I was really struck by this post today. I'll be graduating from law school in May, when I will have to decide where to take the bar. I've been dating a wonderful guy for three years who will be stationed in another state for at least a year and a half after I graduate. We haven't lived in the same state since we started dating and its really beginning to wear on me. BUT I don't want to practice in the state he lives in and I don't want to put off my career for another two years just to move there. All of a sudden I'm having to evaluate what is most important to me, and I'm scared shitless.
I think a lot of this anxiety comes from the fact that instead of being boxed in to the choices of a) finish law school or b) don't (which was never really an option anyway), I now have a literal world of options. I could choose not to practice law for a while and do some really fulfilling work for a non-profit. I could clerk for a judge in any number of areas. I could get lucky and land my dream job at a small, private firm - but have to give up living near the guy I've invested so much in.
Then I start to wonder: Should I really be with him in the first place if I even have to think about this? We're really good together, but like all couples, we have problems. I'm still young, fairly attractive, mildly entertaining. I could find someone else. There are any number of interesting men at school, online, sitting next to me on the flight to Memphis, who I might be compatible with. It's like the choosing toothpaste: there are so many choices, any one of which will probably work for me. Maybe even better.
Of course, people aren't toothpaste. I can't shake the nagging feeling that my attempt to rationalize the irrational is just a cover for my fear of making a mistake. Truth is, my boyfriend is wonderful now and would make a wonderful partner down the road. I think that the sweetest choice can indeed be to choose what you already have, what already makes you happy. All I know to do is wait it out and see where I do get a job and test how I feel. Until then, I've just got to avoid passing out in the aisle.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
This is a Special Place
I've been working as a law clerk this summer in a very rural, very southern jurisdiction where I deal primarily with meth-ravaged families and insolent teenagers. There is no Wal-Mart and no people of color and the general population seems just fine with that.After being here for about three weeks, one of the officers of the court (Officer X) invited me to head out to "the club" with himself and some sheriff buddies that weekend. I knew this was a bad idea for several reasons, not the least of which being that a white guy just invited me to "the club."
Still, on Saturday night I found myself sitting on a sagging loveseat somewhere near the state line staring at a) several armed state patrol officers b) their clearly inebriated dates and c) four walls lined with enough Star Wars memorobilia to make the 40-Year-Old Virgin weak in the knees. Having no heat and air, Officer X apparently dedicated the better part of his salary to enshrining all things George Lucas.Officer X himself was taking his sweet time getting ready, leaving me to make small talk with his buddies. Most of this talk consisted of a heated debate over whose turn it was to buy the beer...to drink in the car. Apparently in my car, since I had already offered to drive. And yes, the state does have open container laws.Still, I figured that with a bunch of PO's in my car, I couldn't possibly get in trouble, so once "my" officer emerged (apparently it takes a long time to pull on stonewashed Levi's and a Spiderman screen-print?) I loaded my SUV with the state patol and their case of Bud. Within minutes, one of the "dates" had chugged several beers and was well on her way to oblivion. Her whole body sagged into the seat, flanks spilling out the sides of her jeans and her piggy eyes barely open. The rest of the crew indicated that this was pretty normal and kept on drinking, careful to keep the beer out of sight of passing cars. At one point I handed Officer X my ipod, only to have him ask "what's this?" He'd never seen one before.
We finally go to "the club" around 11. Problem was, "the club" wasn't open. The whole downtown area had been bought out my a development company to use for new condos and most of the bars had already been shut down. This meant that our only option was a spot named (I am not making this up) "Uranus." Did I mention that this club was filled almost entirely with black people, and that my party was made up only of frightened caucasians?Inside, the girls rushed to the bathroom, apparently due to the entire case of beer they'd wiped out in a little over an hour. As we were re-applying lipgloss one of the girls asked if Officer X had told me about her "incredible" boob job. Apparently they met when he pulled her over and mentioned that he liked her new hooties. They've been close ever since.I said that no, he hadn't mentioned it, at which she yanked up her tank top, exposing the awful mess that someone had made of her chest. It looked like someone had shoved two water balloons under her pectoral muscles and filled them to bursting. I was truly afraid that if someone bumped into her too hard they might give way. I told her they looked great. Not wanting to be left out, her companion (the Already-Drunk Girl) unbuttoned her jeans and proudly showed me her purple C-section scars from her multiple, illegitimate children. I told her those looked nice too.
Meanwhile, the rest of our party had made their way to the dance floor. The look on these guys faces can only be described as sheer terror as they awkwardly clutched their girlfriends and lurched around the floor, careful not to step on anyone's sneakers and get their asses handed to them. It was as though they had accidently ended up in the midst of some sort of tribal gathering and weren't sure if they should join in or run away. (Not that anyone so much as gave us a menacing look the entire night. These boys had just never seen more than a few black people gathered in any one place.)I had already told X that I didn't feel comfortable dancing with him since we worked together and staked out a spot at the bar. When a tall guy with nice eyes asked me dance, I gladly accepted. As he was (trying to) teach me to two-step, I noticed X and Already-Drunk Girl grinding up against each other. Or more accurately, X had stiffly positioned himself behind ADG while she bent over at the waist and backed up into him. Straightening up and catching my eye, ADG yelled across the bar "Yew gonna sleep with X tonight? Cause if you ain't, I am!" Horrified, I mouthed "no."Soon after, ADG reached the point where she could no longer hold her head up and we shuffled out to the car. With the rest of the party passed out in the back, X turned the music down and asked "So...since this wasn't a date, can I sleep with Already-Drunk Girl tonight? I mean, she don't look too good after all them kids, but you know..." I told him that so long as she was sober enough to consent, I had no problem with him tapping that ass. And I'm pretty sure that's exactly what he did.
Still, on Saturday night I found myself sitting on a sagging loveseat somewhere near the state line staring at a) several armed state patrol officers b) their clearly inebriated dates and c) four walls lined with enough Star Wars memorobilia to make the 40-Year-Old Virgin weak in the knees. Having no heat and air, Officer X apparently dedicated the better part of his salary to enshrining all things George Lucas.Officer X himself was taking his sweet time getting ready, leaving me to make small talk with his buddies. Most of this talk consisted of a heated debate over whose turn it was to buy the beer...to drink in the car. Apparently in my car, since I had already offered to drive. And yes, the state does have open container laws.Still, I figured that with a bunch of PO's in my car, I couldn't possibly get in trouble, so once "my" officer emerged (apparently it takes a long time to pull on stonewashed Levi's and a Spiderman screen-print?) I loaded my SUV with the state patol and their case of Bud. Within minutes, one of the "dates" had chugged several beers and was well on her way to oblivion. Her whole body sagged into the seat, flanks spilling out the sides of her jeans and her piggy eyes barely open. The rest of the crew indicated that this was pretty normal and kept on drinking, careful to keep the beer out of sight of passing cars. At one point I handed Officer X my ipod, only to have him ask "what's this?" He'd never seen one before.
We finally go to "the club" around 11. Problem was, "the club" wasn't open. The whole downtown area had been bought out my a development company to use for new condos and most of the bars had already been shut down. This meant that our only option was a spot named (I am not making this up) "Uranus." Did I mention that this club was filled almost entirely with black people, and that my party was made up only of frightened caucasians?Inside, the girls rushed to the bathroom, apparently due to the entire case of beer they'd wiped out in a little over an hour. As we were re-applying lipgloss one of the girls asked if Officer X had told me about her "incredible" boob job. Apparently they met when he pulled her over and mentioned that he liked her new hooties. They've been close ever since.I said that no, he hadn't mentioned it, at which she yanked up her tank top, exposing the awful mess that someone had made of her chest. It looked like someone had shoved two water balloons under her pectoral muscles and filled them to bursting. I was truly afraid that if someone bumped into her too hard they might give way. I told her they looked great. Not wanting to be left out, her companion (the Already-Drunk Girl) unbuttoned her jeans and proudly showed me her purple C-section scars from her multiple, illegitimate children. I told her those looked nice too.
Meanwhile, the rest of our party had made their way to the dance floor. The look on these guys faces can only be described as sheer terror as they awkwardly clutched their girlfriends and lurched around the floor, careful not to step on anyone's sneakers and get their asses handed to them. It was as though they had accidently ended up in the midst of some sort of tribal gathering and weren't sure if they should join in or run away. (Not that anyone so much as gave us a menacing look the entire night. These boys had just never seen more than a few black people gathered in any one place.)I had already told X that I didn't feel comfortable dancing with him since we worked together and staked out a spot at the bar. When a tall guy with nice eyes asked me dance, I gladly accepted. As he was (trying to) teach me to two-step, I noticed X and Already-Drunk Girl grinding up against each other. Or more accurately, X had stiffly positioned himself behind ADG while she bent over at the waist and backed up into him. Straightening up and catching my eye, ADG yelled across the bar "Yew gonna sleep with X tonight? Cause if you ain't, I am!" Horrified, I mouthed "no."Soon after, ADG reached the point where she could no longer hold her head up and we shuffled out to the car. With the rest of the party passed out in the back, X turned the music down and asked "So...since this wasn't a date, can I sleep with Already-Drunk Girl tonight? I mean, she don't look too good after all them kids, but you know..." I told him that so long as she was sober enough to consent, I had no problem with him tapping that ass. And I'm pretty sure that's exactly what he did.
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