finding our feet - part II

Read part I here.

So Saturday morning, I woke up after a few weeks of acting "horribly," as Kathy put it, and we tried to figure it out.  We all got up to take A to her horseback riding lesson, and I brought my cookbooks with me.  While she had her lesson, B and C at bagels and I tried to find actual real meals that could be cooked in under 45 minutes.  Then the whole family piled back in the car and we went directly to the grocery store. 

We bought the stuff for the meals I'd planned, but we also bought stuff previously on my prohibited-list for budget-friendly grocery shopping.  We bought little containers of drinkable yogurt (which I personally think are gross).  We bought a massive bag of shredded cheese.  We bought Pop Tarts, and granola bars.  When we got home, I unpacked the groceries and Kathy started taking games off the shelves of our game closet and sorting out what was no longer age-appropriate for our kids. 

We went to Home Depot and got the stuff we needed to finish our closet in the basement so the toys could be moved down there, as well as the hose we needed to fix our grill (something chewed through the gas line) and the part we needed to fix the unflushable toilet.

finding our feet - part I

Kathy and I went to Oregon early in this month to celebrate the domestic partnership of two dear friends.  It was a long weekend full of wine drinking, celebrating, and lying around drinking coffee re-hashing the events of the night before.  Basically, it was like college, only in college it was Jack Daniels Downhome Punch or Old Milwaukee instead of wine.  The weekend was fabulous.

What was slightly less fabulous was diving into the workweek on Tuesday with two suitcases full of dirty clothes, a dirty house, and no groceries.  How could I have forgotten this horrible fact of being a dual-income family?  Without your weekend, no chores get done!  You start the workweek about 10 hours behind, and then frantically paddle, trying to not only keep your head above water, but actually make forward progress so you can get back on track. 

Each morning was a mad rush, packed with convincing the kids that three-week old bread with American cheese on it was a delicious and nutritious lunch and that those jeans aren't that dirty; in fact, jeans are designed to be worn more than once without washing!  Each evening was a load of laundry, a cobbled-together dinner made of things purchased at Sam's Club and stuck in the freezer when I wasn't working, and sorting through stacks of mail and other papers, trying to make sure no utilities were shut off in the meantime.  And then I had a business day-trip on Friday, so I had to leave the house at 6 am.

accepted

I received an offer from the firm I interviewed at last week.  The partner from my old firm, who moved to the new place, called and left me a voicemail with the details.  When I listened to the voicemail, I felt like I was only catching the drift, not hearing the individual words.  As the words washed over me -- "Making you an offer... Would love to have you on board... Conflicts paperwork... " -- it hit me.  I was going back to work. 

Remember those days I never got dressed?  The week I finally put "take a shower" on my to-do list to make sure it happened?  Remember the long mornings weeding my garden, filled with gratitude for all I had?  The DIY projects I took on, some more successful than others?  The books I read, the naps I took, the old hobbies revived?  All of that was ending.

When my phone rang, I was doing yoga for the first time in months (years?), trying to alleviate the back pain that had been plaguing me for the last month or so.  I heard the phone ring, but could not find it to answer in time, so I paused my video, waited for the voicemail to show up, listened to it, texted Kathy with the news, then got back to the yoga.  As I stretched my sore muscles, I let my mind wander and let the news really sink in.  I had decided to go back to work, and had decided, for a number of reasons, to go back to BigLaw.  I knew, in my head, that this was the right decision.  But I was also so afraid, and was trying hard not to allow the fear to take root and grow. 

interview

Yesterday, I interviewed for a job as an associate at a big New York law firm.  Have I lost my mind?  Did I forget all that I went through last year, including the crying on the floor in a towel incident? Um, I hope not.

I need to find a job.  If I wait until the end of my sabbatical comes and goes, it will get significantly harder for me to find a job, since I am completely and officially unemployed.  So, I started to panic.  I met with a headhunter, revised my resume, and told her what I wanted -- ideally, a firm that was open to part time, or a full time in-house job where the lifestyle would be drastically different.  She called me back and told me that the only opening for someone with my experience was at a huge New York law firm notorious for burning out associates.  I politely said no, thank you, but to let me know if there were any other opportunities.  I waited, and the days of silence stretched into weeks.  Then, I found out that a partner at my old firm, who I liked, was moving to a different firm.  I took a deep breath, bit down hard on the bullet, and asked him if he needed associate help at his new firm.

job searching

Recently, I've started the job-search process in earnest.  By recently, I suppose I mean this morning, although I have been half-heartedly searching for about the last month. 

Finding a job is possibly one of the most horrible experiences to which we subject ourselves.  You send your resume out in to the void, and wait endlessly for some kind of response.  Most online postings have some sort of disclaimer to the effect that, due to volume of responses, they only actually answer people that they intend to interview.  So you have no idea whether you are still in the running but they haven't called yet, whether they found someone else, or whether they were even considering you in the first place.  Or really, whether they even read your resume.  So, worse than rejection, you hear nothing, nothing, nothing.  Then, if you're lucky, rejection.

anchors aweigh

Six months into joblessness, one thing I'm struck by is how thoroughly our identities are wrapped up in what we do for work.  It's like our careers (whether it be homemaker, freelancer, corporate lawyer, or otherwise) are, at our core, who we are.  Being a (practicing) lawyer gave me confidence in other areas of my life in ways I didn't recognize.  It gave me something to complain talk about at parties.  It gave me something to do during the day, so that I didn't have to structure my days, weeks, and months for myself.  Being a lawyer, and a pretty successful one, for someone three years out of law school, gave me a core feeling of competence as I moved through the world.  It also gave me a sense of pride, to be able to say that I was a lawyer -- I had obviously worked hard through law school and bar studying, and had passed the exam.  It gave me a sense that I had made it.  All of this anchored me in the world in a way I didn't recognize. 

working

Kathy working

The last two days, Kathy has worked from home.  Despite my best attempts, she has steadfastly maintained her position that just because I quit my job, it doesn't mean that she has.  Which means, UGH, she has to actually work when she works from home, not just hang out with me all day.

So today, I sat down at my laptop in the office to write this, and ended up instead just sort of surfing the web.  Kathy got on a work call.  I swear, she has spent half the call laughing. 

We have been under inordinate amounts of stress lately, due to some, um, issues in our family life.  There has been lots of love, but not a lot of laughing.  Hearing her laugh on the phone with her client has actually just made my day.  She likes to complain a lot about her job, but she actually loves being a lawyer.  She might not like some of the crap that comes with working at a law firm, but she does love being a lawyer.
 



born again

If all change is a "little death," there is also a little birth.  It being Spring, and given my New Year's Resolution (number one) that seems appropriate.  A piece of us dies, but a new piece also comes into existence.  And that is why, today, on the day that I gave notice at work, I think I feel so light and so happy.

(via)

To be honest, I expected to have feelings more associated with the death.  I expected fear, and yes, some grief.  Instead, I felt feelings I associate more with birth (like joy, and relief -- although I suppose that feeling could accompany either transition).  There was a little fear as I walked into the office of the Director of Attorney HR, and again as I walked in to speak with one of the co-chairs of my department, a woman I have a lot of respect for.  I have spent weeks agonizing with Kathy over the right way to say what I wanted to say, the way to spin it that would burn the fewest bridges and maintain these relationships, in case I change my mind and want to come back.  In the end, what won out was the simple truth.  I simply told them the Plan.

little deaths (or, Hamlet for lawyers)

I guess it's not enough for me to use Shakespeare to show why leaving the law firm is hard.  I've been resisting writing this all day, but I can't do it.  I have to over-explain.  Perhaps it is my legal training.  You can't just state the issue and then state the law.  You have to apply.  It's the A in IRAC.  You learn this in your first legal writing class.  And so.

Issue:  A friend one said to me that when her friends change their names when they get married, it's like a little death.  To me, that is what leaving the law firm behind is like.  Really, isn't it what all changes are like?  Little deaths.

Relevant law:  Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?

marinade

This morning, I made a marinade for the pork loins we'll be having for dinner.  It consists of this:

3/4 white onion, chopped
1 tsp black pepper
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp Allspice
1/2 tsp ground thyme
1 tsp sugar
1 Tbsp Worcestershire sauce
1Tbsp water
2Tbsp vegetable oil
Dash hot red pepper flakes

I blended it all up with my immersion blender until it was a disgusting paste, and spread it over the meat, which I then covered and put back in the fridge for the day.  Kathy's going to brush it off with a pastry brush before grilling it tonight.  This is what it looks like now:

I'll let you know how it goes.

I've been home from work for a few days, sick.  I'm going to go into the office later this afternoon, then try to resume normal life.  The time off sick has given me time to consider what it is I'm going to do with my life, given this post from last week.  After thinking, and researching, and talking with Kathy, I think I've actually come up with a plan. 

A Room of One's Own

But, you may say, we asked you to speak about women and fiction -

what has that got to do with a room of one's own ?

Today, via The Happiness Project, I learned about a blog called Quiet: the power of introverts in a world that can't stop talking, written by a woman who wrote a book with the same title.  Given how much time I spend thinking about what it means to be an introvert (since, actually, I have only kind of recently realized I am one), I was drawn to it.  I think one of the great truths about change is that in order for a change to feel right, you have to make sure you are not struggling against your own nature.  Hence, the thinking about being an introvert. 

One post I found particularly interesting and relevant is entitled 5 Tips for Finding Work You Love.  The tips are (in a nutshell, and as applied to me specifically):

1.  Pay attention to what you envy.  I do not tend to envy other lawyers, unless I happen to come across a lawyer working part time.  I am envious of friends that I have from college who have jobs involving books.  Reading them, writing them, writing about them, editing them. 

guidance

(via)



I mentioned earlier this week that Kathy and I watched part of the State of the Union before falling asleep.  During the portion we were awake for, President Obama noted that times, they are a-changin'.  Gone are the days where you get up every morning, go downtown to your office by 9, leave at 5, work reasonably hard, get a few promotions, and make a decent living.  Now, it's all "career development" and "networking" and "marketing yourself."  But what if I don't want to do any of those things?  What if I just want to get up, go to work, come home, be there in time to make my family a dinner that does not come out of a box or the freezer, spend some time together, go to bed, and repeat?  One of my biggest gripes about being a lawyer is that my job encroaches so much into my life that it's gotten to the point where it is my life.  Yuck.

The way I see it, there are two alternatives that I could live with.  (1) I could find a job that doesn't encroach so much, or (2) I could find a job that I like enough that I don't mind some encroachment.  But I don't even know where to start with that.  I wish there was someone who would sit me down, give me a multiple-choice career assessment, tell me what would make me happy, and then tell me how to accomplish it.  I need a guidance counselor.

hausfrau

(borrowed)

I bet you thought I wasn't still planning to quit, since I haven't talked about it in a while.  Not so.  And what will I do when I quit?  Well, yesterday I read on APW about how great it is being a wife.  Specifically, the kind that takes care of the house.  I think I may have a somewhat romanticized notion of what it must be like to be a stay-at-home-wife.  Yet, on any given day, I would rather do stuff around the house then go to work.  So.

Things I like to think I would do as a stay-at-home-wife

1.  Wear A-line dresses while vacuuming.
2.  Work out on a daily basis.
3.  Happily fix all the stuff broken in our house, even if it requires going to the specialty hardware store.
4.  Read all the books I've been wanting to read.
5.  Bake.
6.  Plan healthy and interesting meals for the family.
7.  Grow an amazing vegetable garden.
8.  Start wearing makeup and actually doing my hair.
9.  Pay all bills on time and have a perfectly balanced checkbook and budget.
10.  Decorate my spotless house in a creative and vintage-y way that really reflects my personality by refurbishing items of furniture I purchase at the Salvation Army.

yawn

(From design is mine, via we <3 it.)

Not the tired kind of yawn.  The bored kind.  Yesterday, as we were sitting down to watch DVD number 3 of the first season of Glee (which we bought for a child for Christmas, then decided was completely inappropriate and have been enjoying ourselves ever since), I asked Kathy whether she thought I was a genius, and if she thought maybe that was why I am so bored at work.  I said it as a joke, but she took me somewhat seriously.  "Well," she replied, "You aren't as bright as this one roommate I had.  But you're up there." 

happy new year

Well, I have been a bit remiss about posting.  I guess that technically, I have kept my promise to myself, because I mentally committed to posting to this blog every workday.  And with maybe one exception, I have.  So I didn't post last week because I didn't work last week.  But I have been missing it, and I'm back at work, so here I am.  With a really, really long post.

(I struggled to find a Baby New Year/Father Time picture that wasn't creepy,

to symbolize how I tend to view the new year.  This is where it would have

gone, had I been successful.  Instead, I chose this generic, but glittery, picture from here.)

It's a new year, which means it's New Year's resolution time.  Can we talk about that, please?  I am a resolution-maker.  I am constantly making resolutions.  I'm a big self-improver.  I think it stems from the fact that I am naturally an introspective/introverted person.  It makes sense, right?  If you spend a lot of time on your own, thinking about things, you become more aware of your Self (or at least, you spend a lot of time thinking about your self).  If you are more aware of your Self, you tend to dwell on the things that you wish were different, or the things that would make you happier.  Hence, the self-improvement urge.  Maybe it is not this way for everyone who is a loner by nature.  But it is the case for me.  So I have some New Year's resolutions.

the Hotel California

You can check out any time you like.  But you can never leave.  Photo via Wikipedia.

I think every Biglaw associate talks about quitting.  Kind of a lot.  But doesn't it seem like not that many of us actually do it?  I have a friend who is in her 6th year.  She has been talking about quitting for all of the 3 years I have known her.  I have another friend that I went to law school with, who has been talking about quitting for at least the last year, maybe longer.  And as you know, I have also been saying that I am going to quit.  So, why are we all still here?

I think the golden handcuffs are part of it, but not the whole picture. There's also the busy-slow-busy-slow problem, where you either don't have the time to look for a new job, or you don't have the motivation.  But I think it goes deeper than that.

love shack

(what I would be giving up)

For the most part, when I think about changing careers, I have talked about things like regret if I make the wrong choice, concern about dissatisfaction even if I change, ensuring that my new career lines up with my values, and the stress caused by a lack of work-life balance.  All of these intangible things are important.  But there is one big, fat, tangible pink elephant in the room.  Money. 

The salaries of junior associates at big New York law firms is public information.  If you're a halfway decent googler, you can find out roughly what I make each year.  I've narrowed my alternative career path options down to a select few, and if you just look in terms of raw numbers, it represents about a 73% pay cut.  SEVENTY-THREE PERCENT.  That means that if I move to the career I'm contemplating, I will make about 27% of what I am making now.  To be honest, even when I realized that, I thought, meh.  So what?  I've lived on less, rather happily.  I would have time to do the things I want to do.  You can't put a price on happiness.  Etc.  I convinced myself that, despite my enormous load of law school debt, I was not, in fact, wearing the golden handcuffs you hear so much about in law school.

Today, I was faced for the first time with the hard truth that if I wanted to quit my job on the timeline I am contemplating, and put into action some of the plans that Kathy and I have been making, I would have to give something up.  Something big, that I enjoy a lot, but which I can only afford on my lawyer salary.  Worse yet, it's not just me that has to give it up.  It's the whole family, Kathy and the kids too.  I have to ask the people that I love to make a sacrifice of something that they really like, so that I can have the potential (not the guarantee, just the potential) to be happier. 

This thing is the vacation house that we rent on Fire Island each summer.  I use the term "house" loosely.  It's actually a converted garage.  I affectionately call it a shack.  But it's been our shack for the last two summers, and we all love it.  And if I quit my job, we really can't afford it anymore.

Last week I alluded to a book by Joe Dominguez and V. Robin called Your Money or Your Life.  In this book, the very smart authors point out that you don't actually make what you think you do at your job.  Actually, you have to deduct a bunch of expenses from your salary, which represent things that you wouldn't need to spend money on if it wasn't for your job.  Then, you have to add together the hours you actually work, plus the hours that you spend doing work-related things. Like commuting.  Or checking your blackberry.  As we near the end of the year, and I looked at my billable hours, I am reminded of all the nonbillable stuff that I do.  So I decided to do a little experiment. 

hockeytown

Last night, Kathy and I talked about me leaving the law firm.  We have talked about this before, but last night's conversation felt a little different, a little more serious.  Today, after a string of absolutely horrible workdays, I am having a good day at work.  Enjoying it, even.  And because I'm me, it has got me thinking, "WHAT IF I LEAVE AND THEN REGRET IT?"  So the question I have is this:  Am I having a good day at work because I finally decided, deep down, to leave the firm, or does the good day mean I should not leave the firm after all?  Because I am from outside of Detroit, this makes me think of the Red Wings.

the winter of my discontent

(via MSNBC's photo blog.)

A while ago, the NYT published this article about 20-somethings, and how none of us know what the hell we are doing with our lives, other than moving back in with our parents.  When I was studying for the bar and going through my divorce, I did just that.  I think this article resonated with me, because it so accurately described what me and many of my friends are going through. 

This article describes the 20s as a period of "identity exploration, instability, self-focus, feeling in-between and a rather poetic characteristic [reasearchers call] 'a sense of possibilities.'"  Perhaps.  But this "sense of possibilities" has a darker side too.  I, and my sister, and others I know, might call it "fear."  In the article, the researchers describe feelings of "dread, frustration, uncertainty, a sense of not quite understanding the rules of the game. More than positive or negative feelings, what [researchers] heard most often was ambivalence."  As we struggle with our identities, trying to figure out what to do with our lives, many of us are hopeful, but we are also afraid.  I know that I am.  Afraid of getting stuck in something I don't like, but also afraid of never finding something I do.  Or growing tired of something that once energized me.  I feel like every week I have a new career that I want to embark on.  I'm not lazy.  It's not that I don't want to do anything.  It's that I want to do everything.  Maybe this is the "sense of possibilities."

Waterloo

(by Margaret Durow, via Audrey Hepburn Complex)

The chain goes like this:  A friend mentions Ani Difranco, circa 1996 (Untouchable Face, specifically).  I listen to the whole album (Dilate, specifically).  I hear the song Napoleon.  It reminds me of two things:

(1) A time when I was in college, and went over to visit a friend (no cell phones, people, we used to just stop by without warning).  She was listening to Napoleon so loudly that she couldn't hear me pounding on her door and I had to just turn around and go home.

(2) How I used to actually want to do things with my life.  Big things.  Bigger-than-me things.  And now I just make a lot of money.  And am totally unfulfilled and used up by the institution that I've chosen as my employer, with no time or energy left for the bigger-than-me things I used to want to do.  All I can do is write checks.  And how dare I complain about it to my college friends, some of whom are barely making ends meet, but doing something bigger than themselves.

I went to law school with a dream.  I thought it would be a way for me to do something that I am passionate about (work for LBGT rights) as my career.  I shopped and chose a law school with a strong public interest program (BERKELEY, for god's sake, it doesn't get more activisty than that).  I interned at the San Francisco Human Rights Commission (the other HRC).  Then I interned at another Bay-area LGBT rights organization.  Then, I interned for BigLaw.