homelessness and the law this past Friday.  The focus of the conference was on criminalization of the homeless, and on homeless veterans, and I also attended a breakout session at lunch regarding homeless youth and families.  What follows is my response, inaccurate and incomplete as it is.

I was already familiar with a few organizations that worked specifically on ensuring education and other services to homeless youth-some with families and some unaccompanied.  And I knew of the McKinney Vento Act, which mandates things like enrolling a child even if they don't have prior school records, allowing homeless kids to continue to attend their school of origin where possible, etc.  There are multiple nation-wide organizations dedicated to serving homeless youth. 

But it had not occurred to me to ask the most obvious question.  What do we owe these children?  Is it so acceptable to see such vulnerable members of our society scrapping for food, a place to sleep, safety, and belonging, that we see their existence as de facto?

I realize that there have always been, and always will be, runaways.  There are homeless families too, at least during times of war and upheaval, the Great Depression, or times of tremendous urban migration.  This is not a new phenomenon.  Like generations before us, we struggle with the moral and practical considerations of the problem.  There is not an easy answer.

The question is larger than children, of course. Aside from the moral question, the pragmatic issue of how street people with no other place to sleep or defecate affect CBD's and merchants demands response.  Criminalization of the homeless via sit/lie laws does not rid us of them.  They have no place to go.  

I understand the disinclination to give a handout to someone able to provide for themselves.  Our sense of justice is offended by such demands.  But if the concern is with the impact with our collective purse strings, then we are fooling ourselves.  It costs more in police and public services staff, emergency medical services and related costs to deal with people living on the streets than it would to provide some level of housing and related services.

I'm told that common causes of homelessness include mental illness, drug and alcohol addiction, job loss, and abusive home situations.  The response required depends in part on the underlying issue.

For one who has lost a job, it often starts a downward spiral that the individual involved cannot reverse without assistance.  If you don't have the funds for a home, or even a hotel room, it's hard to keep a cell phone.  Without a cell phone, it is very hard to arrange interviews.  With no alarm clock, it's hard to be on time for interviews, for work, to catch the bus.  And once homeless, and having self designated as such, it is a wound on the psyche not easily healed. The very label of homeless translates into ‘formerly homeless’ and is perceived by society as some character flaw or weakness that is at risk of resurfacing again in the future.  It forecloses opportunities once applied. Confidence is important in job searches, both in the ability to launch one, and in the strength to withstand the inevitable rejections that come with most job searches.

For one with mental illness, addiction, or both, something more is needed than a secure room and a phone.  Ongoing services are more essential to this population.  For some, the only answer is permanent supportive housing, preferably with mental and social services delivered on site.  Many of this group are especially vulnerable due to unaddressed health issues.

Sit/lie laws, anti-camping statutes and policies that direct police and public works departments to effect sweeps of parks, downtown areas, heavily touristed areas-these criminalize behavior that human beings must engage in.  Sleeping, eating, defecating, sitting- what these have in common is that all of us do them. We must do them to survive.

Once arrested, the street person is engaged with the criminal justice system and a cycle initiated that is difficult to break.  Citations mount because of course they can’t pay them, and eventually warrants issue.  It is not uncommon for a homeless person to fail to appear at court hearings, adding one more straw to the camel’s back.  Outstanding warrants contribute to unemployability. Being picked up for a warrant usually means time spent in jail due to inability to post bail, an average of 15 days.  This results in loss of any job a person has managed to get.  Usually by the time someone becomes homeless, they have already tapped out all the personal favors available to them, so who are they to call when they need bail money?

Shelters are perhaps a necessary component of emergent response, but they are not a solution.  Families are separated in shelters, the children of addicts are prohibited entry because of their parents' issues, and unaccompanied youth are particularly vulnerable.  Lack of funding and lack of oversight mean that some shelters lack beds, secure space to store belongings, toilet paper for the bathroom, lack of warm water and soap, safe drinking water, and of course no place for a child to do their homework.

Rapid rehousing may work for those down on their luck, between jobs.  For those who have been sucked into the vortex of life on the streets for some period of time, it may be that something in between is needed.

Funding for such an array of responses is hard to come by.  It is easier to get funding for police, jails and emergency services, whether via a government program or by local support of a local initiative.  But let us not kid ourselves.  In not funding housing, we have simply shifted the cost to our police, our jails, our emergency rooms.  It will not go away on its own.

Often people think that if they provide services, it will attract more street people from other places.  Livermore just passed an anti-camping ordinance in response to a perceived threat from homeless people moving there from Oakland.  The facts do not support this.  Most of our homeless are people who were formerly housed in the community in which they now wander the streets. 

To a large degree, the path to homelessness begins at poverty.  From loss of home, to engagement with the criminal justice system, a record, and foreclosed choices for their future.  Are we not de facto punishing the homeless for being too poor to have a home?

I confess to feeling a bit skeptical about the earnestness of those attending the conference.  Whether it's aid to third world countries, saving the trees or protecting the Great Barrier Reef, it seems never to fail that an attitude of one-ups-manship in do-gooding surfaces after a time, and it's hard to tell if they really want to solve a problem out of which the participants gain so much personal self worth.  But disdain and criticism are cheap substitutes for stepping up and doing something about a very real issue.  It's easy to critique and so much harder to step up on the stage of public action myself.

It is said that the poor will always be with us.  The question for us is what our response will be, individually and collectively. 

fording the river in the company of a friend

Transitions can be tricky, I think.  Absent mindful attention, opportunities are lost, like belongings swept overboard from a swamped canoe.  It's hard not to fret at each day that slips away, and yet at times I manage to find a place of ease in my mind.  By the time I hit my stride in this month of no job and not yet studying for the Bar full-time, it will be over.

It's easy to think of myself differently now that I'm no longer a student.  But I'd like to sustain that inquiry a while longer-for the rest of my life if I can manage it.  No license to cease.

Talking with Abigail while she is in Tanzania is an exercise in patience, as the phone line drops periodically, sometimes in mid-thought.  But we manage anyway to talk about things-everyday things and important things.  It's very nice to have a person in one's life who will not just say nice things.  Well, she does say nice things too, but when the truth is something else, she finds a way to poke me gently with it.  The value of that honesty is only increased by the realization that it's not easily done, and this transmutes into a sense of gratitude for having a friend who cares enough to bother.

This does not solve the problem of making this crossing well, but it is infinitely comforting and validating to have another acknowledge the existence and difficulty of the task.

gravel in my shoes but I'm dancing anyway

Well, here it is.  The other end of what started at about the time this blog began.  I have my last final exam this evening, and then a champagne reception with the Dean as we 4th Years wrap up our law school experience.

I feel like I've accomplished a very big thing, yet it's been done so many times before, by people who faced greater challenges.  Nothing new under the sun, but it's new to me. Delightful and a little dizzying.  While I can't experience the pure joy of a child at this treasure, I can hold it in my hands a while, and feel its heft in my palm.

I look behind me and see that this experience has in fact changed me.  I am emerging more confident, a better student, more open and- sadly, older.  Time slips rapidly away.

I have gained some precious memories, more precious friends.  Last week as I paced the halls before our Bus Orgs exam, I went past the spot where I waited for my first class on a Tuesday night-Criminal Law.  The door was still locked, so a few of us gathered in the hall, unfamiliar with the life of law school, unfamiliar with each other.  I met Abigail and Chris in that hall.  I remember a few weeks into Torts, realizing by something said that there was a fellow gardener in the group, and so I sought out Jean after class.  We made crackers together that first semester break.

There comes the memory of how Chris would indiscriminately leave change at Peter's place as he left the classroom for breaks, how Chris would make faces at me when something was happening in class.  Abigail came to class that winter with a blanket, thick slipper/socks and gloves.  She was my seat mate all year, and my friend ever since.  Saturday morning runs, farmers market, and discussions ranging from law to life and back again.

And did we ever argue over that thermostat!  Groups morphed, shrank and changed, as friendships were strained and new alliances formed.  Remarkably, no lasting damage done.

I learned of the existence of secondary material from Andrew, who freely shared whatever he had, I fought with Peter in study group, laughed in Torts class, we fought our way through Contracts, and nearly cried in Crim Law.  And slowly we inched forward, losing some along the way-losing a lot along the way.  We knew the statistics, of course, but that is so much less personal than seeing someone you know and believe in leave, whether due to grades or some pressing life event.

I have a much better idea of who I am, what I will and won't do, and I am more cynical than I was four years ago.

These past weeks I have shared days on end with four other women, some of whom have young children, jobs, spouses and all the things that life tends to bring.  We studied under the umbrellas in the back yard, wrote elements on the white boards at school, quizzed each other on injunctions while eating dinner at Mary's downtown.  I'm pretty sure there will be some drinking in this group tonight.  What each person has accomplished has been their own, and yet none of us has travelled the path entirely alone.

I am grateful, so very grateful to have had these past four years.  Let me not forget to inquire, to question, to pause a while in the discomfort and wait.

the music inside my head

Looking back at my posts, I see that I tend to have themes-a nice way to say that I get in a rut sometimes.  Forgive me if you can, as I'm about to continue that practice.

My job is ending on Friday, I'm taking my last law school exams this week and next, and it feels a bit like I'm being reborn.  Like any newborn, I don't know what to expect of this new world.  It's a small dance inside my head-my Bus Orgs exam starts in less than two hours, and my last day at work is four days away.  Who am I now?

I find myself gradually moving away from shock and fright to delight and peace.  I'm not fatalistic, and I don't believe that everything will always work out for the best, but I don't think I can ward off anything by worrying about it either.  The chance to sit in the hammock with a book, walk aimlessly and dance to the tune inside my head for a while-I do not care to waste it by fretting about how I'll pay my bills come August, and whether I'll be able to find challenging, meaningful work.

Tomorrow is tomorrow.  Of course, that's today's approach.

all things, good and bad

Today was a train wreck, and I know why.  My last law school class tonight and apparently I'm more sentimental than even I knew.  Feeling melancholy and a sense of loss instead of relief or excitement.

I know endings are beginnings too, and that this might not stay so wonderful if it continued indefinitely.  All those realities aren't really making a dent in this cloud of sadness swirling about my head.  For tomorrow are the practical realities.  Today is a day to take note, to reflect and to mourn.

we zig and we zag

These final days race by and yet drag simultaneously.  There is not enough time to memorize, practice and assimilate.  Yet as always during exams, I am anxious to have them done. No matter how on top of things you might be in a given semester, exam time is anxiety inducing to the point of absurdity.  I didn't know one could sustain such focus before law school-I'm certain I never did it in my undergraduate days.  I'm not sure if this is character-building or life-shortening stress!

I'm sitting in the classroom on this fine Sunday morning-the sun is shining, it is supposed to get up to 72 degrees today and I will be inside.  But only for a little longer, and I hold onto that thought.  I have to say that it helps a great deal to know that later other students will join me here, and we will slog through yet more Bus Orgs together.  On my own I am not sure I would have such tenacity.  Sometimes things get silly, and the conversation turns to other things, but we move the ball forward pretty consistently.

Countdown:  8 days to the first exam and 16 days to the last one.

what the day brings

We are meeting again in Room 102, for another day of studying Remedies.  We're a somewhat eclectic and fluid mix.  Some people are here only occasionally, others are regulars.  We would never know each other were it not for this common experience of law school.  But having spent the last 4 years together, we've seen each other often enough to have developed some level of ease with each other.  I wouldn't call any of these people a friend, in the sense that I would share private thoughts or happenings with them.  But we are the survivors of the initial group, plus a few others and so while we are not all intimates, we do have a shared history that matters a great deal to me.

None of them are early morning people, so I'm here with my coffee and outline, hashing through more details on my own as I await the others.  I think that the core of the group is the three women who call themselves 'three peas in a pod.'  I'm an interloper, although welcomed, I am not one of them, and never will be.  I'm happy to see them enjoy each other so much, but feel no desire to do what it would take to join.  I am pretty sure I'm seen as a bit overwhelming sometimes, and of course, that's not altogether wrong.  I reminded myself of that just yesterday and promised myself that today I would remember to dial it back a notch or two.

In spite of being somewhat sterile and stark, these classrooms have become a familiar and welcoming place by now.  When I enter, I feel a sense of something like the way it feels to step into my house and slip off my shoes, drop my bags and exhale.  Not to fear, I generally keep my shoes on here.

The poster on the wall in this classroom says "You cannot discover other oceans unless you have the courage to lose sight of the shore."  Motivational posters and quotes abound, and while of course they can be overdone, I can't say this one didn't grab me this morning.  I would have preferred to know where I am going when I leave my current place, but it is not to be.  Part of me knows this opens up far more possibilities and part of me just wants to know.

momentary lapse of reason

That moment when nothing else matters but this moment-the music, the hot cup of coffee in my hand, and knowing I've done the important things today.  None of the other stuff, of course, or I'd just be exhausted.  All of that can wait.  Just this sense of ease and a momentary sense of rightness.

This feeling of contentment is so fleeting, I just had to close my eyes and savor it.  Because in the time it took to write about it, it is gone again.

hall pass

I shall miss these evenings in the law library, when virtually my sole charge is to learn what I need to know for a semester, and all else can righteously be shunted to the side for a time.  After the bar exam, I'll once again be held accountable for my end of the social bargain, and I fear I will be found wanting.

forward motion

My current count of tabs open on my internet browse is 12.  That represents 12 sites that I want to explore further, but not enough time to devote to them just now.   My garden weeps for me (or anyone, really) and the army of dust bunnies has staged a revolt in the hallway.  But tonight I'm going to watch mindless entertainment on Netflix, and I'm going to feel good about it too.  Balance, I say.  Teeter-tottering through these remaining days of law school, hanging on to the railing and trying not to look down.

what comes of dancing in the dirt

Clouds of dust are swirling round my head, and making it hard to see.  Never mind that they exist because I insist on kicking the dirt.

Someone posted a link to this article:  http://www.entrepreneur.com/article/230333.  Goals vs system.  Hmmm. . . a lot like the journey matters more than arrival.  So graduation, the bar exam, even a new job-none of them are arrivals, but more plotted points on the gradient of my life.  How am I to keep this perspective in the coming months?

Things like how to dress for an interview, what to include (or exclude) from my resume, how to structure my day when all that I have relied on to keep order is now moot, these and more are moving in my head.  It's no wonder that my dreams are wild and far-ranging these days, or that I wake to anxiety knocking at the door.

I know these are good problems to have, as problems go.  Still, their potency remains.

A bend in the road, and I can't see ahead of me

No matter how we prepare, the next stage of the journey surprises.  I've been expecting the news that my job will be a casualty of the merger in process, but it was a shock anyway to get the official word.  I have about a month before the deal closes, and I am involuntarily unemployed for the first time in my life.

Given that I need to take time to study for the Bar Exam starting in late May, the timing of this could hardly be better for me personally.  Still, I have spent the last few days careening between calm acceptance, worry over the future, sadness at the loss, and excitement at the new chapter.  Round and round I go.  I'm sure this is a predictable response, but it feels quite personal when it's me experiencing it.  Because I tend to draw closed the curtain to the outside when I feel vulnerable, I've been slow to share the news, in spite of having told everyone I know over the past few months that it was coming.  I suppose I was trying to innoculate myself from the shock, but alas, I still felt it.

I've rearranged the furniture, feeling the urge to purge myself of 'things', but I know even as I do so that it's an attempt at control when I'm feeling out of control in other ways.

The good thing is that I know this will pass.  I will later look on this and reflect on the possibilities I could not see from my current vantage point.  For now, I wonder who I'll be, now that I'm no longer who I was.

Pushing the rock up the hill

Who am I?  Am I a banker?  A law student, a mom, a crazy middle-aged lady?

There's something about what we do for a living that gives us a label, a convenient mechanism for categorizing, a shorthand way to determine where this person fits in the grand scheme of things, what weight their words will carry, how much value they have.

To name something is to limit it, to corral its possibilities.  Once defined, a person faces a sisyphean task in remaking themselves, at least in the eyes of others.  Maybe to themselves as well.

fledgling foundling

Last night I dreamed of being assigned a task so complex, so multi-layered that I felt the anxiety rise within me, as each time I thought I had it in hand, the overseer pointed out yet another aspect of the process that I had not even realized existed.  I feared failure, I felt the task was insurmountable, yet I kept trying.

I woke up thinking about that dream, and its significance.  I'm not a person who ascribes particular meaning to dreams generally, but even I can see the source of this one.

I'm in my mid 50's, finishing law school with of course no idea how to be a lawyer, and simultaneously my current job appears to be going away by means of the company being acquired.  It's a blessing and a curse, of course.  It will push me out of the nest quite literally, but hey-that ground is really far down there, and I'm not sure I remember how to fly!  And I've grown accustomed to this comfort of being a SME (subject matter expert), of knowing how to do the job before me, and frankly, to a paycheck.

But I can't stay, so these days I'm inspecting my wings for rust and other signs of deterioration.

the milk of human kindness or milkweed

Yesterday as I sat at the coffee shop, I watched as a blind woman approached the door from outside, and a stranger sitting at the table beside the door got up.  I was inside, they were outside, so I could not hear the conversation, but it was clear they were discussing something related to where the woman with the cane was going.  The woman who helped her by opening the door appeared to be half of a middle-aged lesbian couple with a small dog (ubiquitous, I know).  A short time later I saw the middle aged woman give her elbow to the blind woman as they set off across the street.  I heard nothing but it seemed obvious she was walking the blind woman someplace in particular.  Her partner and the dog sat at the table and waited.

In a forgotten garden, among the weeds and trash, it seems sometimes like the weeds have taken over.  But if we look closer, there are always brave sentinels carrying on, the volunteer tomato, the tiny flowers, the chard that has reseeded itself.

As I watch events in Ukraine and almost anyplace else on the globe you want to mention, I despair.  From a macro view, we are so messed up.  But there is kindness afoot in the world as well.  I would do well to remember that.

something to celebrate

Earlier this morning I submitted my application to sit for the July Bar Exam, and now I am reading the last case in the last casebook of the last of my law school classes.  I still have a month of classes left, and a lot of studying, but the reading is done.  Weird, this feeling.  The beginning of the endings, of which there will be many.  

And of course, the endings are beginnings too.  But for now I wish to celebrate this small mountain scaled.  I shall dance and laugh to the music in my head today.

to fish or not to fish

“Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”

I don't think solving the deprivation of basic needs without addressing the root causes is a meaningful solution-not to say that a meal or cup of coffee today has no merit.  But it's very easy for the well to do (of which most of us are a part by the definition I am using here) to buy that meal in lieu of engaging in a meaningful way with someone who needs something more from us than a few bucks.  Sort of the give a man a fish vs. teach him how to fish idea.  In addition it allows a paternalistic approach to the poor/disadvantaged.  This serves to support the sense of moral contribution/superiority in us, tends to support the idea that we know better than the other what is good for them, and allows us to avoid giving that street person a full solution.  Because to do so would mean giving up some of our own power.  

Practically speaking, I believe the solution requires that the homeless, poor, and otherwise disadvantaged must fully participate in the political process to cut the paternalistic ties.  Bridging all socio-economic, political and religious boundaries and bringing all to the table seems to be the closest we can come to Rawl’s veil of ignorance.

What would we have done to us or for us, were we that outcast?

onus on us

The Co-Intelligence Institute website has an article about activism that looks beyond the adversarial, and views it from a more holistic angle.  The idea of wholeness, integrated in the life of the community of persons involved, and in the larger community in which it operates-this seems more sustainable.  It also has the benefit of allowing for flexibility in the response to various stimuli:  there is a place for assertive passion, but also a place for integrative processes and systems that reduce the dissonance of groups who may start from a place of enmity.  It can be small, as small as that cup of coffee, and large, as large as an effort to bring about major social change.  It can be about respect, or about joy, or even mourning.

It seems to me that this approach may also better survive the inevitable ruptures that break down the process sometimes-because it's a life approach rather than a specific project that is limited in time and space.  In this way it perhaps does resemble a spiritual path.  But it does not require adherence to any particular sect or belief system.

I suppose it does require a sense of obligation to our fellow travelers, or to the community at large.  To whom much is given, of him (or her) much will be required.  We come into this world with no choice about our parentage, our socio-economic or political position, or the genetic pool that determines our inherent intelligence and capacity.  Therefore what we have is a gift, and with it comes an obligation.

machetes and cups of coffee

It is not enough to do no harm, it that is understood as an absence of actively causing injury.  Yet it's overwhelming to think of all the pain in the universe.  I don't know where to start, there are so many needs, and it is impossible to discern which is valid-or are they all?

Activism calls to mind the people on the square with their signs at commute hour, Occupy tents, and noisy confrontation.  But what if it's a quieter, more collaborative activism?  Perhaps it starts with direct eye contact and a nod for the undesirable, one that is based in a sense of our common humanity, not a goal but part of the landscape of our own journey-whether we call it spiritual, emotional, intellectual or something else.  An intentional turning to thoughtful response, in ways that are sustainable or at least real.

As John Mayer's song asks, who ever did change their mind from the paint on a sign?  I'm not saying there's no value in an in-your-face, can't ignore me approach.  It sometimes is the only thing to start the dialogue.  But I find that what moves me forward is not signs, marches or protests, but conversations or other interaction with someone I find credible.  It may be as small as an act of civility, or as much as a life-long example, but that is what moves the ball forward.

This four year hiatus is drawing to a close, and I'm lost in the jungle of choices about how to move forward with intention.

dizzy

How rarely do we find our lives in equilibrium- mostly it's the coming and going.  And it's a long walk from here to there.  Would that I believed in praying to a God who would be my comfort and my strength at times like these.

a little help from my friends

What do you think about the smelly guy who hangs out on the bench in front of Peet's as if it belongs to him?  And how about the lady in the wheelchair in front of the Post Office who greets you and asks for spare change?  I saw her and another street person in a heated exchange the other morning.  They were engaged in a turf war-he was panhandling as people entered and exited the facility and she was explaining her tenure at this spot.  I didn't stay around to hear the end of it.

And how do you feel about the hungry, haunted look on the face of a lost soul who clearly hasn't a warm place to lay their head?  Are they entitled to congregate all day in the town square, to the eventual exclusion of families with young children, downtown office workers and others of the more 'civilized' ilk?

What of the small business owner who smells the evidence of use of their doorway as a street urinal when they come to open the shop of a morning?  And whose clientele is intimidated by the gauntlet of beggars they must run to get to the shop?

What does the law have to say about this?  What is the humane- the human way to balance the interests of the parties involved?  I don't know, really, but I'm thinking of writing a paper about this.  And here's where you come in.  Have you opinions about this issue?  Have you had experiences you are willing to share?  How do you view street people?  Does the presence of a group of unkempt, talkative people keep you from frequenting certain places?  Do you give spare change to the person who asks?

Here's me with my virtual hand out, not for money (although, what the hell, I'll take it!), but for your honest feedback.  Have a good day.

bread crumbs

We look behind us to see how far we’ve come, and sometimes to make sure we know how to get back.

Those two purposes have very different implications.  Is this path merely a detour from a larger journey, or is it part of the journey itself?  Do I want to go back to the same point from which I left the main trail, in order to resume?  Or do I question which is the main trail?

And do we ever know which it is until some distant time when we at last arrive at a vantage point from which to survey our previous peregrinations?

there's more to living than breathing

"I am a part of all that I have met;

Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough

Gleams that untraveled world whose margin fades

For ever and for ever when I move.

How dull it is to pause, to make an end

To rest unburnished, not to shine in use,

As though to breathe were life...

Tis not too late to seek a newer world...for my purpose holds

To sail beyond the sunset...

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield."

Tennyson

The unknown path awaits, I must needs go.  

Pushing the rock up the hill

A rainy Sunday morning seems to attract more coffee drinkers to the inside tables, and leaves the tables outside standing empty in the drenching cold.  Go figure.  This particular Peet's is located near where quite a few street people hang out, and so the rain drives them to shelter as well.  So I can't help feeling fortunate to have snagged the table in the corner by the front windows.  Here I feel cocooned and comfortable, in spite of the dripping sky.

My weekends are divided more by subject matter than by day-names, and so Friday evening was Bus Orgs, Saturday was Bar Prep (and some time spent perusing Netflix), and today is Remedies.  My pursuit of something to watch on Netflix nearly always nets me nothing, and I found myself watching a reality show about a family who live in a remote area of Alaska, and live by hunting, fishing and growing their own food and other requirements.  That was probably not a good use of my Saturday evening, but I did manage to get my laundry done too, so all was not lost.

In three months, law school will be done.  I'll still have the bar to face, but the tenor of my days will certainly shift.  Weekends will be something else.  I know I'll adapt, since I have done so before.  But I know too that the adaptation is not instantaneous, and generally comes in spite of my pitiful and ineffectual efforts to maintain in place.  I'd like to think that this next transition will be made mindfully and with intent, but I know enough to laugh at such conceit.  I really don't know what it looks like to an onlooker, but my own sense of how I transition is like the little boy in the comic strip whose idea of going from one place to another involves many detours.  Then one day I wake up and find that I have moved from one place to another, in spite of myself.  It's messy and unfocused.

Jung says, "However much energy may be present, we cannot make it serviceable until we have succeeded in finding the right gradient."  When I began law school, that was perhaps an external indication of a change in gradient in my life.  In hindsight I see that it had to have begun earlier, and the decision to go to school at 50 was the effect, rather than the cause.  Seeing law school as a stage on a longer journey, up a gradient of my choosing, helps me find some ease about the transition to come.

inverse function

“Mistakes are, after all, the foundations of truth, and if a man does not know what a thing is, it is at least an increase in knowledge if he knows what it is not. "  Carl Jung

What this pursuit of knowledge of the law is not-a waste of these years of my life.  Either because of this journey, or perhaps in concert with it, I am not the same person I was four years ago.  For that I am glad, and grateful.

personhood

In Revlon, the Delaware Supreme Court held that a board of director's obligation to its constituents changes in the event of inevitable dissolution/sale.  When the corporation is a going concern, it can permissibly implement anti-takeover measures, give preference to 'white knights' and the like.  But when the bidding becomes intense, and it is clear that the company will be bought regardless of its desires, the board must then turn to obtaining the highest price for the shareholders.

Prior to that turning point, the board can consider other constituents, such as creditors, under Unocal.  But once the white flag goes up, it appears that any other consideration is a breach of the board's duty of loyalty.

In light of this, I must interpret the continued assurances of my company's executive management during our current acquisition that the well-being of the employees is important as either a) pablum meant to calm the masses, or b) the corporation legitimately can consider its employees in the context that retaining them accrues benefit to the shareholders.  I suppose it's really both.  Even as a likely candidate for layoff as a result of this merger, I can't say that it offends me-I see the rational basis for it.

But all of this points to the soul-less nature of the corporate body.  Which is fine, it's a business function.  But then why give it personhood?  To do so is to give it all the benefits of both, without the Golden Rule, the accountability that most of us feel to our neighbors.  And this invites over-reaching, greed and avarice.  What have we done that cannot be undone?

mis hermanos

I'm on a trip with my brothers, and my parents this week.  After our parents go to bed, we move to another cottage and soak up time with each other one way or another.  Last night we started answering questions like "what do you think about these days?" and "what is something you feel really good about?"

The glimpse of each other, while not wholly surprising, is still sweet.  It seems to point to an emotional and intellectual growth spurt of sorts as we move past the mid-point of middle age.  Looking back, for maybe all of us, there was a period of time when we were so engrossed in raising children, making a buck, trying to manage our relationships, that intentional retrospection and internal change seemed a thing relegated to our younger days of sitting upstairs in the farmhouse, where we discussed and resolved so many things, dreamed and planned for our futures.

Life seems instead to be made up of cycles, and we are reborn again into the same yet different persons as we move through these years.  Each of my brothers has moved as into a different room, with new light, new perspectives and colors.

It's a lot like some of the treasures I am seeing on the beach-battle worn, with pieces broken off, but burnished by time and the constant pounding of the waves into a thing of beauty.  My brothers - whose opinion of me matters, and who are my measure of what it is to live a life of intent and meaning.

things undone, words unsaid

I don't believe that anyone ever said, as they neared life's end, that they wished they had breathed less deeply of life's fumes.  More likely to hear 'I wish I had, I wish I had.'

Regret at lost opportunities to take life firmly in both hands, to devour the very essence-that causes unremitting sorrow at the end of the day.

two paths diverge in the forest

I suppose this blog would be more interesting, or at least be more titillating, if I were not such a private person.  I don't share my name and whereabouts, but I also don't talk about the occasional class drama, or my opinions about various class members, or who slept with whom.  It's not that there are not these things to say, it's that they cannot be unsaid.

It may also be that being a middle-aged law student has been useful in this regard.  I am mindful that those words flung in anger don't taste very good when I have to eat them later, and that intimate human relations are not fodder for group discussions.

I'm sorry if my restraint makes this blog less entertaining.  Some part of me wants to record the details of the human I am, the experiences that I can't post now, and then have them published posthumously.  But really, who will care by then- other than my two sons, who would be mortified to know some of the things I've done, and bored silly by others.  For sure I've not done or experienced anything that many other humans haven't also done.

There is also the conceit of wanting to be liked, admired or at least not reviled.  So what's the likelihood that I would record the goings-on accurately?  More probable that I would either rewrite history, or cast myself in a better light, while vilifying those I dislike.

So things remain unsaid, but not undone.  The high road, the low road, all taken at one time or another.

Protecting the queen

A funny thing happened tonight.  Among other things, it highlighted the level of familiarity and ease our class has with each other.  Most of the 4th year students are taking the Bar Prep class offered by the school, because there is no such thing as too much help in preparing for the CA Bar Exam.  The school is also allowing those who have taken all of the required credit hours to audit the class, which helps ease the very much strained pocketbooks of this group.  The school benefits if the Bar pass rate is high, and we benefit if we pass.  Win-win.  It's a class that you would only take shortly before sitting for the Bar, which means that unlike other electives, it is a class made up solely of 4th year students.

Imagine our surprise then, when 20 minutes into the class, in walks a stranger, who sits down and joins the class.  Further, we were surprised when she commenced talking. A lot.  Inappropriately and without the usual moderately restrained decorum to which we are accustomed.  She called the professor by his first name, she answered a question asked of another student.  We found out that she had taken 3 years of law school at some remote time, and had finished via correspondence because 'life intervened.'  She is a single mom, and has broken her right wrist, and maybe had some surgery on it as well.  Colorful doesn't quite describe her.

For sure she unsettled our comfortable routine.  In conversation in the parking lot after class, one student called her 'jarring', and I think that is a pretty accurate term for it.  She is so inappropriate that it is humorous, except she seems not to have an OFF button.

No one called her out in class-we tend to be pretty tolerant of each other in this group, and it's not typical for us to do something to embarrass another class member.  However, I saw some looks exchanged, and she was the topic of conversation post-class.  For me it mostly served to remind me of how fortunate we are in the accident of class makeup.  We are a somewhat diverse group in terms of work backgrounds, age, political leanings and personal communication style.  But we have an unwritten rule of tolerance for differing points of view, and have generally been able to find a way to smooth over the rough patches.

Over the course of the last 4 years, we have melded into a cohesive unit that reminds me a bit of a hive of bees.  Like bees, we see this interloper as a threat, and we might possibly be inclined to encase her in wax or whatever it is that bees use.  In this way we dilute or eliminate the jarring effect of her presence in our midst.

It turns out that all good things have a dark side, including our lovely little class.

merged into and made part of

I remember when I was a young adult, and my generation were marrying, it was popular to include the 'candle ceremony' in wedding festivities.  This involved the two individuals each bearing a lighted candle to a larger, centrally placed candle, and simultaneously lighting that one, and then extinguishing the flame of their individual candle.  While I could wax on about the fallacies of that symbolism and marriage, I'll leave that for another day.

What brings it to mind is the merger of law and equity, a marriage of sorts.

Legal remedies of our legal system first developed in English courts of law/common law, and were limited to specific writs/forms of action.  If there was not an existing writ, then there was no legal remedy.  Things like trover, replevin, and assumpsit dance like sugarplums in my head.   While some would say that a right is a right regardless of one's ability to vindicate it, others ask what is a right without the means to enforce it?  There was a gap between justice as understood and justice obtained.

Over time courts of equity developed that addressed this gap by introducing equitable remedies for situations where a legal remedy was not available.  These equitable remedies may be prohibitory, coercive or declaratory in nature.  Generally they affect the conduct of the defendant in some way.  From this history comes the notion that equitable remedies are appropriate only where legal remedies are inadequate.

In the U.S., the courts of law and equity have been merged, so that a judge has jurisdiction to issue a preliminary injunction, and follow that with a judgment for money damages after full trial on the merits.  There are still distinctions, however.  There are rules, both statutory and judicially created, that drive the procedure and the remedy available in a given case.  Whether a defendant has the right to a jury trial in a civil matter is determined by whether the action or the remedy is equitable or legal in nature.  Apparently while married, law and equity have maintained their own lights, in spite of the conflagration in the middle.

From whence cometh my help?

I like to think I mostly have my shit together by this point in my life.  I have self identified as a cynical pollyanna type, which means that while I see no long term hope for humankind, tomorrow looks rosy.

Ah but today, today was a very dark day, for no one reason, and for all reasons.  It's reasonable that I would be somewhat thrown off by the recent uncertainty about my job due to a pending merger, and it's rational to feel anxiety when I think about the Bar Exam that looms ever closer.  And the dark days of winter have cast their seasonal pall about me.  What surprises and disappoints me is how vulnerable I am to all these outside influences.

I thought I had just such marrow in my bones but today I am not able to locate it, if it is there.  Tomorrow may be better.

To be jostled

When we are young, our understanding and knowledge of the world, of people and their interrelationships is still in formation, and we are constantly being confronted with new information.  The three year old's understanding of their family's relationships, who is in charge of what, and how it is that the sky is blue-all constantly evolving.

At 21, we have a firmer understanding of the basics, but we regularly are confronted with different people who expose us to new ideas and challenge the way we have been taught by our parents.  Thus we continue to morph both our views, the way we present ourselves to the world, and what interests us.

By 50, we don't make new friends so easily.  Somewhere along the way we began to filter the new stimuli, for the sake of stability and in pursuit of other goals-how else does one stay married and raise their own family, establish a career within one field and save for retirement?  All noble goals, these, but somewhere along the way we stop being energized by the new incursions into our awareness, and turn our backs.

The unsettling that comes with being open to new learning, new people, different tastes, an alternate route, and another view of the same scene jostles me.  Law school has been a series of nudges and pokes that force me to reawaken that part of me that admits to not knowing and being open to learning.  So too have some new friends that came from law school.  But surprisingly, having once opened the door for the particular jostling that law school gives me, I find I am admitting other forms of this unsettling.  A new or unusual experience makes me think, causes me to consider anew a prejudice, a conception.

My son and his wife have been visiting over the holidays, and I have lent them my car for most of the visit.  This means I am walking and riding the bus to work, which is not really a significant life change.  I've ridden the bus, the subway, the train in many cities of the world.  And yet riding it here in my own backyard is a different experience than riding the metro in Madrid, or Istanbul, or the bus on the Quilotoa Loop.  For one thing, it is not generally socially acceptable to ride the bus here unless one is a student, poor or mentally ill.  I think this is a common perception in small towns in the US.  Once you get to a city, this changes.  In San Francisco, it is perfectly ok to be a high level executive, and take mass transit.  But not so here.

And so I've been interested to observe a few things.  Of course I take note of my fellow passengers, of the colorful people to be found wandering about the transit mall.   I also find myself considering what riding the bus says about me to others, and what it says to me about myself.

It's forcing me to reassess my own views of those who wait at bus stops, and to reconsider why we- why I don't ride the bus.  I'm not so comfortable with some of the results, but in some way I'm glad for the jostling.  Maybe I'll keep riding the bus even after my car is returned, maybe not.  But I hope I'll be poked and prodded in some way.