equilibrium-girl.com

Upside Down

Go see Curious George. It's a great movie--simple, sweet, and fun. You're not going to leave the theater being any wiser or have the secret of life spelled out in the rocks by your feet, but you'll feel good. I recommend buying the soundtrack-bought it last night and played it 3 times in my office today.

Also recommended: my etsy shop. Only 8 items right now and shorter on pictures than I would like, but you owe it to yourself to at least look.

A couple of interesting developments at work-I'm still digesting them mentally, and I'll write a little later about them when I've come to terms with them.

Double D-O-G

Last night before bed, His Honor and I read Daisy's Babies in honor of Rufus, the "Best in Show" winner of the Westminster Dog Show. I was truly surprised at work today that so many people had either watched the show or knew the Rufus had won. Me personally, I prefer the Komondor-you know, the one they featured on Animal Planet's commercials for the AKC/Eukanuba National Championship? That dog looks like a mop on legs, and I just think it's so great.

The Tale of Princess Pantsuit

Once upon a time, a raven-haired princess sat day after day in a sun-filled office behind a non-descript mahogany wood desk. Surrounded by stacks and stacks of Bates-labeled papers and tape flagged editions of Antitrust Law Developments, she spent her afternoon dreaming of 10-minute commutes and seeing her young child more than 1.76 hours per day. On her hour-long ride on the iron and steel dragon home, she often closed her eyes, images of herself standing before the stove, expertly cooking chicken and dumplings for her bright-eyed husband and child for dinner. Tears often dripped silently down her cheeks as she slipped into her sleeping child’s room when she returned home from work having not seen him awake that day.

As she toiled away silently, her fingers striking her work PC as ”Id.” and “§” crossed the screen in front of her, she hungered for direct client contact. She hoped that one day, clients would call her directly and solicit her opinion-not that of her boss. For her boss was an evil, evil wizard who tricked her with promises of good reviews, enough money for Montessori preschool tuition, and "substantial responsibility" for unique and novel projects. Yet once under his trickery and evil influence, our caramel-skinned. bootcut pant-clad princess found herself toiling away silently during client conference calls, not saying much of anything. While she had spent the previous two hours educating the evil man on the requirements for a Robinson-Patman claim, once the client billing number and phone number was entered onto the telephone keypad, she found herself abruptly quieted by the evil wizard’s monopolization of the call.

She dutifully recorded her hours spent merely listening to the man’s monologue, and returned to her office and softly closed the door.

One day, as the summer sun turned cold and the chill of autumn tickled her cheeks, our youngish-looking Princess Pantsuit received news of a new way of life, one free from the tolling of time in tenths of hours and client billing numbers. "Yes," she said to herself as she scoured through job listings on ACCA, "an in-house job will make me the first stop for client counseling. If I am to grow and blossom as a learned craftswoman, I must make this journey to a new land."

And so she dutifully edited her multiple resume versions, each specifically designed to highlight the skills and background necessary for each job posting, dreaming of the day that when the client calls to her number--her very own number--poured in, hour by the hour, with questions on cutting-edge business strategies and requests for opinion.

She journeyed across the land, with her resume and writing sample clutched in her tiny hands, to meet with lords and ladies alike--each who held sway over the decision to hire new corporate counsel. She artfully framed her answers to tough questions and produced upon request lists of references, each of whom had been put on notice to receive calls from recruiters with questions on likability, perserverance, and "good fit." She forged ahead into the deep chasm of rejection many a time, kept aloft by the promise of being home by six-thirty. Although the calls of "we will keep you in mind, should the right opportunity arise" kept pouring in, she stayed strong in her quest.

One afternoon as the sun slid gently behind the hills, the black-haired, bespectacled Princess Pantsuit sat with her hands folded neatly in her lap, across the table from a soft spoken manor lord and answered his many questions humbly and respectfully. “Yes,” she said “I would very much like to work for you.” And the manor lord looked favorably upon her.

Early the next afternoon, as the sun imprinted stripes on her desk’s surface, the telephone heralded the sound of change. “Come join us,” the seemingly faraway voice said, “and leave the Land of the Law Firm behind. Their lords will become your servants, and you will dine every day at the sumptuous table of Constant Client Contact.”

And so she left that desolate land behind, bowing gracefully to the disbelieving citizens and began her journey westward.

One bright and stark winter morning, she found herself at the foot of a white castle, her hands clutching her simple black tote behind her back. She proffered her driver’s license to the guard stationed staidly at the front, and signed many white sheets with stark black print. Finally, she was ushered in-not with much fanfare, but with continental breakfast.

As her days continued to roll themselves along, the black, standard issue phone began to ring.

And it rang.

And rang.

And rang some more.

It rang throughout the year.

It rang every hour during the day. And sometimes at night.

The manor lords handed the keys to the cast to different manor lords.

And then phone rang more increasingly, its persistent tone jolting her from spells imposed by risk assessment analysis.

And so, Princess Pantsuit was happy to finally to receive requests from beseeching court jesters, lords and ladies, who had suddenly multiplied themselves a hundredfold.

But sometimes she was bewildered and confused, for the lords and ladies did not want her to shut her door and dance complex dances through case law and research. They wanted answers right away. And soon, Princess Pantsuit found herself making small mistakes that she never made while dwelling in the Land of The Law Firm, mistakes that buzzed around her ears like hungry mosquitos.

After kissing her ever-growing child and tucking him in his bed, she flung herself on her own. “Woe is me!” she cried as she collapsed in the arms of her husband. “For while these mistakes are corrected, their ghosts haunt me and tease me. Make them stop!” She gathered herself together, and realized that the ghosts of mistakes were the substitutes for lessons learned through the cases, and that without them, she would never really become a true sage and learned craftswoman.

And so our dear Princess Pantsuit sits, five days out of the week, with her ghosts of mistakes-many of whom now are her constant companions and teachers. She never stops learning from them the lessons of humility and grace. As she rides her red chariot home to her waiting husband and child, she thinks of those specters often, and wonders what things they will bring her tomorrow.

Dial It Down a Notch

The last couple of weeks have turned me into a stress-filled basket case...of sorts. I'm sitting her on a Saturday morning obsession over some random adminstrative paperwork (that can be fixed and can honestly wait until Monday) and the fact that I left (I think) The Governor's birth certificate in my office (I needed to bring it to his school for re-enrollment). In my head, I'm cross-examining myself, and the line of questioning is completely unyielding: "Is it really still in the office, or did you end up recycling it?" "Why didn't you just leave it in the car so that it would be at home this weekend?" "Are you or are you not going into the office to pick it up?"

If it wasn't snowing, I'd plan on a quick jaunt to the office to take care of both of those things, but with that and Conan sleeping in, it may not be worth the risk. It's probably not, and two weeks ago, it woudn't have bothered me. However, yesterday at 5 p.m., I was sitting on the phone, listening to my boss berate clients who frankly messed up and are trying to cover their tracks. So I'm hell-bent on relaxing this weekend, but my brain has been set on high and is continuing to work overtime, even though it doesn't have to. I wish I could take it out of my skull and find the setting dial and dial it down a notch.

Upscale and Trendy

His Honor is always an entertaining shopping companion. I can't get much done when I bring him along, but sometimes it's just worth it to forget the list of to-buy items for a little while as he tries on mega-huge sunglasses in upscale stores.

From this Side of The Content-O-Meter

PJ posted about personal discontent in the legal profession, so I thought I would offer my thoughts as a biglaw "refugee" and see if it adds anything to the discussion.

I've seen a couple of colleagues transform from people who led very happy, fulfilling careers to people who are basically powerless to move from bad, professional situations. I also have a really great former colleague who is happy as a clam and up to his ears in work. I think it is very difficult to have something that resembles a sane "work-life balance" if you are a mom and in private practice, and among other things, that's the reason I left.

There were times when private practice was exceedingly fulfilling. I had a great boss who placed a very heavy emphasis on family balance and often worked from home when it suited him. He had great relationships with his daughters and his wife, but was also pretty well respected. He also wanted really cared about professional development. However, I made a choice to follow a different boss to a different law firm, and without going into more, he had a different set of priorities.

Billable Hour drives the law firm economy, and with it one's myopic sense of self-respect and respect for others: "He just billed my first 80 hour week." "I billed 300 hours in November, and can actually take a vacation around Christmas and not feel guilty about it." Within the first week of arriving at a firm, you pretty much know which associates bill in a "healthy range."

Being down on billable work makes people resort to some pretty underhanded tactics. I've seen people twist realities around-not merely overbilling, but other, more serious tactics. It seems so silly and a little sad when I think about these things, but at the time it was pretty serious. Ironically, when people from the private side ask me how my work is going, I often inadvertently end up saying something like "If I wanted to, I could probably "bill" a 14-hour day." That is true, but I don't want to. Not anymore.

I admire the biglaw attorneys who have these great interests outside of their jobs-the ones who play in symphonies and show up on game shows or manage to write things other than rebuttal briefs. I think it's necessary because these things remind you that you're not a set of numbers (client file, annual billable hour total, .10 of an hour).

I honestly think that happiness can be achieved, but you have to not invest your self-worth in the Billable Hour concept. Whether that means having a boss and colleagues that don't, or being able to distance yourself from it when you go home at night is really up to you.