I Contemplate a Nervous Breakdown
So, here's the thing they don't tell you when you're applying for law school. The practice of law is stressful with a capital "S." As a mere yute (yes, "My Cousin Vinny" references will be used freely in this blog), the practice of law holds promise - a power to right wrongs. There's a wonderful phrase etched into the southern wall of the UT Law School that used to stop me in my tracks: "That they may truly and impartially administer justice." I filled out the application for law school with all of the fresh optimism of youth, having no idea what awaited me around the bend.
Today, a convergence of events had me, quite literally, ready to tear my hair out. As I was driving to meet a friend for lunch, I passed a bumper sticker that said, "If God doesn't give us more than we can handle, then why do people have nervous breakdowns?" A solid point, and one I was ready to acknowledge might be descriptive of my current situation.
Forget my last pollyanna post. The responsibility of having someone's future in your hands at my age is no small thing. It keeps you up a night, makes you sick to your stomach when you least expect it, and invades every area of your life when you're not at work. In retrospect, I think I would have liked to be a poet or a farmer. They get to sleep at night (well, maybe not the tortured poet, but I would have been the contemplative kind). And for folks who think their lawyer doesn't care - just because you can't see it (and I have a professional responsibility not to be freaking out with you), doesn't mean I'm not worrying myself into knots on your behalf.
Which brings me to the concept of professional distance - the strange euphemism that you can somehow shut off your human-ness and be a detached part of what's going on. They actually teach courses in this stuff in other professions, such as medicine, and they probably should start doing it in law school as well. It's a valuable skill that lets you do your job and respond to the situation at hand without disintegrating into a useless pile of jello.
As wracked as I am though, I don't want to be detached. My concern for my clients keeps me working well into the late hours of the night, determined to find the argument or case law that will help make their case. The moment I become apathetic is the moment I need to find another profession. While it may eventually qualify me for prescription meds or a straight-jacket, my concern might just be the difference between a conviction and a two-word verdict. Or so I hope.
Today, a convergence of events had me, quite literally, ready to tear my hair out. As I was driving to meet a friend for lunch, I passed a bumper sticker that said, "If God doesn't give us more than we can handle, then why do people have nervous breakdowns?" A solid point, and one I was ready to acknowledge might be descriptive of my current situation.
Forget my last pollyanna post. The responsibility of having someone's future in your hands at my age is no small thing. It keeps you up a night, makes you sick to your stomach when you least expect it, and invades every area of your life when you're not at work. In retrospect, I think I would have liked to be a poet or a farmer. They get to sleep at night (well, maybe not the tortured poet, but I would have been the contemplative kind). And for folks who think their lawyer doesn't care - just because you can't see it (and I have a professional responsibility not to be freaking out with you), doesn't mean I'm not worrying myself into knots on your behalf.
Which brings me to the concept of professional distance - the strange euphemism that you can somehow shut off your human-ness and be a detached part of what's going on. They actually teach courses in this stuff in other professions, such as medicine, and they probably should start doing it in law school as well. It's a valuable skill that lets you do your job and respond to the situation at hand without disintegrating into a useless pile of jello.
As wracked as I am though, I don't want to be detached. My concern for my clients keeps me working well into the late hours of the night, determined to find the argument or case law that will help make their case. The moment I become apathetic is the moment I need to find another profession. While it may eventually qualify me for prescription meds or a straight-jacket, my concern might just be the difference between a conviction and a two-word verdict. Or so I hope.
Labels: Law Etc.
posted by Marjorie Bachman at
10:37 PM
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