In Which Our Protagonist Apologizes Profusely for His Inability to Stay in Contract With Friends

Hello there.

I've had this blogger domain name for a pretty long time - sometime after I got married, back in 2008, I guess. I've kept it linked on my Facebook account during that time period, despite never having updated. I logged into this account this afternoon and discovered that it's getting a fair number of views. It's entirely possible, even probable, that most of those views are just my mom checking in vain to see if I've decided to start blogging again (hi Mom), but I figure if there's a demand, I might as well bring the supply.

Over the last 3 1/2 years I've done an altogether terrible job of maintaining my friendships, and I'm sorry for that. Between a handful of moves, law school, married life, and various other rites of passage commonly associated with one's mid-twenties, I've just been busy trying to move forward in life and get everything figured out. During that time period, most of my friends based out of Boise and Utah scattered across the country doing grad school stuff and career stuff and new-age-spirit-quest Walt Whitman stuff, meaning I lost contact with lots of different people at different intervals. I figure, if this is the only blog post I'm going to do anytime soon (and personal experience suggests that may be the case) I might as well take a word or two here and clue people in to what Lindsay and I have been up to for the last near-half-decade.

1. Lindsay and I survived law school. 

Law school was a genuinely difficult experience and one that I am grateful to have in the rear-view mirror. I remember stepping onto Utah campus during orientation week and thinking that I was going to work hard, always be prepared, and graduate near the top of my class. That didn't happen. I could scapegoat a lot of factors (I don't think I have a mind built for formal education, I pursued some "dead ends" within the law that ended up not really holding my interest, sometimes life got in the way of hitting the books); I could also concede that a fair number, if not most, of my classmates were simply brilliant and I struggled to keep up.

Whatever the case may be, when I approach the memory of law school as a learning experience rather than a competition, it's easier to view it as a rewarding and fulfilling three years of life. One of my bigger regrets in life thus far is that I sometimes seem to develop skillsets a little too late to fully utilize them (for example, I believe I'm a lot more personable now than I was on my mission, and sometimes I find myself kicking myself that I wasn't able to cultivate that earlier in life and put it to good use during those two years). As difficult as I found the first three semesters of law school to be, I was happy to be able to recognize the progress I made in those last three semesters - not solely in cultivating a stronger understanding of the US legal system, which did occur, but also in becoming a more reliable, responsible and dependable adult.

Of course, none of the above applies to Lindsay. She consistently kicked butt all three years.

In spite of any regrets that I had, law school provided some incredible opportunities that I'll cherish forever. Lindsay and I got to spend an entire summer interning for a Brazilian airline, which entailed a lot of traveling that Lindsay documented. I learned enough about Brazilian civil procedure that I wrote a Wikipedia page about it (something that I am unabashedly and geekily proud of). I had the privilege of externing for the Honorable Judge Faust of the Third District Court of Utah in the Matheson Courthouse, which was a great experience not only for the legal education it provided but also for the thought-provoking cases we worked on together, which helped me develop a deeper empathy for both defendants and victims. (Confidentiality bars me from saying anything more, but if you ever talk to me in person, I might be able to share some good stories.) And I had the chance to work as a misdemeanor prosecutor in Salt Lake County, which was an opportunity I could have taken better advantage of but nonetheless still provided me with my first chance to argue issues before an actual court and actual judge.

2. Lindsay and I passed the Idaho State Bar.

Talking with people unfamiliar with the legal profession, I always found it hard to properly explain WHY the bar was such a nerve-racking experience. I remember seeing the film "The Rainmaker" as a kid, in which Danny DeVito's character is a genius paralegal who has taken and failed the bar on six occasions, and throughout law school I was scared at having to do that myself. Thankfully, in Idaho, the passage rate hovers around 75-80%, but that presents a different concern entirely: it means that 1) the vast majority of people who take the bar pass, and 2) 1 out of 4 does not. So not passing is a scary and real possibility, but it's remote enough that if you don't pass, it's hard not to feel some embarrassment.

Law school has really built a whole culture around taking and passing the bar - a lot of those organizations that provide prep courses for college and grad school entrance exams provide similar programs, for arguably exorbitant amounts of money. Lindsay and I did one through Kaplan, which I would recommend to any law students who might be reading this. To be honest, the process of preparing for the bar was actually kind of enjoyable - Lindsay and I built a makeshift classroom in my parents' house, watched lectures online, did thousands of practice questions and pretty much stayed on the grind from 9 AM to 7 PM. Law school and the surrounding experience provided so many things to worry about at once, so being able to have a monomaniacal focus on a single task was a refreshing change of pace.

Lindsay and I have joked that people who have taken and passed the bar seem to have developed a sort of amnesia about the the test itself and the resulting waiting period (results take about eight weeks). Every lawyer says stuff to you like, "You'll pass. You see so many idiots in this profession, and you think to yourself, 'Even this guy passed the bar!'" Which doesn't help, because you don't want to feel dumber than "that idiot." There were mornings where I woke up dead sure that I had failed, and there were moments where I was able to cobble together some self-confidence and convince myself that I had worked too hard to not pass. Getting back the news that I had passed was a relief. (Getting the news that Lindsay had passed was also great; our biggest fear was the feelings of resentment and inequity that could have crept in had one of us passed and the other failed.) I know a few people from law school who I respect deeply did not pass, and I don't see how anyone else who took the bar can look down on them. It was a tough test, and it scared the crap out of me both before and after the actual exam. Having said that, passing the bar was a proud moment, and a nice capstone to put on the end of my initial legal education.

3. I discovered the discontents of unemployment.*

I was not among the lucky few who had a job lined up after graduation - I didn't even have that many on-campus interviews. As graduation approached, Lindsay and I decided not to worry about that until after the bar. Which was nice during the bar prep period, but it meant that the initial exhilaration that accompanied passing the bar was quickly met with the comedown that I had another big task ahead of me - one that required substantially more luck than a standardized test.

If you have any buddies in law school, you're probably aware that the legal market is bad - really bad - and has been for a few years now. Lindsay and I would attend J. Reuben Clark Law Society meetings and speak with lawyers who had gone to impressive schools and had strong resumes who had to get by cutting grass their first year out of law school. We were fortunate that my parents had left the country on church business and were letting us stay in their house free of charge, but long-term unemployment seemed like a real possibility.

In hindsight, it seems pretty comical to consider a two month period of unemployment to be a rough stretch, but finding a job was my sole focus every day and after a few hours every morning I was reminded how little control I had over the situation. Aside from checking job postings and sending out resumes (we sent out a LOT of resumes), there wasn't a lot I could do. So we killed time. Lindsay and I learned how to play Texas Hold 'em and we bet on Halloween candy. We watched all of Breaking Bad in the space of about two weeks. I played A LOT of video games, to the point where I started to get sick of video games, which is pretty incredible. Lindsay, myself and unborn-Jillian would reenact this scene from the Simpsons a lot.

*Lindsay is currently unemployed, but she's not actively seeking a job. I imagine she'll want to work soon, and I hope she does since she put a lot of time and effort into her education. But Jilly's pretty dependent these days, and Lindsay seems pretty happy taking care of her.

4. I got a job. And moved to Denver.

By around November, I was pretty despondent about not working. It's tough when your Mondays seem just as aimless as your Saturdays, when nobody gets upset when you sleep in until 11 AM every morning, and when your laundry turns into a steady stream of track pants and hoodies. I was pretty desperate for a job - any job, really - just so I could feel like my existence was financially valuable to somebody. I started getting more legal interviews, but this actually bummed me out more than cheered me up - I had a couple of interviews where the position seemed tailor-made for my skill set, and the interview had gone perfectly, but I still got rejection e-mails the next day. I applied for some pretty low-level jobs. I filled out applications for Jimmy John's and pizza joints to work as a delivery boy. I was sometimes afraid that people, including the companies themselves, would look at the applications as a pity party with no real intent to work behind them, but honestly, I just wanted to work for SOMEBODY.

I remember that I felt the most desperate on a Saturday evening - I was seriously mad at myself that so many people had been so accommodating in helping me pursue my goal of going to law school and despite my best efforts I had nothing to show for it. The only thing I could do to stem the self-loathing was to keep trying. I got onto Craigslist and sent my resume to a few more restaurants - as a waiter, and also as a dishwasher. I decided to check the legal section before logging off - at that point, Craigslist was only posting 3 or 4 legal jobs a week, and I was usually only qualified for one or two of them - and I saw a posting for a contract position in Denver. By that point I had focused exclusively on Idaho (since you usually can't work outside of your bar-certified area), but I figured that I didn't have a right to be mad at my situation unless I could honestly say that I was doing everything in my power to rectify it. The position indicated that I didn't need Colorado Bar Certification to take the job, so I sent a resume and forgot about it.

The next Monday, I went to the hospital with Lindsay for one of her weekly check-ups, and on the way home, I asked if we could stop at a Mexican restaurant that I knew was hiring. At some point I got a call from the Denver job - I was busy and I asked if I could call them back later, not thinking much about it as I had been called back for a ton of jobs that ultimately didn't hire me. Lindsay and I pulled into the restaurant parking lot and I called them back, and I was surprised about how forward they were. I told Lindsay I had a good feeling about the job, and that for the meantime, I wouldn't bother with the Mexican restaurant. Twelve hours later I had the interview, and sixteen hours later I had the job. Suddenly Lindsay and I had to work out the logistics of having a baby and transplanting nearly 1,000 miles away.

I've been working at the job for a month now. It deals with a lot of confidential financial information, so all I'm really allowed to say about it is that I'm doing beyond "risk analysis for a financial group." And there's a few caveats that came with the job - namely, I'm only under contract to work for the next 12-17 months. But it's a job, a legal job that lets me use my degree. And it pays well enough that Lindsay and I are getting our first taste of financial independence (which, as we're both in our mid-20s, is kind of sad, but we're happy about it.) And I'm really liking Denver.

5. Lindsay and I had a girl.

If you've been around Lindsay and I over the last four-and-a-half years, you're probably aware that I wanted kids ASAP, and Lindsay wanted to wait. Lindsay made more sense - Lindsay had some things that she wanted to get done first, and I was okay with waiting as long as there was a definite timetable. And looking back, I'm glad I waited - I would have been a terrible dad at 22 or 23.

Lindsay and I first started trying to have a kid right after our second year of law school, and it ended up being pretty easy. We found out that summer that she was pregnant - unfortunately, we found out 4-5 months later that the baby hadn't survived.

That stretch of months last winter was pretty trying - I don't want to get into all the sordid details, but there were some complications with Lindsay "aborting" the dead fetus and it ended up being a drawn-out medical ordeal for her. I feel like an emotional weakling because I know people who have had to deal with losing their infants and their children and have done so with a degree of grace and dignity. The only connection I really had with that baby was the hopes and possibilities it carried, and the only real memories I'll have of it are the ultrasound photos we hung on our fridge. But I did my fair share of crying for a few weeks, and for about a month my "get out of bed and go to class/work" success rate was about 50%. Things kinda sucked.

Thankfully, the second time turned to be just as easy as the first as far as conceiving was concerned, and this time it all worked out. Jilly was born last month in what turned out to be a complication-free pregnancy. I've only been a parent for a month but it's been the best month of my life.

Lindsay and I talk a lot about that miscarriage and how it effected things. In hindsight I'm borderline grateful for it because it helped me come to terms with some things that, had that first baby been born, I may have never accepted. It helped me to appreciate that my hopes and desires couldn't fiat themselves into reality. There are so many things that I want to show and to teach Jillian, there are so many goals that I  hope she accomplishes. There are things that I deeply believe that I want to pass on to her. There are moments I want to have with her that I could only have with a healthy, "normal" daughter.

 But I have never been given any sort of promise or guarantee that I'll have a healthy, normal daughter.

No amount of medical supervision can guarantee she won't get sick. No amount of love and attention could cure her of behavioral disorders. I can walk on eggshells, drive 5 miles under the speed limit, triple-check the doors to make sure they're locked, but that can't stop all accidents from happening. I can live faithfully completely obedient to the tenets of my faith, but I can't take God's will hostage and assure that bad things won't happen to us.

For obvious reasons, my daughter's mortality is something that I've been thinking a lot about in light of recent events. If I were to lose her tomorrow, I would be heartbroken, but I would be incredibly grateful for the month that I was able to spend with her. And that's the sort of peace with the universe and love for my daughter that I am always striving to cultivate: that no matter what happens to her, and no matter who she turns out to be, that I can feel a sense of gratitude that I was able to be her father; that I was able to know her; and that I was able to love her.