Last Sunday...

...when the weather was gorgeous.

Sidewalk Sitting

Tuesday morning, I waited in line outside of the US Supreme Court for almost eight hours. I arrived at 4:30 am and sat down on the sidewalk curb next to a co-worker. The Supreme Court has perfectly trimmed shrubbery; I can say that with authority. I passed about 40 people as I made my way to the back of the line. About 30 of them arrived prior to 2:30 am, some with sleeping bags and food supplies. I couldn't help but think we looked like a twisted form of Occupy Wall Street in suits. It rained lightly on and off for the next couple of hours and I waited for the sky behind the Capitol dome to change to morning colors.

At 6:15 am, one of my friends texted me, "Be safe out there! The weather woke me up and it sounds pretty nasty." As if on cue, the sky lit up with a flash of light. We spent the next hour watching lightening bolts in the distance and then watching the streams of rain pour down the side of the umbrella. The lights illuminating the dome of the Capitol turned off around 7am and the sky behind the dome turned a cloudy gray. The rain eased up, but the line ahead of us became saturated with bodies. Unfair place-holding resulted in an increase in our line number. We went from about 40 to about 60 then 69 and 70 by the time a guard handed out numbers and moved the line to the steps of the Supreme Court.

At 8 am, they let in the first 50 people. So we stood. And waited. To see how many would enter in the next round. At 9:45 they let in another 10. There was a chance we would be able to enter for the second argument at 11:00 am. So we stood. Then sat. And waited. To see how many would enter in the next round. By 10:30 am everything began to get hazy. Conversation slowed down, my brain stopped thinking in complete sentences. Perhaps It stopped thinking at all. I caught myself zoned-out, staring at the Senate Office Buildings, trying to remember the feel of the cool air-conditioning after a long summer's walk. Trying to remember the smooth floors, the hallway lighting, the carpet and wood in the judiciary committee room. Not being able to remember much of that at all, actually. A life time ago, really.

At 11:45 am, one of the guards approached us quickly and we all sprung up. They had enough room for 15 more of us to hear the last part of the last argument. We went through security, bound up the stairs, threw our things into lockers and waited, again, to walk into the courtroom. I had only been in the Supreme Court once, a few years ago, and my memories had faded. I had forgotten how strong the pillars stood, how high the ceiling towered, how even the floor seemed embedded with authority. How small it could all make you feel.

They opened the courtroom door around noon. After almost 8 hours of waiting, we finally walked into the courtroom.

I had been in there before, briefly, on a tour. It was smaller than I remembered. The Justices sat in their chairs this time and a rush of adrenaline hit me as I took my seat. The State was presenting its case. I disagreed so strongly with the argument that I had a hard time not dismissing it as illogical, nonsensical, and weak. Weak as in failing to do anything other than blindly follow authority. I'm going to leave the legal critique for another person in another venue, but I will say this much:

I have come so far. Without realizing it, I have come so far. My Con Law I professor made me nearly hyperventilate. I avoided him in the hallway because I was terrified eye-contact meant he would call on me in class. I re-read cases multiple before class because I didn't know which footnotes were the important ones.* I struggled with the Dormant Commerce Clause. I struggled with many clauses. Some days, I thought the opinions were certainly written in a foreign language. (Which yes, law is.) However, I sat in the US Supreme Court on Tuesday and respectfully disagreed with the State's argument. I understood every word. I knew the weight behind each sentence. I have carried the weight of each concept. Juvenile. Life. Without. Parole. Rehabilitation. Public Safety. Accountability. Intent. Adolescent. I have come so far from those textbook pages and multi-colored highlighters. I have come so far from diverting my eyes to avoid the Socratic Method. I have become fluent in a language that allows me to stand up for my ideals.

We listened to the State's argument and the brief rebuttal of the Defender, who used the opportunity to present closing remarks. We stood up and exited the courtroom with the rest of the crowd. We walked down the stairs and squinted into the sun and I wished my hair didn't feel so dirty.

I texted a friend who also happens to be a housemate and took her up on her suggestion to get lunch. She works in a House Office Building, so I stood in line for security. I remembered this time. The July heat, the weight of the suit jacket over my arm, the cold air streaming out the doors, the minutes in line hoping they didn't amount to too late. I remember the rush of energy that came with walking through the metal detectors, putting on the suit jacket and heels, and clickclacking down the hall. The last time I was in this building we met with a Representative and then flyered the whole building. My feet hurt and I promised myself that graduating law school would mean next time I would only have to participate in the first half of the day's activity. High hopes, I still had. But on Tuesday, I met my friend and we walked to the cafeteria for lunch together. I apologized for my lack of coherent sentences and tried to wipe the goofy grin off my face. The past and present wrapped up together can get complicated, but it can also make me deleriously happy.

After lunch, I called my mom as I walked past the fountain, the Capitol building, and up Louisiana Avenue towards Union Station. How many times that summer did I walk the very same sidewalks? Gushing excitement and joy in the sunshine, saying this. is. it. That summer, it was almost every day. A lot has happened since that summer. In the world and in my world. But still. I called my mom and gushed. In the sunshine, walking long-lost steps, I gushed. These days are fleeting, I know, but I earned them. I waited the eight hours. And longer.



[If you are interested in the substance of the juvenile cases, the briefs and oral argument transcripts are on the US Supreme Court website. Media coverage includes the New York Times, Washington Post, and CNN, among others.]

*Dear 1Ls, Buy a hornbook. It's not cheating. I promise. It's a lifesaver. And a memo I got too late in law school. Love, Emily. P.S. Footnote 4 in Carolene Products is The Important One.

Sunday

National Museum of the American Indian

In Which I Question My Sanity (Again)

I stood outside at 1:00 am last night in my pajamas spilling the contents of my purse onto the front path to my house. The long-story-short* is that I woke up, thought I heard something, and convinced myself that there was a mouse in my purse next to my bed. (I have no reason to believe we have mice in the house. None. At all.) So I scrambled for shoes and flashlights and eventually the overhead light and my stash of huge black garbage bags I used last time I moved. I took a thousand deep breaths and scooped up my purse into the garbage bag, made my way out the front door and dumped everything onto the sidewalk. There was no mouse. There was never a mouse. I realized that as I stood above the entire contents of my purse glowing from a combination of the porch light and street light.

I scooped up my belongings, trashed the trash bag, and returned to my bed. Adrenaline running high and my thoughts feeling crazy. I had a mouse problem when I lived in Vermont. I'll tell that story someday. For now, let's just say that I think it caused me some type of mild PTSD. I emailed my friend Nicole, because she is the person who always receives my late-night crazy emails. Isn't she lucky? The noise returned. I whipped out my flashlight from under my covers. And saw a moth-like bug hanging out in the corner of my room. Oh. Right. At least now I know with certainty that there was never a mouse.

I could blame my bumpy morning on the whole standing-outside-in-my-pajamas-at-1:00-am ordeal, but honestly, not much about the night before changed my morning. At least not the getting up and getting ready part. I was half-way to the metro when I realized I forgot my camera. Which was a big part of my day's plans - get out of work at a reasonable hour and take a trip to the Mall to get some shots of the cherry blossoms and the capitol building with the sun shining on it. I turned around and went back to fetch my camera. And realized I also forgot my keys. And the front door was locked. I assumed the only roommate home was in the shower, so I decided to scrap my plans for the day and deal with the lost key situation later and just go to work. Then I realized there was a small chance my keys had not made it out of the plastic bag I dumped my purse contents into and that trash bag was sitting at the top of the semi-full trash can in the kitchen. I had no guarantee that my keys would not end up at the dump by evening. So I went back to my house. And my lovely roommate was not in the shower and let me with a smile and a little concern. I grabbed my camera, grabbed the bag out of the trash, and searched the most-likely places for my keys. No luck. I gave up and went to work. Late. I went to work late.

Nicole responded to my 2 am email with tear-inducing laughter. I told her about my keys. She told me I needed a bottle of wine. And a straw.Stat.

I lost my metro card earlier this week. Did I mention that?

I'm not sure I ever really come across as being "put-together" or "under control" or anything other than slightly frazzled, but if anyone ever needs evidence that my life spins out of control, I have stories like these on a regular basis. This week seems to be producing quiet a few of them.

What I can't stop thinking about though, is why this week feels sloppy, irresponsible, and distracted. It's not just the mouse freak-out or the forgotten camera or the misplaced (I refuse to call them lost at this point) keys.  I think it's an adjustment of priorities. A shift in focus. A change in seasons. It's that time in between when choas rules for a little while before the order returns. Until my priorities reset and my focus finds its new stationary point.

Or perhaps, it is just one of those weeks.

P.S. I found my keys.



*roommates (and anyone else) ask and I'll share the full story.

** I say this lightly but I know PTSD is a serious, real issue for some people.
*** Photo from last year. It was cloudy when I got out of work so I just headed home...

Acceptance

I found out I got into law school while standing in the post office two towns over from where I lived and one town over from where I worked. It was my first acceptance letter and an early response - I had expected to wait months longer. It came as a weighty envelope and I tore into it right there in the middle of the tiny, tiny post office. I spun around to squeal to the clerk, but I was afraid it would be obnoxious, so I swallowed the high pitch and darted to my car. I sat very still in the driver's seat for longer than expected, rested my head on the steering wheel, noticed the release of my shoulders. It was a cold December morning, but Vermont cold is still sunny and the heat in my car made it feel like spring. The letter made it feel like spring.

I drove out of the parking lot and took a right up the hill. Drove past the church where I would spend evenings chaperoning middle school dances and past the farm owned by a man who I would learn went to the same college as I. I sat still and quiet in the driver's seat, until I reached the peak and the mountain road leveled off and the few houses disappeared. When everything around me grew quiet, it bubbled up. Quickly. Loudly. I squealed. And then I squealed again. And then I giggled. And then I started to dance. And then I shrieked. I drove past the cows that would eventually get lose on a regular basis and I worried that my shrieking would start a stampede. But I kept shrieking. And dancing. And bobbing, up and down on my seat. And the sun shined brightly through the trees.

Eventually, the road descended and a house appeared. Then another. I tried to stop shrieking. Afraid people would come running out of their homes to check on the ruckus. I managed to muffle it a little. They really would have come running out. And I stopped bouncing. I might encounter another car in the next few miles to work.

I was out of breath by the time I pulled into the school parking lot and parked in our designated area. I hardly pulled the emergency break and flug off my seatbelt before I catipulted myself out of the car and towards my office door. The sky on this side of the mountain was grey and I fumbled with my keys and wished for the thousandth time that I had cell service but was so grateful that the one-room office was empty. I called my mom. I called my dad. I got the phone cord tangled around my wrist.

And then I sat in the quiet.

And thought.

About how it would change my life.

I would stand up and testify in front of U.S. Congress on why all kids should have strengths-based, positive youth development, leadership programs.

I would live in a highrise condo. With a view of the city.

I would wear suits with tall black heels.

My fingernails would stop breaking, my hair would stop frizzing.

I would have a husband who thought I was intelligent. Wicked smart.

The whole world would want to listen to me.

I would never have to cook ever.

(I was twenty-two.)

The seventh graders who had second block language arts class two rooms down from our one-room office barrelled up the wooden ramp to the trailor. Second graders are more likely to stampede than cows, I realized. One of my supervisors walked through the door. I didn't wait for her to even finish saying goodmorning before I blurted out that I had gotten into law school. "Congratulations!" She threw her arms around me. And so the good feelings continued.

-----

One of my first year law school professors began the year by telling us that law was not flashdance. It was rough, raw, untanned work. It is. It is rough, raw, untanned work. There is very little flash to it. Very little dance. Some of the ways I thought my life would change happened. Some of them did not. As long as I am living in DC, my hair will never stop frizzing. The day I received the first acceptance letter, I saw only the flashdance. The end product. The destination. Not the rough, raw, untanned work. Not the journey. 

  

------

I know how it goes the second time around. There is no real second time around (there never is) but there are lessons I learned well. Paradigm shifts I breath. Forward steps to take in the here and now. A better path to take to arrive at the same destination. Flowers to pick, pebbles to kick, skies to admire.

Twice this weekend, I planned to take my camera around the city and take a few photos. Twice I didn't end up going. (Too cold, too late, too much weekend track work, too tired, too...) I felt guilty for not going both times. The same way I feel guilty when I procrastinate going grocery shopping. Which is the exact opposite feeling I want to associate with my camera.

I had a good week. I had a great weekend. Some of the high points I caught with my iphone. Comfy slippers, glasses at work (which means a lot of reading and writing (love)), coffee, The Black Keys concert, dinner and dessert, the start of cherry blossom season, a good book on my front porch...

So, I didn't break out my "real" camera. Maybe I didn't need to. At least not in the way I once did.

Everything is changing. That is a fact, this time, more than just a feeling, like last June. (A feeling that ended up being entirely correct.) There will be, there is, great, excellent change.

I need to loosen my grip a bit. Ease into the next handful of months and then again into the handful of months after that. I may not have taken photos with my "real" camera, but I took photos. And taking photos is the heart of the matter. There is wiggle room in my life right now. I need to loosen my grip and enjoy it.

It's spring now. We might hit 80 degrees mid-week. We have longer evenings and more sunshine. Time to shed the layers no longer needed. Time for the buds to burst and the flowers to bloom. Time to watch the season change. And time to know that it will change again. Enjoy this season now. Every moment of it.

Big camera, small camera, or no camera. That's what I intend to do.



(and yes, i'd card me at a bar, too. and maybe even at a movie theater. geesh, i look young in that photo.)