My Place In This World

My best friend once said there’s a song for everything, and it’s so true. This particular one takes me back to 8th grade or so, listening to Michael W. Smith with my church youth group.

Of course, this seems like a lifetime ago. But I have thought about it more than once over these almost three years of parenting Annapie, as I’ve been “looking for a reason, roaming through the night to find my place in this world, my place in this world….”

How many of you were so sure of your place in this world when you were kids? I know I was. I always had big dreams and set the bar for myself very high academically, musically, and in pretty much every other way. I was a kid on a mission. I had goals and lofty ambitions. Except, for some strange reason, these missions and goals seemed to change an awful lot.

When I was in 1st grade, my first career dream took shape: my childhood best friend and I would own a gas station and run it together. Heck, I would even take time out from my management duties to pump the gas myself! I think one reason I liked this plan was that I would get to wear a uniform with my name and cool patches on it. Anyway, I drew a picture of it so that I could put it on my gas station’s wall and look back on the early formulation of my dream.

But how would I run my gas station if I was going to be an astronaut?

I loved astronomy books as a kid. I had a telescope. I was obsessed with Halley’s Comet. I had a teddy bear that wore a space suit. I idolized Christa McAuliffe – she went by her middle name like me, and she showed me that women could do the same awesome jobs guys could.

By 3rd grade, I had decided I would be on a Space Shuttle crew. What about the gas station? Maybe my friend would run the place while I was on the moon, I don’t know. In any event, despite the fact that I had never flown and, in fact, had a terrible fear of flying, I thought I would go to Texas for a kids’ space camp to learn more.

Until the Challenger exploded.

I will never forget that cold winter morning; I was off for a rare snow day when my mom broke the news. I was then in 4th grade, so my pre-astronaut career had only lasted a year or so before it vanished as suddenly as it had begun. There was no way in hell I was going up there. And now I was even more scared of airplanes, if that’s possible.

The next vision I remember having was that I’d be a professional musician and writer. I don’t know which of those options would have earned me less money – it’s probably pretty close. Of course, I had no idea about silly little things like rent and utilities. I just knew that I loved creative writing and playing the trumpet. Yes, I was a band geek. I played competitively and spent almost all my time practicing, transposing music and doing all those other cool things band geeks do.

Except there was one problem: the $25 I made here and there for performances was not going to pay the bills. And, although I was pretty good, I was nowhere near good enough to make a living that way. Come on, how many Wynton Marsalises are there? Still thinking? That’s my point.

I decided to forego a music major and chose a liberal arts school, William & Mary – my first-ever practical decision about my future. But as graduation loomed, I realized that I hadn’t come up with a backup plan. Maybe teaching? Marketing? Working in the insurance industry? …. Because I needed some job, any job, I became a technician in an ophthalmologist’s office. I had absolutely no experience (those poor patients!) but, as I did with everything, I tried to give it my all. I decided I’d attempt to get my certification. That lasted 3 months. Let’s just say I was not cut out for the medical profession, and eyes are way grosser than you’d think.

What is the common thread running through all of these dreams and career goals? Not a single one was realistic, and NONE of them worked.

Becoming a paralegal was the only thing that did, because it inspired me to go to law school, to become a litigator, and to help people. For the first time – shocking! – I actually did what I set out to do.

So why wasn’t it enough for me?

I never knew what my life was lacking until I held this sweet little person who was completely and utterly dependent on me. I never knew how much meaning little things can have – teaching the ABCs, giving hugs to stop the crying, dancing and singing songs at 3 a.m. to soothe her – until I did them. Consequently, the one “job” I never thought I’d have, being a parent, is now my favorite.

It hit me one night when I was putting Anna to bed. She was a year old, if that. I pointed to all the parts of her face and she knew what they were. We’d been working on it for a few weeks and finally – success! I felt more pride and joy in the fact that Anna knew where her nose was than in anything I had done at work in months. And that was a huge lesson for me.

The ambition and passion I had for my legal career had now fully seeped into my new parenting role. Somehow, the one thing I never thought I’d be became the only thing I wanted to be. The task then becomes figuring out how to retain enthusiasm for my career now that my world revolves around this precious little girl, now that writing on her marvelous blank slate is more important than any case I could ever win.

I’m still working on that one.

[Editor's Note: Tomorrow’s post is sort of a “Part 2” that will focus on the identity shift that many new mothers who are also lawyers experience, and how the legal profession does a poor job of helping them balance two of the most demanding jobs you can have. Tune in then, and please share your insights!]