Bob Scott Was Right

In the fall of 2002, as another successful round of contracts came to a close, Professor and former Dean Scott addressed his disciples. "Some of you," he called them out, "do not love this." Ha! Rocket scientist. Of course we do not love this, I thought. What's to love? Then, suddenly, it occurred to me. Some of us, no them!, some of THEM actually LOVE this!

Some of them love this.

"You aren't going to listen to me." Scott went on. Wide tie, double breasted suit, small, bright blue eyes. Had recently told us that we weren't as smart as his Columbia students, but we had better hearts. Just what law students want to hear. No, at that point, those of us he hadn't lost at consideration or at part performance or at the house on the quick sand or whatever, stopped listening.

"But, if you don't love it now, you aren't going to love it in three years or in ten years or in 20 years, so you should really stop now. Cut your losses and go find something you do love."

He was right. About everything. He was right that we weren't going to listen. He was right that I did not love it then, that I did not love it 3 years later and now, six years later, I still do not love it.

In fact, I hate it. I hate it when it wakes me up at 3 AM with anxiety. I hate it even more when it wakes me up at 3 AM to start working again. I hate that I go to work for a paycheck. I hate that I represent the bad guys. I hate the structure. I hate the practice. I hate discovery. I hate the people. They are perfectly nice people. OK, some of them are total jackasses still preening like the high school softball stars they once were, or, maybe worse, jackasses preening like the aging version of the losers they were in high school, but most of them are fine people and some of them are really extraordinarily nice people. But I hate them anyway. I hate them when they say how are you and I have to same I'mgreatthankshowareyou when really I would rather be locked in a port-o-potty for ten hours. I hate them when they don't say how are you. I hate them when I eat it for their mistakes. I hate them when I have to sacrifice to hide other peoples' mistakes. I hate them when they call me out for my mistakes. I hate the clients. I hate opposing counsel. I hate pro pers. I hate judges. I hate clerks. I hate catty secretaries.

So, why do I do it?

Fear.
Fear of becoming un-hire-able. Fear of wasting my degree. Fear of all that debt. Fear of never getting ahead. Fear of never being able to retire. Fear of never seeing Santorini. Fear of wanting all those adorable anthropologie dresses and not being able to ever buy them. Fear of not eating organic. Fear of my parents' lack of retirement plan. Or maybe of being my parents' retirement plan. Fear of not having the paycheck. Fear of not being high up on all those pecking orders. Yes, I am the littlest attorney. But I am not a secretary, a librarian, a paralegal, a receptionist, a floater, a temp, a contractor, a vendor, a clerk, a barista, a sandwich maker, a dry cleaner. Fear of losing my house. Fear of not being impressive. Fear of unexpected expenses. Fear of health insurance companies.

and, well,
Lack of creativity/ any other marketable skill.
Sadly, I have no skills. I don't know what else I would do.
On our refrigerator is a magnet that someone thought was ~so us~. Well, someone thought was so him. "What would you do if you knew you could not fail." I pass it every time I reach for leftovers, butter, yogurt, inspiration, snacks. And I have never had the courage to even contemplate the answer. It's too big. It's too risky. It's too depressing.