Part of the neighborhood

The bakery customers are starting to remember me!

Today I noticed a customer wearing a BAA 2007 Boston Marathon jacket. I asked her about it, she started to answer, but then she interrupted herself and said, "Wait, you're a marathoner, too! The Marine Corps. You have that really cool hat." Indeed, I do!

And later, an older gentlemen took a look at my plain white tee and remarked, "You're not wearing one of your funny t-shirts." To his buddy, "She has all these funny t-shirts." Like the sexy one below.

So great.

Waddle on

Tomorrow I "run" my first marathon. To say that I am scared is an understatement.

I am petrified.

My last long "run" was three weeks ago and I did the last five miles in interminable pain. All I wanted to do was curl up and depreciate on the side of the trail. If I'd done that, though, I still would've had to get home, and since there wasn't any other way to get home, I just kept on walking. (Yes, by that point I was walking. Hence my terrible fear.) Marathoners often have mantras to keep themselves going, things like, "Yes! We! Can!" or "Almost there!". My mantra on my last run was, "Ignore the pain."

Rather than dwell on my fear, though (or snap at the Captain and seethe at our houseguests), I've decided to remind myself of why I run as a kind of reassurance.

I run because I want to. I run because I can. I run because if I don't, I develop a kind of depression so subtle I don't even notice - until I run again and feel exhilarated. Earlier this year I had to sit out two months and I entered a period of mourning. I grieved for the pleasure of running, of finding that a distance once impossible was later no big deal. I grieved for the sense of accomplishment of pushing myself - and succeeding.

When I finally started running again I thought I had been reborn. I had bad days and slow days and walked-more-than-I-wanted-to days, but I also had good days. Days when my legs were strong and my body was fast. Days when fourteen miles were like a walk in the park. Days when I felt so coordinated and perfect I felt closer to God. Truly. On days like that I rejoiced in the wonder of creation and the gift of the human body. On days like that my running was prayer.

It is unlikely that tomorrow will be one of those days. But it might. And those moments of joy are so pure they are worth chasing.

Boston, you're my home

Yeah, yeah, the Sox lost, but whatever. I still love that dirty water and I always will.

Saturday morning the Captain and I arose at an ungodly hour for our flight to Boston. As we made our descent into New England, I saw the fiery treescape beneath me and I started to cry. Really. I was that happy to be back. And it was good thing, too, because our trip was so tightly scheduled there was no room for ambivalence.

Our first stop was flour bakery because, well, just follow the link. And because Joanne Chang is my hero. She quit management consulting so she could open up a bakery, and now everyone is better off because of it. She forsake a steady paycheck in a lucrative field just so she could do what she loved, and she's excelled. In this gloomy and uncertain climate, I find that nothing short of heroic, even revolutionary. And yes, the sticky buns mean that much to me.

Next we went to the Head of the Charles, where we did our best to walk off the eight million calories we’d just ingested. (We got close.) The Captain’s former rowers had just purchased a new boat and named one of its seats in his honor, so they invited him to the boat’s dedication. When we showed up they were absolutely. thrilled. to see him again - hugs and smiles all around. Even though he coached the kids for only a season, the impact he had was real. He'd been their coach, their disciplinarian, and their friend, and they loved him because of it. It was a pleasure to watch.

Later that evening we went to a potluck held in our honor by First Friend and her husband, Dr. First Friend. First Friend was the first friend I ever made in law school and I am so lucky to count her as one of my friends still. She’d assembled a great group of former classmates to eat together and to watch the ALCS on a beautifully large flat-screen TV, but what truly stood out was the fellowship and the affection. It was a delight to be back with our friends from BC, and all night I kept saying, “This is the best weekend ever!”

And it was true. There was a whole second day to go, full of more friends and more reuning and more caloric intake. But that would make too long a post, and I think you get the picture.

Badge of Honor

There is a lot of time between taking the bar and starting my job. To kill all this time, I chose to run a marathon. Some people travel, some people stay on the couch, but I, I chose to run twenty-six miles. Because I wanted to.

This makes me wonder about myself.

It takes a certain amount of nerve to run a distance associated with a soldier who died after running it. It also takes a certain amount of denial, which I am not so sure is different from nerve. When my knees and my ankles ache at the end of the run and when I barely can climb the stairs at the end of the day, for example, I practice a form of denial.

Whatever.

The marathon is at the end of October, and I have been training since...not enough ago. But I’ve been working hard and I have the hat to prove it. I almost don’t want to wash it.

My new digs

I'm a Washingtonienne! This morning I boarded the train from NJ to DC and officially moved into the townhouse in Georgetown. I've moved in with the Captain, and even though we've been planning this for weeks, only today did it occur to me that we were moving in together. The Captain's baby brother lives here, too, so I suppose that's why I hadn't thought of it as moving in together - I was just getting two new roommates. When my feet crossed the threshold, however, it hit me: the Captain and I are a cohabitating couple.

Wowie.

This new reality will sink in over time. Until then, some reflections on my new digs:
I love it. There's free transportation to the center of town, and I'm walking distance from all sorts of fun amenities: the gym (yes, I already have a gym), a running shop, two bike shops, a shopping mall, a cupcake shop, and...A RED SOX BAR.

There is a Red Sox bar just blocks from my house. I am thrilled. The Captain already has warned me that it's really a meat market, but I'm a tough cookie. I'll keep my eye on the ball.

What a difference

...a week makes. This time last week, I had just begun the second performance test and I hadn't read the weekend section to the Boston Globe in quite some time.

Today, however, not only have I read the weekend section but I already have planned ahead to September, October, and November at the Kennedy Center, where I will be a frequent visitor this fall. (There is some good. stuff. Renee Fleming, Denyce Graves. You should come with.) Yes, the Captain and I are moving to Washington, per the Fabulous Plan B, and I am so excited. It is my time to be a kept woman and it's gonna rock.

In the meantime, I'll be packing up and getting ready to go. My firm has spoiled me not only with movers but with movers who will pack up my stuff. So the next several weeks will be full of all the fun things I never got to do in Boston, as well as regular phone calls to the IRS. And, per Munch's suggestion, to Sen. Kennedy. How can the IRS say no to the legislative lion (read: cancer patient)?

Long good-bye

Another long day of studying done. Check.

As I march inexorably, if reluctantly, towards July 29, I'm starting to notice that the BAR is not the only thing on my mind. Which is probably a good, even healthy thing. But the other things which occupy my mind aren't necessarily happy in and of themselves. Which leads to a lot of sublimated tension, anger, and anxiety. If you're wondering whether that means the Captain got another stressed out phone call today, the answer is yes.

Today I said good-bye to my friend the Elite Racer, one of my few remaining friends from my 1L section. She and her wife are taking off on their bar trip before I return from California, so today was the last time I'll get to see her for a while. She's staying in Boston, but I am not, and even though several of my friends already have moved away, today was another reminder that my time here is almost up.

Boston is my home. It didn't start out that way but it has, undeniably, become my home. Despite my aversion to driving and my failure to find a church, I still managed to carve out
an easy, familiar existence in this city of locals. The day after I graduated from law school, for instance, I stepped into one of my neighborhood cafes for breakfast. Even though I hadn't been there in months, the owner still recognized me, said hello, and then congratulated me on my graduation. I was astonished. He explained he had a friend in my class so he had attended the ceremony on her account, but once he was there he recognized me as one of his regular customers. We chatted for a bit more, but all the while I kept thinking, "Huh. I really do spend too much money in this place."

At least it was worth it. Which is pretty much all there needs to be said about law school, too. I recently recalled that I turned down a hefty scholarship to a school in Los Angeles because I couldn't imagine myself ever moving to southern California. (And because the Dean sent me a letter extolling the conservative, evangelical values of the school. That was the real deal-breaker, but the bit about not anticipating a move to Cali makes for a better story.) At any rate, southern California is exactly where I'm headed, three years and $140,000 in debt later.

For certain, law school made me cry a lot and doubt myself and wonder if I ever would be confident in my abilities again, but still I regret nothing. I met the Captain, I made extraordinary friends, and I found that I was capable of clawing my way out of all sorts of despair.[FN1] There is value in that, and perhaps that is why I am so loathe to leave this town. This is the town where I discovered that growth still occurs, even in your mid- to late twenties, and, lo, how beautiful that new perspective can be.

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FN1. At this point I acknowledge that I exaggerate. Anyone who has lined up a cushy firm job in San Diego is, by rights, not a failure. But having made it this far by working, working, always working for perfection, I find the mindset tough to break.

Serenity now

...insanity later. (Ah, George.)

The Captain texted me Reinhold Niehbuhr's [FN1] serenity prayer this afternoon. This after I told him 1) it is possible, after all, to have road rage on the T, 2) BC's main campus was crawling with tourists, and 3) lots of F-bombs sprinkled throughout. The Captain's point is well-taken now, nine hours after the fact, but at the time I was in a sweaty frenzy. Waiting thirty-six minutes for the T in 90F weather will do that to a person.

But the truth is, the Captain is just naturally more serene than I ever will be. (Or maybe I need to go "defend our country's freedoms" in 140F heat like he did.) I have been counting only since yesterday, but so far I have called him while very upset everyday this week. Superstar he is, he has taken everything in stride. He is a very good sport. He's even anticipated future meltdowns by taking the tried-and-true route of procuring me sweets. Holding aside the threat of an expanded midsection, I cherish his care and aspire to his equanimity.

Big hugs.

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FN1. Yes, yes, I know the authorship is recently in dispute. I read The New York Times just like you.



UPDATE: The whoopie pies arrived today. If you look closely, that's a dozen delicious pies. Plus a card that says, "Happy PMBR!" I chuckle to myself when I imagine what the Whoopie people must have thought when writing that card. Probably thought it was some cute inside joke. Would that it were.

Coping

Once, when I was in my early 20s and couldn't find a job despite my brand-name credentials (and language skills, and gold-plated internships, and ...okay, time to let it go), my father told me I was being too hard on myself. I'll never forget what he said, "You don't need to be doing the best at everything. You just need to survive. Because life is ups and downs, and you need to be able to get through the downs."

And while I don't consider studying for the bar to be a down per se (because failing the bar and then having to retake it would be an unqualified down), I find myself relying on some coping mechanisms nonetheless.

Junk music. Everyday there's a new mainstream, commercial, mass media song on continuous loop. Today, "Beautiful Girls" by Sean Kingston. Why a song about suicide is soothing to me, I don't know, but it is. It also reminds me of last summer, when the San Diego radio stations would play it on near-continuous loop. I hear the chubby Jamaican today and then I'm back in my rental car, driving home from the gym on Friars Rd. (And the weather was perfect, without a drop of humidity, because it was San Diego, but of course I was far away from the Captain...)

Running. Nothing gets me happier than a good work-out and sore quads. Truly.

Farmers' markets. I need to stop, actually. My fridge is overflowing with produce, and try as I might, not even I can eat that much. Because my freezer's starting to burst with frozen leftovers and yes, produce that I have frozen properly myself. (Go big or go home, I always say.)

Blogging. Because I'm just that narcissistic. Seriously, though, I appreciate everyone who reads (all five of you) and I ponder everyday how to make my blog better. Should I dedicate it fully to the bar? If I do, should I write about how I've tried to tackle specific problems, or should I keep to writing about how I tackle my feelings and fears? Or is a themed blog a bad idea to begin with? Should this just be a running diary?

Ah, narcissism. The idea that anybody even cares.

Time for bed.

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EDITED TO ADD:

Likening myself to a vacuum cleaner mogul. James Dyson has a commercial (for his $500 vacuum cleaners) about how his designers and engineers are delighted everytime they fail at something in the laboratory, because that's another thing they've learned. I like to feel the same way every time I do practice questions: just another 18 questions I'll never get wrong again.

Doing my hair in the exact same way everyday. Robert Schumann (or was it Schubert?) once wrote his mother he was so poor he couldn't afford a haircut. I am not that poor, but I am that pressed for time. And as you probably can tell, I find routine comforting. My hair-iform, if you will, has become a long French braid. There is one thing about it, though. Classy though they might look, braids always have signaled 'surrender' to me. As in, the wearer gave up on regular hair maintenance and just decided to braid it. Like me. Whatever.

Joy

There is no joy to the California bar. This I know.

So that is why I take what little joy I can get, wherever I can find it. The web is a good place (oh, not like that) because it reminds me that some people are bold enough to travel around the world and to film themselves dancing in a totally goofy, totally endearing way. I first saw "Dancing 2008" at Mrs. Priest's, but then I read about it today in the Times. Matt Harding might be my new hero.

Next to Joanne Chang, of course. She's my #1 hero. Because the kitchen is another place I find joy - tremendous joy, in fact. Today I took a page from Mark Bittman and made myself cold peanut noodles for dinner. The dish was so simple and so tasty (made with ingredients bought at my local farmers' market!), that I momentarily forgot about my vortex of worry. Fantastic.

Sold!

Only recently did I discover that my love was for sale, and that the price was cheap. I did not make this discovery until after my love had been snatched up by a savvy shopper, but I have been reminded about it over and over ever since.

Case in point: yesterday's simulated multi-state bar exam. Hundreds of nervous test-takers were crowded, cattle-style, into a large conference room at the Boston World Trade Center.[FN1] The test conditions so threw me for a loop I couldn't calm down; I'm certain I did poorly on the morning session. (I haven't checked my answers.)

After the lunch break, however, I returned to my seat to find a small, white cardboard box perched on top of my books. The sticker read...flour bakery. The Captain had gone out during our lunch break and gotten me one of their legendary, heaven-sent Sticky Buns.

We'd heard lots and lots about these buns, but we'd never been able to have any because the bakery's always sold out of them, usually by mid-morning. Through some miracle there was one left at mid-day, and the Captain got one for us to share. And it truly lived up to its hype. My teeth sank into a pillow of butter, sugar, and gooey, gooey caramel.

I was in a much better mood for the afternoon session.

Sold.

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FN1. As a former New Yorker, I have trouble saying that name aloud.

Now I'm it.

Mrs. Priest (you may remember her as "The Bride") has started a game of tag, so in the spirit of "why the heck not," here goes:

Ten things for which I am grateful

1. The Captain.
2. My sister.
3. Parents who worked incredibly hard and who sacrificed so much to bring me up in a place drowning in books, music, art, and ideas.
4. Generous, compassionate friends who welcome me into their homes and feed me sumptuous food. (I just came back from the home of one such friend. I'm still thinking about the spread. Oy.)
5. Running.
6. My home church, which raised me as much as my parents did.
7. My imagination, and the capacity to use it.
8. My job. Because I have one, and it doesn't start until January.
9. The security that even though my job doesn't start until January, I'll be able to survive by my brains, my grit, and my ever-growing arsenal of tasty recipes.
10. The Sunday New York Times. It was a weekly ritual at my parents' kitchen table and I look forward to the day when my children can say the same thing.

Okay, now I tag Jenski. Because she LOVES this sort of thing and she's pledged to blog for 365 days in a row so she probably could use some help with ideas. And Lawyer Mom, too, if she wants, though I don't want her to regret having read my blog. (I'm new to this - the novelty hasn't yet worn off.)

San Francisco

...has a sense of humor.

An Honor That Bush Is Unlikely to Embrace

By Jesse McKinley

From the Department of Damned-With-Faint-Praise, a group going by the regal-sounding name of the Presidential Memorial Commission of San Francisco is planning to ask voters here to change the name of a prize-winning water treatment plant on the shoreline to the George W. Bush Sewage Plant.

[See full story here.]

Blessed

Yesterday I graduated from law school. And despite the drama and anxiety which naturally accompanied my quest for a Juris Doctor, I still feel very blessed to have gotten one. I even survived my family's visit - now that's something.

The ceremony yesterday capped three years of struggle, discipline, and achievement. But it also capped two weeks' worth of fantastic hedonism. We called it "Senior Week." I am fortunate to have attended law school, but I am unreasonably blessed with generous, fun-loving friends. As I begin to navigate the waters of young professionalism, I cannot wait to look to see them at my side.

Ever the optimist

Last night I had a dream where I had to say good-bye to my friends from law school and it was not a happy dream. I took the dream as a sign that I need to change my attitude (see below). In honor of that effort, here is a list:

Things I will Miss about Law School in Boston (with Things to which I Look Forward about my Law Firm in San Diego to follow)

Dunkin' Donuts. There are no Dunkin' Donuts in San Diego.
The Red Sox. More specifically, the cultural currency of being a Red Sox fan. San Diego has cable television and sports bars, but it's not a city devoted to my team; San Diegans don't talk and breathe the Sox like Bostonians do.
The Marathon. Boston and running's biggest day.
Living near Jenski. My roommate from college. Though if she moves to SD for her post-doc, like I said she should, then I can move this item to the "Things I will look forward to" list.

(hm, these are all things I will miss about Boston, not law school...let me try again)

Friends. I have friends at the firm, of course, but I mean my law school friends in particular.
Lexis and Westlaw rewards. Last night the Captain and I dined at the Capital Grille courtesy of Lexis.
Bar review. I don't go often, but it's where I met the Captain.
Going to the gym in the middle of the day.
Daytime television.
Free lunch.
The freedom to be absolutely silly because I'm not yet a member of the bar. Somehow I don't think my managing partner will look favorably upon my affinity for celebrity gossip.
Indulging crazy ideas. Like the idea I'm entertaining for a paper I'm about to write. Speaking of which, I should probably go entertain it some more.

More optimism to follow.