I don't generally think about or celebrate the anniversary of the bar exam. But in my usual habit of being a loose babe who drinks around - but only at various Starbucks locations - I've recently witnessed several individuals studying from the big fat horrible books I used to own.
I've talked to anybody I've seen studying. They all respond the same - somewhere between overwhelmingly thrilled to take a live conversation break and on the verge of throwing up their entire insides from nerves.
Each person I've talked to has been relatively young. And relatively scared shitless.
Not of the exam, but of the implications.
More than one has expressed to me that they either won't be practicing law or aren't sure whether they'll practice law. One told me that she had a job lined up with a firm but hoped she wouldn't be at if for too much of her life.
As the designated angel of "it sucks but you'll be fine," I've supported each person by validating whatever they're feeling. I'm pretty sure that challenging one's notions of their life and their future isn't a kind action in the week or two before a two-day exam for which they've spent three years preparing.
Remember: First, do no harm.
In fact, I hope I've helped these individuals. I've told each one the same thing: that they'll have their law degree forever - barring disbarment, of course - and that they'll eventually appreciate it in ways they didn't intend and can't even imagine now.
When I sat for the exam over ten years ago, I never could have imagined what my life would look like at 40. I was fairly certain it wouldn't be conventional, but that's all I had to go on. I knew what I didn't like, but had very little notion of what I did like.
That's not to say that I didn't know what inspired me.
I'm actually quite pleased that my passions ten and twenty and thirty years ago have remained my passions. I feel like that's testament to their importance in my heart. That their place in my soul isn't trend or popularity or mere influence of others, but a true yearning to be involved with those causes and issues.
But as much as I felt inspiration all those years ago, I was missing a critical life concept. I had never learned to ask myself "what do you want?" I didn't appreciate the necessity of asking "what would make you feel good?"
Although I definitely knew what others wanted for me. And what, in my manner of living my life, would make them feel good.
And I thought I knew what the basic good things were to want and to have and to be.
But I just had no idea one could really get in touch with what they want. Or that the question was key to living a meaningful life.
This morning, as I was moving between appointments, I had an overwhelming sense of how rich my life is. It may have been genuine gratitude, but I think it had more to do with the beautiful day, the sun beating down on me and the joy of listening to the BoDeans for the first time in a long time. It probably also had to do with the fact that today's Friday.
At the same time, though, I had a heavy gnawing awareness of choices I'm making. And their consequences.
I used to think I knew how to make choices.
I was excellent at choosing movies and sushi from the raw bar and black skirts.
And my decision to pursue a law degree rather than a psychology degree was absolutely deliberate. That particular choice was the result of active internal exploration.
But my choices were always safe. Because my options were always safe.
I allowed myself to only choose from options that were all without risk. All forks in the road led to routes I could live with. Routes that others in my life could live with.
My life, however unconventional, was truly safe.
And then things changed.
I can't put my finger on when or why it happened, but sometime in the last year or two, I learned how important it is to open yourself up to options that aren't so comfortable. That aren't so familiar or safe.
And if my life was good in the safe lane, it proved to be infinitely better in the risky lane. Once I decided to spend more time doing what I wanted and less time doing what was expected, life became indescribably better.
And it's not that I became self-centered or completely self-absorbed.
I just decided to choose differently.
And I decided to choose things even if they scared me.
And even if they scared or threatened others.
As I sit here today, I'm comfortable with every choice I've made recently. And I'm grateful to have seen how choosing the unknown often opens you up to experiences far beyond your expectations.
I'm also sad.
Because choosing doesn't always mean adding things to your life. Sometimes choosing means eliminating or lessening things in your life. Sometimes choosing means that you impact - or change - the relationships in your life.
And I'll be the first to admit that changing your relationships is not easy. And it doesn't always feel good. Even if it's for the best.
But that's the reality of choice.
And, if finding my most honest inner voice means that I add some new and eliminate some old, then I don't think I have a choice but to accept the price.
I always thought I would go back to school and study psychology if I ever got the chance. I thought that law and psychology made a wonderful combination. The combination was something I could really envision myself pursuing if I had the time and the money.
And then I gave up safety and familiarity and comfort. And I saw how many other great things could be in my life.
I don't need a degree in psychology to provide good counsel to these budding attorneys.
I believe I told them the most important thing:
Don't think you know what it will look like. And don't be surprised if it turns out to be a million times better than you ever thought it could be.