Resetting

I've been perusing through some of my old posts, and I am amazed to see the difference between where I was then -- emotionally, psychologically -- from where I am now. A lot of my old posts are bogged down, as if I am trying to pull myself out of slowly hardening cement. So much to figure out. I can feel how frustrated and baffled I was with my inability to reshape myself emotionally or psychologically in relating to the issues I had in my life. I remember many of those incidents and feelings as if they happened yesterday, and yet, I feel so far removed from the person I was then. And I attribute most of these changes, if not all, to entering my masters program in marriage & family therapy.

My MFT program has changed my life. I am in a cohort of 27 students, and everyone is wonderful. Warm, caring, thoughtful, and kind. It's exactly the kind of community I've longed for, and couldn't find in the years after we left San Francisco. I once again feel like I belong somewhere.

During the interview for the program almost a year ago, I entered the room feeling slightly apprehensive. What skills did I have as a lawyer that would be conducive to me becoming a therapist? As a litigation associate, I had spent most of my time writing combative nastygrams to opposing counsel and dealing with discovery nonsense. Had the law hardened me to a point that I would be unsuitable for dealing with other people on empathetic and personal levels?

In the group interview, we were first asked to go around the circle and introduce ourselves. After listening to the impressive backgrounds of the people before me, who had actually all done something to better the world through social services, I found myself stammering, "I'm not sure why I was even invited to this interview, because I have absolutely zero experience in this field that I hope to enter. I am so impressed by each of you and all that you have done." And then I prattled off a sentence or two about how I had been a lawyer in my former life.

Amazingly, at the end of the interview session that day, the director of the program offered me admission to the program on the spot.

The program started in the summer, and we spent much of the summer listening to each other's life stories. We took turns talking about the experiences we had with our families of origin, what events shaped us, what issues resonated for us. There were so many stories, some with intersecting threads, others with unique directions. But everyone had a story to tell. And they were all humbling and edifying.

It felt like I had read 26 memoirs in a matter of weeks. And I loved it.

Since the fall semester, we have been meeting with clients, and I can't describe how much I love meeting the clients and listening and talking to them about their lives. It's similar to the conversations I have always had over coffee with friends, conversations I have always loved. But these are more intentional and more directed. And with strangers, at least at start, who give me the benefit of the doubt to open up with me.

This one change - entering a new program - had reset me completely. I don't obsess about my time as I used to. I don't feel bogged down by the fears or worries I used to have. I don't feel so negative about my past career as a lawyer or my passing days.

I think if I had been diagnosed with breast cancer before I had been admitted to the program, I would have fallen into a deep despair. I would have been so wrought with resentment and sadness that I had to waste time on something that had nothing to add to my life. I would have seen it as something to deal with in order to return to status quo. And I would have felt that it was yet another segment of my life wasted on top of the years I spent trudging through law school and working as an attorney.

Now that I'm in the program, the cancer diagnosis has hardly made a blip. I see it as a nuisance, nothing more. Even though most of my free days are filled up with doctor appointments, chemo therapy, and some test or another, it hasn't gotten to me. Not nearly to the degree I used to be bothered when I even missed one day of planned me-time when one of my kids got sick or my plans got upset.

Even though I attribute it to being in the program, there are many facets embedded in it that I find so fulfilling and satisfying. Most important is that I am learning again. I am learning about things I care about in life and exploring ways of seeing things through different frameworks. The conversations that I am having as I'm learning are complex, nuanced, and substantive. I am reading wonderful books by innovative and insightful thinkers. One of the most satisfying books I read over the summer was on multicultural perspectives. To date, I have never read a satisfying book on race, at least not one that addressed different perspectives of different racial and ethnic groups. But, yes, such a book exists! I am also spending time talking to my cohorts, professors, and clients about subjects that I think are worth talking about, not just about the weather, or sports, or some TV show. And all the while I'm doing this, I am among a group of people I really appreciate. The cohort is composed of people of various ages ranging from 23 to perhaps late 50s or early 60s, all with life lessons to teach, insights to share, and life pains they have overcome and somehow managed to shape into future directions.

When I think about how simple this was -- how simple it was to reset my life -- I can't help but wonder why it felt so difficult before.  The idea of going back to school seemed daunting. I was already in my mid-40s. I have small children. My husband worked. I had to take the GREs. I wanted to carry my fair load of household responsibilities, whether it was taking care of the kids or contributing financially. And as I list them, I now see that none of them were insurmountable. I recognize that I have it easy. Jeff took some time off of work so that I can go back to school while he takes care of the kids. He has taken over almost all of the domestic chores. But I see the other women in my program doing it. Like me, most of them are entering a second career. Many of them have working husbands and children. Some are single moms. And they show up to class and turn in their assignments.

I think about the countless conversations I had with my lawyer friends when I was practicing law about the second careers we wished to have. It was probably the most popular topic of conversation. And instead of regurgitating those conversations ad nauseam, I could have just gone back to school. But of course, in hindsight, it all looks so easy now. Besides the logistics, I think most of it had to do with the uncertainty of not knowing what I wanted to do with my life. And I realize now that I didn't know what to do with my life because I simply had not lived enough. Maybe I needed all the detours and the events of my life to take me where I am now. Maybe I needed law school, my ten years lawfirm career, the disasterous layoff, the three miscarriages, the family estrangement, the precancerous cells in my cervix, the worries of being a parent, and the delicacies of being married as well as all the happy and fulfilling moments embedded along the way. Maybe I needed these more than others after a lifetime of being a good daughter and a rule follower.

Now, from where I sit, I am grateful for all those experiences - the challenging as well as the happy ones. Even my recent diagnosis. They have made me a fuller person. I relate to others differently. I relate to my children differently. I respond with more patience, more understanding, more heart. I even like myself more.

I think returning to school was about fulfilling one of my core needs. I need to be in an environment where I'm learning. And where I am connected to others through my learning. The learning doesn't have to come in an academic environment, but I need to make space for that in my life. When I didn't have that -- when I didn't have the time or the space to take care of one of my needs, I felt suffocated and desperate.

I think about the little steps we can take to identify and meet our own needs. And to recruit others to aid us in our effort while we help them in turn. Many of us may be gearing ourselves in that direction without even realizing it.

Making a Big Change

A couple of weeks ago, I read an article in The New York Times called “Hesitant to Make that Big Life Change? Permission Granted”.

In the article, Carl Richards writes about why some of us have trouble making big changes. He believes one reason is our desire for permission to make such changes. He writes: "Seeking approval and external validation is part of the human experience, but when it comes to making a big life change, they can be hard to find."

About nine months ago, I set out to make a big change in my life - or at least work toward one. After years of complaining about my career path, I enrolled myself in a local community college and signed up for several classes in psychology, sociology, and philosophy. I wasn't quite sure what was next, but I wanted to give myself a chance to explore and see what I liked, to do what I wished I had done more of when I was too young and insecure to give myself permission to try my hand at something that didn't fit the script. For several hours, twice a week, I drove to the local campus and wedged myself into chair-desks to sit next to kids who hadn’t even been born when I received my B.A. and were still peeing in their diapers when I received my J.D. I raised my hands frequently enough to receive full participation points and felt a stupid mix of pride and shame each time teachers commented "Great!!!" with a smiley face on my homework or read my papers out loud as examples of how to write cogently. As far as I could tell, I was older than every teacher except one, who was my age.

I am now in my second semester at the community college, mainly to fulfill some prerequisites for a graduate level program in psychology, while studying for the GREs (yes, yet another standardized test). I am still not quite sure what I am doing, but I feel a certain amount of self-imposed pressure to define a direction for myself, so that I could tell myself and others what the hell I am doing with my life. After all, I am 45.

The one pervading feeling throughout all of this has been a disquieting sense of illegitimacy. In so many respects. I mean, really, I am a mom with one kid who just learned how to tie his shoelaces and another who still eats her boogers. How can I justify sitting in a library outlining social psychology when I have little finger nails to clip and healthy meals to plan and playdates to coordinate? Am I not supposed to be helping them prepare for life, instead of still fixating on my own development? Besides, I already have my B.A. and a J.D. Why the hell am I still hanging out with a bunch of kids who are trying to gain admission to four-year colleges? I could tell from the looks on some of the kids in my classes that they were wondering what went wrong with my career that I was now back at ground zero with them. (No, I did not go into the details about the inanities of corporate America.) And how about being a full-fledged adult with some income to show for it? Isn't it completely self-indulgent to be a student full time?

When I read Richards' article, I realized the unease I've been feeling for the past eight months was the discomfort of not having been granted permission, of not having received validation. Not from any specific person, but in a more cosmic sense. From the world we live in. The world I live in has pretty clear guidelines. Go to school, figure out a career in your 20s, plan a family, lean in and work up the ranks to partnership or management, save up, and retire when you have a decent nest egg. Sure, we deviate sometimes, but on the whole, that's where we fall in if we claim to be a certain kind of adult.

Validation is a big thing for someone like me, for someone who was raised as I was. An Asian, a good daughter, a middle child, an immigrant. I've lived my whole life seeking and receiving approval. I still remember how it felt to start receiving more attention as I began bringing straight As home, how it felt to receive recognition for helping out around the house as my parents started working long hours at their store. I'm one of those good kids, someone who never rebelled, who always accommodated, often to my detriment. I also have a lifetime practice of trying to fit in, as an outsider in America, even to the point of wearing blue eye shadow in high school. Thank goodness we left Texas.  

I read somewhere that most of us live as we think we ought to. We pick up a script that tells us how we're supposed to live, and we spend the rest of our lives trying to enact it. So maybe this process of validating a big change is simply a cognitive exercise. Will it into your script, and voila, it's yours to follow. That is more or less what I've been trying to do. Looking for examples of people who've already done what I am trying to do. There is an endless list of successful women who started their careers mid-life: Vera Wang, Toni Morrison, Julia Childs, Martha Stewart, and so many others like those profiled here. I keep meeting them in my own life as I explain to others why I'm back in school while my husband drops off the kids in the morning. Every mom I meet has a story about someone in her family or someone she knows who went back to school after they had kids. One lady I met volunteering told me that she cried and cried while she tried to decide whether to go back to school in her late 30s. When she called her dad and lamented she was going to be too old for school, he responded, "Well, you're going to get old anyway."

So I will quiet that little voice that nags that I'm too old, that I already missed my opportunity to set a direction for myself, that I should have been bolder in my youth, that I will be 50 by the time I graduate from yet another school, that I am being frivolous, that this is not my time, that it is too late...

I'll cling to that mantra. I'm getting old anyway. Might as well try it. 

Revisiting

A few months ago, I started getting that feeling -- that panicked, suffocating feeling that you get when you feel time running out. I rushed to my computer and counted down the remaining days. A little less than two months. Not even eight full weeks. Just 54 measly days.

I mapped out a plan. Hit the gym every day. Alternate between days of cardio and strength training. Eat less. Eliminate all carbs. Don't eat after 6pm. Shed at least a pound a week. Get rid of all the fat in my upper arm and my midriff. Get my hair done. Find a dress.

That was all I had time to do. In less than eight weeks, we were flying out to Chicago for my 20th college reunion. Eight weeks weren't enough to fashion a new career, publish a book, or make a documentary. Not enough to become a CEO or an activist or a social commentator. Not enough to establish a village or even a non-profit. Not enough to fulfill any of the aspirations I had set out for myself in my 20s.

But it was enough time to transform myself into a beach babe. And failing that, the least I could do was try to look as good as I did in my facebook profile photo.

Going back for a reunion, especially after 20 years, is not for the feeble minded. It takes guts to face all those people who heard you talk about all the things that were wrong with this world, and all the things you were going to do to fix it. It takes guts to face that 20 year old idealistic self who thought the world was populated with idiots, especially all those who submitted blindly to the slavery of law firms and investment banks. It takes guts to go back and show all that you haven't done with 20 years of your life.

I have little to show for myself these days. No job. No social accolade to speak of. No presidential award of honor. No honorary degree. No peace corps stint to brag about. No travels around the world worth mentioning. Yes, a law degree, but I am not a partner or a GC or even a lowly associate. I guess I could brag about the well publicized termination and 100K down the drain, but I already bragged about them at the last reunion.

At the least, I am married and have two beautiful children, but I learned not to treat such things as accomplishments when we read Virginia Woolf during my sophomore year.

I thought about skipping the college reunion. But months earlier, when the reunion was merely an enticing idea in the distant future, I had foolishly signed up to participate on the reunion committee. And volunteered to prepare the reunion memory book. And had goaded all of my friends to show up or consider themselves dead in my world.

The eight weeks breezed by -- more quickly than I would have liked. I downloaded My Fitness Pal on my iPhone. I hit the gym as often as I could. I even lifted weights. And weighed myself every morning. And tried on all the dresses I owned.

The day before we were scheduled to fly out, I weighed myself in the morning as usual, right after I peed and pooped and right before I was weighted down with excess water from the shower. The scale showed the same number as the day before. Just 3 measly pounds less than what it was eight weeks ago.

I threw a couple of outfits in the suitcase because I couldn't decide which looked worse. And packed the prettiest dresses for my little girl with matching hair clips and sweaters. I made sure to pack my son's hair gel and his most fashionable polo shirts and plaid shorts. Then we set off for my past.

Chicago was just as I had remembered it, and completely different. We landed in Midway Airport, where I had arrived alone in the fall of 1989 with just two suitcases to see me through the year. To get to the hotel, we drove down Lakeshore Drive, where I had cruised up and down with friends as we searched for restaurants at 2 in the morning after a dance party or another. The next day, while my son napped in the hotel with Jeff, I pushed my daughter in a stroller down Michigan Avenue, where I had wandered as a lost 20 year old, dressed in an oversized men's sports jacket, thinking about Foucault, Levi Strauss, and Emile Durkheim.

The next day, Jeff and I dressed for the class dinner. I was grateful for the cooler weather, which allowed me to wear my completely black outfit with more generous covering. I put on a little more make up than usual and the new hoop earrings I had picked up that afternoon at Nordstrom. Before I stepped out of the bathroom, I looked at myself in the mirror and practiced my smile. To my surprise, the person who smiled back looked pretty good. Maybe it was the lighting in the hotel. Or the extra layer of mascara. Or the hoop earrings. But I didn't see the extra ten pounds glaring back at me. I saw a little glimmer in my eyes and excitement.

The evening passed much too quickly. It was filled with squeals of delight, hugs, giggles, clicks of the camera, and too many glasses of wine. We talked about the old days, gossiped about people we knew, gushed about how the other looked, and listened to stories about families, job headaches, and infertility problems.

To my surprise, no one even asked about my career. Or if they did, it was so nonintrusive that it didn't register. I don't think it was because no one cared. It just didn't come up. Maybe because we had too many other things to talk about.

The next day, Jeff and I drove to the campus and watched our kids run around on the quads where I had spent many afternoons buried in a book or engrossed in some conversation about the meaning of life. We stepped into Harper's Library, where I had passed countless nights trying not to nod off as I attempted to finish the paper due the next day, where I had painstakingly worked on my literary magazines, where I had suffered my secret crushes. We walked down the streets where I had found life at its most intense and had tried to savor it as long as I could.

That evening, a bunch of us gathered at my old roommate's house in the suburbs and watched our kids play with each other as we bantered and chowed down Giordano's pizza.

I don't know why I expected the reunion to be some resume comparison event. I have never related to my friends through the lens of our accomplishments, so why did I expect it to happen now?

It is my own self-consciousness, my own internal conflict. It is true what they say. No one else obsesses about you as much as yourself. I don't have it all together, at least not at this point in my life, but it was okay. It didn't get in the way of anything because no one really cares. At least not in that judging way. And what a relief to find out.

It was good to go back. To see my friends, to revisit the campus, to have a chance to think about the person I used to be and the person I am now. Sometimes I miss that person I was -- that intense girl so determined to be independent, so unwilling to expose any vulnerability, so serious about living my life. But I realized that I like the person I am now. More settled, a little more secure, and willing to show my vulnerability. And a little more forgiving, even of myself. Maybe it's a sign of happiness. Or even maturity...

* * *

(Here are a couple of photos of my kids making themselves at home on my old campus. It warmed my heart to see them there.)

Now...

In 2008, I was fired by Paul Hastings three days after I returned to work after having a miscarriage. The firm knew about my pregnancy - and my subsequent miscarriage. I thought the firm's timing of my termination was deliberate and to put it mildly, insensitive. In response, I wrote a lengthy email detailing my perspective of the situation and turning down their offer of three months severance in exchange for an agreement promising to keep my termination and the firm's handling of the termination secret. That email went viral.

Even now, five years later, when Above the Law happens to reference my email, traffic to my blog spikes. I'm sure many are curious. Whatever happened to that woman? Did she get her ass kicked? Did she show them by going in-house and refusing to hire that firm? Did she ever manage to land another job interview? Does she regret what she did?

Like the thousands of comments that my original email spurred, I'm sure many of these questions have nothing to do with me. They are more about the reader's own concerns and anxieties. What happens to an employee who sticks out her middle finger at her former employer? Does she get away with it? Or is she shot down to wallow in her own remorse? What can I do to protect my own job, ensure I make partnership?

Well, I'll tell you what happened to me. For a brief period after the termination, I worked on a few projects as a contract attorney. Then my friends started referring clients to me, and I handled my own cases until my son was about a year and a half. It started to feel overwhelming to handle my own cases solo while also raising a child, so I decided then to refer those cases out and become a stay at home mom. That's what I have been doing for the past three years.

During that time, I also had a second child. My days have been filled with trips to Sea World, to Legoland, the San Diego Zoo, and playdates. I have time to read with my children, to answer all of their questions (and there are plenty from a 3.5 year old), to prepare their snacks and their meals, to bathe them, to roll around in the sand and to giggle with them. I wouldn't have traded that time for anything. Not even a law firm salary.

I've also had the luxury to think about what I want in life. And I've allowed myself to admit that I really don't want to be a lawyer for the rest of my life. I've always known that, but it's another to decide to act on that -- to give up that bar membership, to dismiss the 100K in student loan as just a minor financial miscalculation (and thank goodness I paid off my debts within the first three years of my practice), to decide that the three years spent in law school wasn't really a terrible waste of time since I learned so much.

I may have arrived at this decision even without the Paul Hastings incident. But it certainly made it easier. I saw a different perspective to what it means to be a stooge in a big law firm. The people who were involved in my termination were not evil. I actually liked them as individuals. But maybe the type of people who succeed in that type of environment are those who simply go along with whatever is asked of them. Not raise a stink. Be a good soldier. Check your spine at the door.

I remember participating in our litigation department meetings in the few months leading up to my termination. A few associates in our department had stopped showing up for work, and no one knew what happened to them. Did they quit? Did they get fired? Did they transfer? What happened? Well, we figured they got fired because some associates stayed in touch with them, but no one knew of the circumstances. During our department meetings, I remember raising my hand and asking about those associates who disappeared. I directly asked, "Are we having layoffs?" Several of the partners acted astounded that I would even think that the firm was having layoff, but refused to acknowledge that those associates had been fired. The department head simply said that he could not talk about them because the information was private.

What was amazing about those meetings was that no one -- not even one other associate -- was willing to ask questions about what was going on. Maybe some already knew the details because they were friends with those who left. But I know many other associates were in the dark with me because I had asked around and no one knew. I was astounded that I was working in an environment where people were afraid to ask basic questions about their job security.

After I left, a few of the younger associates thanked me for asking those questions at the department meetings that they said they were too afraid to ask. It says something about today's corporate environment in America that people can't ask basic questions -- that my one email should spur such interest and such a reaction.

For me, it was a healthy experience. I not only gained a new perspective, but I now feel more confident about myself. I feel like I can do so much more than I thought myself capable of doing. I also left the firm with a healthy sense of respect for myself. I can speak up for myself, and I can defend myself. That feels pretty good.

I'm trying to figure out my new career. It hasn't been easy trying to fit that in while I'm also taking care of two little ones. At the same time, it's a luxury and a privilege. Not many people are in a situation where they have the means to stay at home with the children and the means to invest in a new career. I feel blessed every day.

I'm just living my life. And trying to be a decent human being and a good citizen. And use my time wisely. All that good stuff. Not too different from what you are probably doing.

Giving Myself a Break

A couple of months ago, I met with an admissions assistant at University of San Diego's Masters in Family Therapy program.  He was a young guy -- in his early 30s perhaps. We chatted for just 30 minutes about the admissions requirement so that I can start thinking about how someone like me -- someone post career no. 1, someone midlife, someone with a family -- can start to incorporate a masters program into her life. We sat in a small conference room, he with a brochure, me with a purse and a single piece of paper with all of my questions. I asked all the questions off of my list, and he gave me the answers that he gives in his capacity. After the short meeting, I walked around the building, briefly peering into classrooms where lecturers stood in front of whiteboards and a few kids in hooded sweatshirts sat hunched over their computers. As I walked around, I found myself muttering, "Really? Am I going to leave my kids at home with some stranger so that I can come sit here? Really??"

Shortly after that visit, I pushed aside the idea of doing a MFT program. If I'm so ready to push it aside, maybe it's not the right path for me. Maybe I really wasn't that into it in the first place -- not that committed to the idea. Maybe...

For the past few months, we've had a babysitter for about 12 hours a week so that I can figure these things out. I haven't been doing anything with that time other than blogging and entertaining the idea of doing something with my writing. I love writing. It grips me at my core -- deep inside where it really matters. Like any other craft, I need to keep at it -- practice it, immerse in it -- knead it like dough. Despite my shortcomings, I find it fulfilling in a way few other things are. But how do you make a living with it, make it a career? I know others do -- so why do I doubt that I can? I feel like such a coward at times. I've never taken a risk in my life. Not really. And I wonder what I even have to say that's worth saying -- really, is anything I have to say any different than what anyone else feels or says? And how could I ever write as beautifully as some of those writers out there? What about all those people with PhDs in literature, those who've read everything worth reading? I haven't read a book in ages -- I feel like such a phony.

Last night, I read some interviews with Kazuo Ishiguro. For the past year, I've been obsessed with his book Never Let Me Go, and I can't stop thinking about it. So I was just poking around on the net after putting my son down for the night, and what a pleasant surprise that he wasn't schooled in literature. He wanted to be a musician and went onto writing only when he couldn't make a success of a music career. He then went onto a MFA program. In one of the interviews, he identified the few writers who formed the foundation of his writing. I copied down that list.

I'm still floundering, but it's clear that I need some more structure. I've been all over the map lately. I sometimes think I should get the MFT because I can use that knowledge as a basis for writing anyway, even if I decide not to become a therapist. Other days, I'm convinced that I need to become a journalist, and build my foundation for writing that way. I've also considered just blogging -- using this as my basis for writing and launching my writing career that way. Since my time is so limited these days anyway, isn't that a good use of my time?

I've even been going back and forth about signing up for an online class. One class. Which takes up just a couple of hours a week. Just because it's right around dinner time, and I'm not sure whether I should delay the kids' dinner time so that I could sit in front of the computer.

What is wrong with me??!!

Ugh, ok, as I'm writing this, it's becoming obvious that I just need to sign up for a class. Stop feeling so guilty. I'm allowed to do this, right? What's the harm? I can spend a few hundres bucks on a class. I can. Really. Right??

Changing Directions

I'm thinking of changing careers. Well, I have been thinking about it. For the past ten years, in fact.

I've always wanted to write, so about a year ago, I dabbled in some magazine writing for a few months. It was a decent experience. I got to meet and talk to a bunch of notable people and see my name in print. It was hard to justify the time I put into it, though, for the pay I received. ($200 for an article I spent 2 weeks interviewing, organizing, and writing.) And writing about other people didn't feel as satisfying as writing about my own life. Not that I'm so self-absorbed, but I think writing is a very personal process for me. It helps me to sort out my thoughts, see aspects of my life in a different light, find the words and definition for some of my experiences. Magazine writing just didn't do those things for me -- and why should it? I'm starting to think that I don't need to write professionally -- not full time anyway -- at least not right now. I'm very content with the writing I do on this blog (when I do write, that is). And even though I sometimes feel the angst to do something bigger with it, I'm not quite sure what that is yet. So with my writing, I think I may just keep it at this level for now -- without the pressure to make it into something bigger than it needs to be.

I've considered the idea of doing litigation part time -- which is more or less what I've been doing for the past two years. It's not a bad career. The pay can be quite generous and I can work somewhat flexible hours. I also work from home without a secretary or a paralegal, and have found it to be much more manageable than I had expected. The problem, I'm finding, is that it really cuts into the state of mind I want to have to be a mom. Because it's so adversarial, I sometimes get nasty emails or letters in the middle of my day when I'm playing with little T. It casts a dark shadow over me -- even if it's for thirty minutes -- and I resent the emotional intrusion into my time with my little guy. I never minded before I became a mom, but now I feel the need to protect my state of mind so that I can be the kind of mom I want to be.

Lately -- maybe because I had such a great experience with my therapist -- I've been thinking about going to get a masters in psychology and doing some kind of counseling. I understand that it's a two year program, and I may have to spend an extra year doing some type of internship. In part, I'm drawn to the idea because I think it would help me personally to study some of those subjects and to understand it -- and myself -- better. I think it would also help me to be a better mom and wife. But I also like the idea of talking to people in a very meaningful way and helping them see themselves or their lives from a different -- and more constructive -- angle. I'm not sure if I'm equipped to do something like that. My therapist was just so amazing at keeping track of all the details that I just spewed out to her -- and so generous in speaking to me from a position of warmth. With my background in litigation, I'm more equipped to be confrontational and rule-driven, rather than supportive and warm.

Of course, I am also concerned about starting a new career when I am almost 40. It will take me a few months to prepare for the GREs and apply to schools. Once I apply, I think I have to wait until the following fall to start. So I will most likely start my program when I am almost 42. That seems quite old -- but then I think of people who were in law school with me -- people who had full careers before. Walter Pincus - the journalist for the Washington Post - was in the evening program at Georgetown when I was there, and I believe he was in his 60s at the time. And then I also think about continuing with law simply because I started in it, and it seems like a horrible waste of time. I tend to think of my last 12 years practicing law as a waste of time. I've justified it to myself, and it hasn't all been negative -- but on the whole, I feel that I have very little to show for my time being a lawyer.

I think it would be horrible to have lived my whole life being just a lawyer. I don't want that to be my obituary. Somewhere inside, there is a part of me that is very ambitious. To do something meaningful with my life. Not to discount being a mother or a wife, but to do something in a larger sense. Sometimes when I read other people's wikipedia entries, I think, I could have done that. And then I tell myself that I still can.

In my case, I think being a mom and now being pregnant with no. 2 heightens my sense of urgency in figuring out my career. I don't want to fall into the trap of being so bogged down with child care -- and prioritizing my children's needs ahead of all else -- that I forget to think about this before it feels too late.

It's hard to pinpoint exactly what it is that I would like to accomplish in my life. A part of it is driven by a fear of living meaninglessly -- something I thought my parents did when they worked day in and day out in a dry cleaners, without any humor or acceptance -- simply for the sake of making a living. And it is hard to pinpoint exactly how one goes about finding meaning in one's work. Maybe it's about finding something that aligns with one's values.

I've decided to take Jeff's suggestion, though, and talk to any many people as I can who are therapists -- and see whether they enjoy their work, and what they like about it. If anyone out there is a therapist, I would love to pick your brain!

Heading South

A month ago, we celebrated our little guy's one year birthday. We rented a hall along the Bay, invited our friends, decorated the place with paper lanterns and custom made posters of the little guy's past 12 months, and laid out enough food and cake to feed all the smiling faces. We put the little guy in a hanbok and made him pick from an assortment of objects - following in a Korean tradition that I know little about -- more for kicks than anything else. When he picked the piggy bank, symbolizing a life of wealth, and the crowd broke out in laughter, we knew we have an entertainer on our hands.

The day after, we loaded our station wagon with our luggage, bottles of water and leftover cake, an umbrella stroller, and enough toys to last the upcoming drive. I packed our little guy in his car seat, and my parents piled in. We left Jeff behind to deal with the moving company - and all the leftovers in the fridge until he was ready to follow suit a couple of days later.

Around 11am, we started driving. Away from the home I had known for the past six years, away from the city I had loved for the past eleven. We drove straight down 280 and then to 101, past Daly City where I had regularly stopped for Hawaiian plate lunches, past the airport I had often hovered over before landing, past all the exits that led to houses of our friends and acquaintances. We stopped in Paso Robles for lunch and proceeded to Santa Barbara for the night. The next day, we kept driving, until we reached La Jolla.

For the past month, I have been calling La Jolla home -- from a rental that we have for the next six months while we try to figure out whether to become Southern Californians for good. Out of our master bedroom upstairs, we overlook the Pacific -- a view more stunning than any I have ever known. We are surrounded by palm trees and people in flip flops. Guys and gals tote surf boards, as casually as if they were carrying laptops. On the freeway, we drive past convertibles -- and monster trucks.

To try to fit in, we have made a concerted effort not to wear any foot gear other than flip flops. I have yet to tuck a surf board under my arm, but Jeff has been going to work regularly with a boogie board and a beach towel in his trunk. We have strolled up and down the streets of Bird Rock, a little enclave of La Jolla, and hit many of the take-out joints in Pacific Beach - but have yet to brave the bars where we see women clad in bikinis and men in cut offs partying as if they were in a John Cusack film.

The past month has passed in a blur. The first few days were dedicated to unpacking and sorting out our material possessions to approximate some state of stability even as our two car garage remains filled with unpacked boxes and plastic bins. Then the dam of work I had put up while our lives took their course broke and I have been drowning in it since. Even though we hired a part time nanny to help us, we don't know what we would have done if my parents hadn't put their own lives on hold to help us with the transition.

Yesterday, I took the day off. We piled in the car and drove one exit over to Sea World. Once there, we pressed our palms against the glass panes and marveled at the orca whales swimming past us. We lathered sun screen on the little guy and braved the sun to watch the dolphin show. And giggled at the sea lions barking for more food. Later, we gobbled up ice cream bars shaped like Shamu.

I purchased an annual membership to the place - and the second year is for free. So until little T turns three -- and if we find ourselves lucky enough to make this our new home -- we'll be there regularly, befriending the whales, the dolphins, the sea lions, and the sea otters. Maybe even the moray eels.

I think about how life must look to a little person like our T, who has suddenly been transported 500 miles and planted in a new home that is three times the size of the only home he has ever known. Who is now showered with overwhelming attention -- and incessant feeding -- by his grandparents from 2500 miles away. Who suddenly finds himself exposed to humongous creatures he has never seen in his one year of existence -- dolphins and orca whales that jump out of the water and crash dive back in.

What else does life have in store for him -- and for us?

Moving!

I am embarrassed that I haven't posted in almost 6 weeks! I feel like such a delinquent. Work has been very busy, and trying to fit that in, even on a part time basis, while taking care of the little guy seems to squeeze away all the free time I might otherwise have. On top of that, I have been obsessed with planning for little T's first birthday party coming up in early October. But perhaps the better excuse may be that we're preparing for a move to San Diego! We're moving in just two weeks, and we still have a lot of packing left to do.

A part of me is apprehensive about the move. I never thought I'd live in Southern California, and I really love the Bay Area. Even though I am not an extreme liberal, I appreciate all that San Francisco stands for, with its hippie backbone and room for outliers. It has also been my home for the past 11 years, more than a quarter of my life. I have so many friends here that it's hard to imagine just picking up and moving away from them.

I'll start posting again once things calm down. Probably in about three weeks. Please check back in then!

Susan Boyle

I don't usually comment on pop culture since I'm always behind or completely clueless, but the other day, someone sat me down to watch Susan Boyle's YouTube video. Since then, I've watched it no less than 30 times. Not only because Les Miserables is one one of my favorite musicals. Something about that lady standing in front of an eyeball-rolling audience and belting out her talent is strangely appealing. And watching the judges' faces transform.

There's a slightly righteous side of me that says, She showed them! Why do they even think appearances are correlated to singing? But a larger part of me feels so inspired by her. She could have told herself that she's 47, who cares to see some middle-aged woman sing, what are the odds of being discovered at this point, and why even bother? And fears of being judged by a hostile audience could have easily kept her at home.

If I were to project all my fears onto her, I could see myself ruing the years I had to spend looking after my mother, rebuking myself for letting the pounds creep on and for having passed up my youth. And I can easily imagine myself slowly caving into myself, forcing myself to accept that this is my lot in life, and becoming a little crotchety in the process.

Maybe in her private moments, she fretted about the years that passed - or the opportunities she missed. Maybe she had fears up to her ears. Maybe others had to cajole her to sign up for the audition. But whatever happened, she did it. And that is so damn inspiring. Good for her.

Slipping

A couple of days after I was laid off, I met with a couple of friends for lunch. They showed up in their business casual attire, and me in my camouflage pants, a black knit top, and fleece. I felt like a college kid having lunch with grown-ups. We slurped our Vietnamese noodles, chatting about this and that, as they periodically checked their blackberries. After our one hour lunch, they rushed back to their offices. I walked back with one of them a few blocks, and then when she left me, I found myself wandering through the streets, feeling incredibly sorry for myself. I saw the homeless people on the streets, and even though I was nowhere close to being homeless, I identified with them. I saw myself in them -- aimless and purposeless. I wondered what the hell had happened to be. Just a week before, I had been working a very well paid job and expecting my first baby. And all of a sudden, I found myself roaming the streets with nowhere to go.

And I thought of how easily things can slip from your grasp. I could be working in a law firm one day and easily at a McDonald's the next. I could have a hefty sum of savings, only to have it melt away in a sudden monetary crisis. My reputation could be ruined over night from one careless act or decision. It could all easily slip away, as easily as one could slip off of a crowded subway platform on a rainy day.

And that is why I always made a point to stand behind one of the pillars.

Now over ten months later, I wonder why I wasted so much time and energy clinging onto that damn pillar.

Regression

I just received my second paid writing job, and I am thrilled. Who knew a $200 gig could mean so much?

It may sound strange, but I don't think I worked so hard when I worked in a law firm. Sure, I worked long hours. I remember many stretches when we rolled out of bed at 6am, rolled into the office, and rolled back into bed at midnight. And there were nights when I stayed up researching, trying to figure out the best arguments, preparing for that deposition, sweating over the right answer to provide to the client. Oh, and never mind some miserable holidays when I was stuck alone in the office.

But this feels different somehow. Less detached. As if it will take all of me to get it right. As if something within me is at stake, not just a job, not just a paycheck. That it wouldn't be enough for someone else to say it's good, that I need to know that it is. And that feels satisfying somehow.

There are times when I feel slightly embarrassed to be exploring career choices at my age. I'm almost middle aged, for god's sakes. Am I not supposed to have figured it out by now? And I feel silly when I feel excited about the things that used to excite me when I was in college. Like being a part of a group of writers who have things to say. Being excited to learn about things, and the thought of taking up some issue to try to make some point, even if they fall on deaf ears. Regression, perhaps?

Quite likely, yes.

But then I think of some people who turn old before their time. And that's not a pretty sight either.

On Failure

I interviewed one of Jeff's glass blowing friends yesterday for a class assignment and he said so many interesting things that I have to share a bit.

This is what he said about failure:

"I think failure is a great thing. I think people should be embracing their failures so that they can keep moving. But if you blanket your failures, you kind of get stuck with your failures for ever, ever, and ever. And that’s easy to do. I think it’s trickier to say no, I screwed up, that was me. I’m having a bad day or whatever, but I did that. I screwed up. I think glass is one of those materials where you have a lot of opportunities of screwing up. And it’s really cool like that."

Also, in talking about glass blowing:

"But there is something fascinating about how you’re forced to identify what you just did. And what you just did and what you think you did are commonly very different from one another. And if you can figure out what you think you did and identify what you did do, then you’re learning something. You can actually get somewhere and make something better or quicker. But if you can’t separate those two or bring them together, then you can’t do anything."

-Jerry Kung, glass artist, Oakland, CA

Back to School

When the overweight, bearded guy who could have been a cross between a NYC intellectual and a lumberjack walked in the door, I was relieved. At least, he wasn't scrawny like the two kids flanking me. At least, he wasn't dressed in sweats with his hot pink boxers of dancing elephants exposed around his butt, like the guy who asked if I had an extra pen. Maybe he was 20 years younger underneath his beard, but had I run into him at a Starbuck's, I wouldn't have wondered if he was old enough to drink coffee.

No one asked if I was the instructor, as they did at the counter when I was picking up a parking permit. I grabbed the corner seat furthest to the back, near one of the blackboards and facing the black and white clock that hangs in every classroom I've ever sat in. Across the desk, a skinny Asian kid with black wire-rim glasses, a wanna be fu manchu mustache, and a ponytail was scrawling furiously into his composition notebook and filled two full pages during the five minute wait. Finally, the instructor walked in, and he was older than me. As in, he attended Woodstock older. Whew.

We went around the room and blurted out short introductions. Well, I'm sort of trying to figure out my major and you know, I like writing, so, ummm, I thought this journalism class could be good for me... Uhh, I haven't really decided my major yet but I need to get my credits, so that's why I'm here... We had a string of the same intros in more or less the same words until we came to the fu manchu kid. He put his pen down, closed his notebook, pushed his chair back, stood up, carefully placed his hands on the edge of the table after adjusting his glasses, cleared his throat, and then listed, in one run-on sentence, all the websites where he regularly submitted comments as well as all of the periodicals he read, including The New York Times, BBC, SF Chronicle, and as he pointed out with special emphasis, Al Jazeera. He then launched into his personal aspirations to re-unite North and South Korea because, as he saw it, North Korea has not been doing anything for a while now and there is no reason why the two countries should be separated. The instructor tactfully told the kid to shut up and then we went on.

When it was my turn, I said, Well, I graduated from college fifteen years ago and from law school ten years ago... And I swear some of the kids sucked in their breaths and their eyes got rounder. The girl who looked like she stepped out of Flashdance in her cut off black t-shirt hanging off her right shoulder even leaned in to taker a closer look, as if I were some exhibit at the world's fair. The one dressed like a dancer for Madonna flared her nostrils. I took a breath and continued. So, I'm trying out a career change and I would love to write some pieces to build my portfolio. The instructor (bless him) gave me a warm smile, nodded as if I were just another kid, and moved on.

The hour and a half passed quickly. We talked about the elements of a good piece of journalism, the importance of writing simply, clearly, the art of story telling. We read a couple of samples of beautifully written pieces. We then talked about our assignments for the week. I sat there, took notes, and absorbed what was presented, like the other kids in the classroom.

The instructor had been working as a journalist for over 40 years, with the last 22 at the Chronicle. Not too long ago, he took the buy out package that the Chronicle has been pushing on its employees as the paper shrinks more and more each day. And it made me wonder (again) if there is a future in this writing business. Even if I make it in that world, could I really succeed, as in make a living with it succeed? But as Jeff reminded me, I don't need to answer that today. Today, I get to be a student.

Detours

I fell for the wrong man once. It was doomed from the start, even though I didn't know it then. I was in my late 20s, and the life I had lived until then had been sheltered. I was the girl who listened to her parents, who got good grades, who had clear rules of morality. I spent most of my 20s hoping to meet a man who met my parents' requirements. The problem was that they did not meet mine. I rarely met a man I found attractive, and I worried that something was wrong with me, that I was too frigid. When he came along and my heart did the little thump, thump, I felt relieved.

He had traits that I used to put on a pedestal - a dry wit, intellectualism, a tortured soul. Before I knew it, a cavalier version of me that I hadn't known existed stepped forward. Perhaps because I had been guarded for so long, my emotions suddenly opened up with an intensity I didn't know I had. I wanted to give in to the experience and let it happen. I didn't care how it might end. I assumed that I could then walk away and resume my normal life. I didn't know that your emotions can grab you as if you were a piece of wilted spinach and thrash you around. I didn't know that what I thought was in my command could consume me and take over, drag me by my hair even as my brain grappled for control.

The relationship slugged on longer than it should have. The happy moments were overshadowed by tortured exchanges as I demanded a logical explanation for what he couldn't -- or didn't want to -- put into words. The first time we broke up, I talked to a few friends. The second, third, and the fourth time, I kept quiet, ashamed that I was so out of control, that I couldn't walk away and mean it. I knew it would never work. I knew it the first time we broke up. But my emotions kept dragging me back, as if I were caught in ripples of waves that kept pulling me in over and over again.

I wasted so much time first trying to fix what I could not, even as he told me it could not work, not really. Then I wasted more time fighting myself, trying to convince myself that I had to extricate myself, even as I let myself get pulled in deeper. One day, I suddenly realized that I wanted a normal life, a life that comes with a family, children. It was no longer enough to have the freedom marked by staying out as late as I wanted without having to make a call, grocery shopping for one, not having to compromise. The intense emotions - as much as I indulged in them - did not make a life. I needed more. I found that I was no longer embarrassed to admit - to myself or others - that I wanted to meet someone to marry and have children.

Sometimes, when I am walking hand in hand with Jeff, I wonder if I could have gotten here without that tortured experience. Could I have realized how much I wanted this life had I not lived so long with what I could not have? I wonder what it was in myself that was so tied to that dead-end relationship, what kind of a strange comfort I felt. Why I had endured so much less than I deserved. That's when I grab Jeff's hand tighter and kiss his sweet lips. And thank him for finding me.

Interview: Robert Kagen and Lisa Lahey

I reached out to the authors of Immunity to Change, Robert Kagen and Lisa Lahey of the Harvard Graduate School of Education, with a few questions about their theory on how we can overcome the obstacles to making the changes we want. (Discussed in yesterday's post.) Their responses are even more detailed and insightful than what I read in the O Magazine article. I can't wait to read their book (to be released in mid-February and can be pre-ordered online).

Here is what they had to say:

Q. Please specify the steps you recommend to someone who finds him/herself bogged down in his/her efforts to change.

A. Before suggesting any ‘step’ we want to say that we aren’t actually that big on ‘advice.’ We don’t think we are any smarter than the people we help, so what we’d come up with for ‘what you might try’ is probably no different than what people have already thought of on their own. What we have to offer starts off in quite a different direction: Don’t take any step out of the ‘bog’ at all—until you have a new ‘footing’ for taking steps in the first place! Helping you see your ‘immunity to change’ provides that ‘new footing.’

Now having said that, we suppose we can suggest some first ‘inner steps’ to get you into the right state to develop this new footing. You need to get your head and heart in a good frame — change is hard and if you are trying to change some long held way of operating, it will take time (and concerted effort) to alter that. Too often, people believe they ought to be able to see gains immediately, and then they get discouraged. (And for many people, that discouragement turns into self-disparagement, which then gets them into a negative spiral!).

Another early internal prep is to ask yourself how important your goal is to you. Because change is so hard, you need to really want to change. We use a 1-5 “important to me” scale (1=not very important, and 5=extremely important). Minimally, you need to think and feel that your goal is very important (4). This is what you believe, and not only what others may want for or from you.

Be explicit about why your current change goal is so important to you. What do you hope to gain by making this change? Identify your personal reasons first and only then consider how others may benefit by your accomplishing your goal. This whole step is about clarifying your motivational state (a huge resource for change work).

If all of this is in place (you have a positive frame of mind, a very important goal, and high incentive for pursuing it) and you are stymied, it’s worth asking whether there is some technical reason why you are not making progress: are you trying to accomplish too much all at once? Are you in the midst of some big change in your life that leaves no time, energy or spirit left for this additional change? If you can’t identify any powerful technical explanation, then it’s quite likely that you have an immunity to change around that particular goal. Welcome to the big canoe!

All the next steps we recommend add up to having you understand what your exact immunity is. That’s where the 4-column exercise comes in.

Once you’ve done that, the next steps involve targeted self-observations and learning how to test new actions that can inform your worldview. We describe and give lots of examples of all these steps in our new book, Immunity to Change.


Q. The core of your theory on overcoming the obstacles to change seems to hinge on our ability to identify our buried anxieties. How do you recommend we go about identifying these anxieties if we hide them from ourselves?

A. Our Immunity to Change exercise is designed to do exactly that. Starting in Column 1, we write the important goal we want to accomplish. Then, we honestly answer the question of what we, personally, are doing and not doing that works against that goal. We then use that column 2 information as a resource to identify our anxiety. How? By asking ourselves the question, “Imagine doing the opposite of those behaviors in column 2. What worries or fears come up?” We enter our answer into the top of column 3.

Let’s anchor this in an example: let’s say I have a goal to be more straight-forward in telling people what I really think. What do I do that works against that? I sugar coat my words; I withhold what I really think; I say something once and if the person doesn’t respond, I let it go. That takes me to the critical step: now I need to ask myself to imagine doing the opposite of all that—so imagine saying things directly, and follow-up on that—and then paying attention to what worries or fears emerge. Ok, I worry that I’ll say the wrong thing, and that people will think I don’t know what I’m talking about, that I’m uninformed, maybe even dumb. Or I might worry that I will make people uncomfortable, and they won’t like that or me! Or perhaps my biggest worry is that people will, in turn, be more frank with me, and I’m not sure I want to hear that. Different people, obviously, will answer this question differently.

That’s the worry. Now I need to take another step in column 3 which involves seeing our active relationship to these anxieties.

The core idea behind the immunity to change is that we do not merely have these fears; we sensibly, even artfully, protect ourselves from them. We create ways of dealing with the anxiety these fears provoke. We are not only afraid; we take action to combat our fears. We are actively (but not necessarily consciously) committed to making sure the things we are afraid of do not happen. This is the heart of a third-column commitment. It is a commitment to keep the thing we are afraid of from happening. To follow this example then, I could say I have a commitment to be seen by others as being smart, or easy-going, or likeable. Or that I have a commitment to people withholding the negative feedback they have for me.

Identifying our anxiety, seeing how it has a hold on us and how it gets in the way of accomplishing important goals (our immunity to change) is a crucial step. But that insight isn’t sufficient for us to change. We need to identify the assumptions we are making that keep that anxiety running so deeply. (And that’s column 4). It’s the assumptions we make that hold us back.

The most reliable route to ultimately dismantling the immune system begins by identifying the core assumptions that sustain it. We use the concept of “big assumptions” to signal that there are some ways we understand ourselves and the world (and the relationship between the world and ourselves) that we do not see as mental constructions. Rather, we see them as truths, incontrovertible facts, accurate representations of how we and the world are. These constructions of reality are actually assumptions; they may well be true, but they also may not be. When we treat an assumption as if it is a truth, we have made it what we call a big assumption.

The heart of successful change is learning how to safely test those so that we can generate actual, rather than imagined, data about the consequences of new actions. This is how we can develop a new understanding that the world works differently than we had imagined, that we can still be safe—and even experience more expansive benefits—doing things we never thought possible before.


Q. Do you have suggestions on how we should sort through our anxieties? In other words, how do we individually assess which anxieties are healthy and necessary and which ones hold us back from our potential?

A. We might have to push back a bit on this forced choice. It may be important to start with a recognition that all our anxieties are, in a way, ‘healthy,’ insofar as the impulse to take care of ourselves, to keep ourselves alive, is certainly healthy. We start Immunity to Change with our belief that the usual explanations for why change is so difficult are not very good: ‘Human weakness,’ ‘lack of discipline,’ ‘insufficient incentives,’ ‘the inability for old dogs to learn new tricks,’ and so on. We say that the failure to accomplish important goals is often due to the success we are having accomplishing other goals which are usually out of sight!

The person in the example above is failing at being more courageous in his communications, but he is succeeding brilliantly at staying likeable or protecting himself from other people’s frankness, or whatever is ‘in this 3rd column.’ These hidden, parallel goals are always about protecting ourselves. They are about the way we are handling the fear of our own demise. We need to start with the sense that this anxiety, like a big friendly dog that barks at everyone who comes to the door, is on our side, and intends our good. When we look out the window, and see that all this barking is about the postman, we don’t shoot our dog. We just tell him, ‘Calm down, silly, It’s just Ed, the mailman; relax.” The experiments we describe in Immunity to Change are a way to help us learn to run our big friendly dog, rather than letting our dog run us.

Q. Do you think it's possible to overcome our psychological fears/anxieties without addressing real life sources that engendered those fears/anxieties in the first place?

A. In most cases, yes. The problem for most of us is that our assumptions about the dangers we face are Big Assumptions, that is, they may be correct in some cases but we over-generalize them. We all have a particular ‘door’ where we see all approachers as dangerous intruders. So we then need to protect ourselves all of the time. At some earlier point in our lives, we may have learned that speaking directly and honestly is dangerous. Whether we learned that indirectly, e.g., we witnessed scenes between our parents, or directly, e.g., we got slapped, literally or figuratively, for saying what we thought, these are powerful learning events. Where we get into trouble is when that learning extends beyond that situation and shapes our understanding of how the whole world works and how I therefore need to operate all of the time. As we discuss in the book, some people we work with make very explicit connections between their now-visible, anxious ‘parallel goals’ and things that happened to them years ago, sometimes many, many years ago. It’s often a powerful and helpful experience. Making that connection is one kind of fuel for overturning the immunity to change. But many people make no such connection, ever, throughout our work together, and they also make big progress. Happily, there are many sources of ‘fuel,’ and our process tries to make them all available to people.


Q. For those in your workshops who failed to change as they set out to do, did you notice any common thread(s) in what went wrong?

A. The most common threads are these:

• the original goal gets seen in a brighter light (through the immunity to change) and the person concludes that it’s just not as important as he or she thought it was. They drop their change goal, at least for now. That may be because they now understand what would need to change and that feels too scary or risky, or because they see the various trade-offs and conclude that the status quo is good enough, or they realize what’s involved in tackling the change and this is just not a good time in their lives to take it on. (None of this means that the person won’t eventually feel otherwise; “readiness” to change is a real phenomena)

• the person gets pulled into trying to change by going only at behaviors, and ignoring the underlying mindset changes that also need to change. (Sometimes the opposite happens, where the person gets too drawn into the psychology dimension and isn’t willing or able to risk testing assumptions).

Q. Have you noticed any common personality types or backgrounds (i.e., difficult life experiences, etc.) among people who are more resistant to changing despite their own goals?

A. The kind of change we are talking about here doesn’t occur for personality types who want quick and big results.


Q. Have you worked with many attorneys in your workshops? If so, have you noticed any common trait(s) among attorneys and their resistance to change?

A. Yes, we’ve worked with many attorneys. In general, they seem to appreciate the logic behind the 4-column exercise and are surprised at how quickly it gets to real issues.


Q. Do you still offer workshops on change at the Harvard Graduate School of Education? How do we sign up?

A. Yes, our next workshop is scheduled for Saturday, March 28th. For further information feel free to leave any message on our website, www.mindsatwork.com, or call us at 781-254.4541.

***

Wow, lot to chew on... I hope you find this as helpful as I do.

Disentangling

As you know, I've been frustrated by my slow progress in figuring out my new direction. I've made so little progress and have been irritated with myself for having squandered so much time. It has been eight months since I got booted out of Paul Hastings, and I have very little to show for it. This period has been the most unproductive since I left law school. I keep asking myself, why can't I get it together?

During my plane ride to Israel, I read an eye opening article about a new book called Immunity to Change by clinical psychologist Robert Kagen and Lisa Lahey (to be released in mid-February). Essentially, Kagen and Lahey believe that when we fail to bring about the change we want, it could be because we are at odds with ourselves. When we find difficulty implementing changes, despite ourselves, our defense mechanism may be kicking in to protect ourselves from a deeply buried layer of anxiety. It is, as the article quoted, having "one foot on the gas and one foot on the brake."

It may not be because we are lazy or lack willpower. (Well, not always.)

"What you see as demonic is actually in some ways a very tender expression," says Lahey, "a protection of something you feel vulnerable about."

I find this theory fascinating. I have been treating this transition mainly as a job change, but it is also a transformation of identity and realignment of values. The article made me realize that I need to be more attentive to the psychological transition I am undergoing. Considering how I spent the past ten years talking myself into accepting my lot as an attorney, I should recognize that I am buried under layers of psychological shields I put in place. And it will take time and patience to dismantle them.

When I was a third year law student, I went to a friend's wedding. My friend put me at the same table with an accomplished documentary filmmaker knowing how much I appreciated her work. I sat two seats away from the filmmaker, and between us was another young woman about my age. When the filmmaker asked us what we did, I stammered, "Well, I'm in law school..." and the woman in the middle said, "I'm a writer," even though she soon clarified that she had not yet been published. The filmmaker asked me one or two polite questions about law school and then turned to the writer with a host of questions I wished she had asked me, like what kind of writing do you do, who are your favorite authors, what do you think about this or that book, etc. That evening, I realized for the first time what my career decision meant for me. Others would cast me in the role of a lawyer, with all the stereotypes and assumptions that go with it, just as I had stereotypes about politicians or actresses. That was probably one of my most depressing days in law school.

So for the past ten years, I built up some defenses to help me come to terms with my unhappy choice. Some of it came in the form of being overly sensitive to lawyer jokes, talking a little too insistently about the practicalities of making a decent living and setting up for retirement, rolling my eyeballs at the artsy, fartsy types. Some of it resulted in arguments with my sister, who obtained an MFA in writing. Some of it manifested in the smugness of buying $15 martinis and taking a cab because my time was too precious to be wasted on public transportation.

So I am going to sit down and sort through these issues, one by one, and try to disentangle myself as much as I can.

And then maybe I will be ready to start writing seriously in about ten more years...

New Beginnings

A friend celebrated her new beginning this weekend, as one celebrates a new birth, the coming of age. She invited her friends to witness, as one witnesses a union between a couple. There we were, almost a hundred of us, dressed in our fineries, small patches from different parts of her life brought together to form a protective quilt of warmth and comfort around her. We toasted her, holding our glasses of wine and champagne, warmed to the brim with our best of intentions and hopes for her new beginning.

She had emerged from a dark place. A year before, she found herself in the midst of a sudden separation and then a divorce that had seemed unfathomable months before. It had seemed so alien, that they should be severed, like facing the sudden loss of a limb after a tragic accident. After years of being part of a twosome, she found herself alone, facing the unknown future, questioning the past.

Even as we stood by her with our hearts and hands extended, the aloneness was hers to bear. She lived with the quiet, the unused pillow, the empty seat in the car after we went home. The weighty questions about what happened could only be raised - and answered, even if only incompletely and imperfectly - by her. We wanted so much for her to find a way out of the fear and doubt that could have easily consumed her. But with nothing more than a band-aid to offer after a tragic event, we stood by, waiting for her to emerge from this dark tunnel, not without changes, but unscathed and intact.

And it is this that we celebrated, a new beginning where she embraces life, not despair. A determination that says she will be okay. The sense of security that gives her room to be vulnerable. As we watched her beam, dance, and flirt throughout the evening, we knew she found her way out.

Then I realized that these are the moments we should celebrate, not the mere passage of time or the good fortune of having met someone, but the act of becoming unstuck from what could have suffocated us, of finding our way to the life we want to live. Not curling back into fetal position, but finding something to hold on to that helps us forge our way to a better place.

As we left at the end of the evening, I hugged her tightly and clung to her a tad longer because I wanted to borrow from her strength. I think she has a surplus now and would be happy to share.