Where to Begin?

While thinking about how to re-launch my legal career, I have asked myself the same question over and over: "Where do I begin?" And the answer I keep getting is: "begin at the beginning." Not knowing exactly where that phrase originated, "Google" reminds me that it's a quote from Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. In the story, near the end of the Knave of Hearts' trial, an envelope mysteriously appears, and the White Rabbit thinks it is evidence that must be presented at the trial. The King orders the White Rabbit to read the letter, but the White Rabbit is perplexed and doesn't know where to begin. The King tells him to "[b]egin at the beginning and go on till you come to the end: then stop." Practical advice, if you're reading a letter.

I am not reading a letter. I am not starting something that has a definite beginning and a finite end. I am attempting to re-launch my legal career; a career that has been on hiatus for two months or five years, depending on who you ask. In many ways, I am having a "mid-career crisis." I am at a point where I can jump back in to a full-time legal position (assuming someone would hire me) or I can figure out how to do my "own thing" and have control of my time, my clients, and my life, in general.

While "googling" the original quote, I came across another Lewis Carroll-ism that may or may not prove to be more helpful to my situation: "If you don't know where you're going, any road will get you there." I refer to it as an "-ism" because it's not an actual quote from the story of Alice's adventure. Rather, it is a paraphrase of a nonsensical exchange between Alice and the Cheshire Cat. Alice asks the cat for directions, but she does not know exactly where she wants to go; she just wants to go "somewhere." The cat informs her that it "doesn't matter which way you go, you're sure [to get somewhere] if you only walk long enough."

I am not naïve enough to think I can re-launch my career without a plan in place or at least an outline of a path to follow. I certainly don't want to end up down a rabbit hole like Alice, but you must admit, she did have one amazing adventure! It's time for me to "make something happen!'

Opting out, how to opt back in

I drafted the below post well over two years ago.  It was the last thing I wrote for "invisiblejulie" before I started my weight loss blog.  I'm publishing it now because even though a lot has happend in my life and career since I wrote that entry, I'm sort of in the same place I was... trying to figure out what to do next.  Today, I have a renewed desire to "opt back in" to the workforce, full time, but perhaps on a different path than I was thinking about two years ago. 

The post:

I read a short article today about professional working moms who "opt out" of their careers, only to opt back in a few years later. The article spoke briefly about former Supreme Court Justice Sandara Day O'Connor who must be the ultimate success story of a laywer who opted out of her career for 5 years and then came back when her kids were older only to rise all the way to Supreme Court Justice. (Wow! That's just "wow!" I had no idea! And, she did it in the 1960's!)

The article mentioned a few things that Ms. O'Connor had done to keep abreast of the law, and it got me thinking about my own career. I opted out for about 6 or 7 months, only to opt back in with a part-time position. But, the article got me thinking that maybe there are actually other ways to develop my career.

Some of my initial thoughts.

1. Volunteer to be a case evaluator for Macomb County
2. Volunteer to help resolve disputes between attorneys and clients through the State Bar of Michigan.
3. Volunteer to help resolve disputes between attorneys and clients through the Attorney Grievance Commission.
4. Become involved with the State Board of Law Examiners, perhaps by grading papers.
5. Design a program for the law schools for "opting back in" after an absence.

I must confess, I did not follow up on any of my "initial thoughts" listed above, but these are great ideas.  Some of these things I should take a hard look at trying to do!  I'm off to see if I can find the article I referenced above, and if I find it, I will update.

I can't escape the fires

Without even looking for it, I stumbled across a particularly sickening news item today. I don't know how I've missed the story until now, I guess it just hasn't received much play in the local, southeastern Michigan news media because it happened on the west side of the state. I can't even put words to the upset feeling I got when I read the news story about "16 year old Calista Springer who died Feb. 27 in a fire in her family's Centreville home while she was chained to her bed." Apparently, Miss. Springer was a "special needs child" who needed to be "chained" for her own "safety" according to her father. Again, I can't find the article I read originally, but this. makes. me. sick!

They grow up so fast

I know it's such a cliche, but it is a milestone worth documenting. Today, I dropped off the registration packet to enroll R in kindergarten for next year. It was not without its own little drama, because, honestly, it wouldn't be my life if there wasn't a problem. Fortunately, it was easily resolved with 2 phone calls.

So many posts, so little time

My goal when I vowed last month to revive my blog was to try to post something, anything, every day. Honestly, I have written a post just about every day, but I have not published them, yet. I have found that my posts start out pretty strong, but are weak at the end. I know that this is just a personal journal that noone else is reading, but in case anyone every stumbles upon this blog, I would like to at least have a point at the end of my posts. I also know that I don't need to make profound pronouncements in each and every post, but still, I'm having trouble tying everything together at the end of my posts. I guess I just need to get over it, and start publishing.

What exactly am I afraid of?

The odd thing about my fear is that for years it was never really related to a fear of actually dying in a fire. Back when I was keeping my worldly possessions in a laundry basket under my bedroom window, I never really doubted that I would be able to get out of the house. I had convinced myself that of the four bedrooms in our two-story colonial, mine was probably the easiest one from which to escape.

No, the selfish child I was was afraid that I wouldn't be able to save my "things." For the life of me, I can't name for you all of the "things" that I needed to save. I know that the laundry basket was not static, its contents changed almost daily as I prioritized and re-prioritized my belongings. I know that I always kept some clothes and a pair of shoes in the laundry basket because if nothing else, I was practical. Too many times I had read about people escaping a house fire "with just the clothes on their back." I wanted to make sure that I had more than just my Holly Hobbie nightgown to wear. I also recall that my favorite yellow blanket made its way into the basket on a regular basis, and I'm pretty certain that my piggy bank which contained about $117 in small bills and change was a mainstay in the laundry basket because how else would I be able to buy new things?

Now that I am a wife and mother and my fear has come back with a vengeance, my fear has slowly morphed into a fear of actually dying in a fire and/or a fear that I won't be able to save my family and one, some or all of us will perish. This is the fear I am trying to work through by writing these posts.

Irrational Fear

Since I was about seven years old, I have had an irrational fear of fire. To clarify, I am not afraid of a warm, cozy fire in a fireplace or a controlled, crackling campfire, but for as long as I can remember, I have always been afraid that my house was going to burn down in a fire. I don’t honestly know where my fear originated. I suspect it was from an elementary school presentation given by “Smokey the Bear,” but I don’t know for sure. When I was in the fifth grade, my fear was exacerbated when a house in our neighborhood where I had once played with the kids actually did burn to the ground while the family of four was shopping at Meijer. Fortunately, no one was hurt in the fire that started in their dishwasher, but for a few nights after that house fire, I slept on the floor directly underneath my bedroom window so that I could escape quickly.

Even before that neighborhood house fire, for a portion of my childhood, from about age seven to eleven, each night before bed, I collected and stashed my most prized possessions in a laundry basket that I kept underneath my bedroom window so that in case of a fire, I could just grab my things and jump out the window. My parents knew about my laundry basket of goodies. I often made a big deal about not being able to find this item or that item before going to bed, and they participated in the search so that I would just go to bed already. While I don’t have a specific recollection of any conversations with them about my fear, I’m sure they attempted to dissuade me and allay my fears about perishing in a fire, but to their credit, they let me deal with my fear in my own way, and eventually I grew out of it… sort of.

I’ve long since stopped stashing my things in a laundry basket. But, around the time when I finally realized that most tangible items, with a few exceptions, can be replaced, I got married. And the fear came back worse than before, because now the "thing" that mattered most to me couldn't be kept in a laundry basket. Over the last few years, since the births of my two children, the fear has become even more intense.

Stories about house fires always make me cry huge crocodile tears. Like this one about the mom of a family of six who was the only survivor of a house fire. Her agonizing tale of trying to coax her fifteen year old daughter to jump from a bedroom window still makes me tear up. Then today, there was this story of an eight year old boy who perished in a house fire. For awhile, the news was reporting that he was “missing” as if there was a chance that he made it out of the house with his mom and sister, but had wandered off in the confusion.

Given my irrational fear that someday, my house will burn to the ground, I know I should not read these tragic news stories. But, I have to read them. I have to read the accounts of the survivors who maybe, just maybe can offer me a clue as to what I should do in such a situation. If I file these nuggets of survival in my brain somewhere, maybe, God forbid, I can draw upon them to get my own family safely out of a burning house. I also need to read about those who don't survive, so I can anaylze what they did wrong, why they couldn't get out in time, and hopefully learn from those mistakes to get my family to safety.

Laser Hair Removal: Did I expect too much?

Lured by promises of being able to "throw away my razor," I surrendered over $1800 of hard-earned money to a certain laser hair removal company (we'll call them "Certain Laser Company" or "CLC," for now). I signed up for 2 packages: one to have my underarm hair removed, and the other to have the hair along my bikini line removed. These are the two areas that I absolutely hate shaving. I also chose these areas because I am prone to razor burn. No matter what combination of razor and shaving lotion/gel/cream I used, I was honestly at a point where I'd rather not shave those areas than be seen in public in a bathing suit with all the red bumps.



The packages I purchased included six (6) laser treatment sessions every ten (10) weeks. This particular company offers a "guarantee" that if hair "ever grows back in the treated areas," then I can come back for more sessions, "free of charge."



I did not notice any difference after the first treatment. When I went back for my second treatment, the technician assured me that I would notice a reduction in hair, but not until after my second or even third treatment. It turns out, she was right. I started noticing a difference in the amount of hair in my underarm area after the third treatment.



Each time I go for a treatment, the tech asks me to estimate my overall hair reduction. Since the fourth visit, I have estimated that my bikini line hair has been reduced about 70%, and my underarms are in the area of 50%.



I finished my sessions in February 2007, without ever realizing my "hair free" dream. Even with the reduction, I'm still shaving those areas as often as I was before, and I'm still getting those nasty bumps. I will say that my underarm hair is "finer" and slightly "lighter," but as I said, it still needs to be shaved on a regular basis. The hair along my bikini line is exactly the same as it was when I started the treatments.



Recently, I spoke at length to a woman who owns a medical spa here in town where they also do laser hair removal. She told me that in her opinion, no one in the laser hair removal industry should be talking in terms of "throwing away razors." She said she goes out of her way to tell her clients that they will not necessarily be "hair free for the rest of their lives." She knows for a fact that she has lost sales because she won't tell people what they want to hear. But, for her, it's all about expectations. She understands the limits of laser hair removal and knows that if she speaks to her clients in terms of "hair reduction," instead of being "hair free," her clients will be much more satisfied with the results, and some, the lucky ones, will actually be hair free for the rest of their lives.



Honestly, I would not have signed up for laser hair removal with CLC if they spoke to me in terms of "hair reduction." That's not what I wanted, and they know that. I didn't want to have to shave my underarms or bikini areas ever again, and now, I realize, that was an unreasonable expectation.



So, what's my recourse? What am I going to do about it? I'm not sure yet. I'm still receiving treatments "free of charge." I'm pretty sure it's in vain, though, because as I said, I have now received 10 treatments, and I have not noticed a difference since after my third visit. I've been told that the hair that's left, especially in my underarm area, is "too fine" and the laser can't "find it" to "zap" it.

"Fun" is relative term

Friday night, against my better judgment, we took the kids to a funeral home to pay our respects to the mother of my husband's aunt. She was 94 years old. I did not know her well; I probably only met her 2 or 3 times. But, because funerals, in my opinion, are more for the people who are left behind, we went to support the family which includes my husband's aunt's family who we do know very well.

We had to take the kids because there was no one available to watch them for us. As I said, I did not know the deceased well, but I do know her daughter, granddaughter, great-grandaughter and great-great granddaughter well, so it was not a situation where I would have been excused from attending the viewing. We probably should have gone to the funeral on Saturday, but we had other plans.

Anyway, the long and short of this entry is that R made some "friends" at the funeral home. He was a bit shy, at first, but he loves to color, and the new friends invited him to color. And then coloring turned into hide-and-seek, and then a game of "walk" chase (b/c there's no running in funeral homes!) As a quick aside, I feel really disrespectful writing about my kids "playing" at the funeral home, but at the time there were only a few family members present, and it really did not bother anyone... so that's my justification.

At the end of the evening when he was leaving, R said to my husband (but within earshot of all of the funeral home visitors), "That was fun, daddy! When can we come back again?"