Larger than life

Sometimes, I think being a good lawyer, much like being a good writer, depends on a slight bit of insanity...or weirdness in how we view the world. The job can be so depressing that you have to find humor where ever you can.

I was standing in line for court the other day and saw the reflection of everyone waiting in the windows of the court. I noticed that I was much taller than everyone else and thought- "Watch out wee people, the giant is out to get you!"

Then I went into Court and got hammered down to size by a tiny judge with a big gavel!

I couldn't help but laugh at the irony.

Sometimes it's just one of those days.

A little bit of pressure

There are some days when it doesn't pay to be a lawyer. At least, it doesn't pay to be a lawyer who lives for the contest of the courtroom.

I'm sitting at my desk, tie loosened, feet up on the desk top, and keyboard on my lap. I have my fountain running with relaxing sounds behind me. Soft music flows from my expensive computer speakers. But, I'm feeling anything but mellow. In less than an hour, I have to mediate another intractable family law problem. I need to settle if possible, to save my client's family the costs of further litigating.

I have to swallow the arguments that I will make if this goes before a judge and look for common ground.

I practice a smile, turn off the water fountain, switch the music to the sound of Smashing Pumpkins and take a rare shot of tequila from the globe bar.

Now that's relaxing...

Medical Issues

I spent Wednesday and Saturday at my doctor's office. It was an uncomfortable experience, but necessary.

I'm going to the doctor because of a mysterious tiredness that has been plaguing me for the last few months. I probably should have gone earlier, but..

I've never liked needles. They seem to have a disproportionate amount of ability to cause me injury. I especially dislike needles that are attached to vials for drawing blood. I have small hidden veins that resist attempts to draw blood from them and my arm often looks like a pin cushion after a visit to the doctor's lab.

The laboratory took five vials of blood from my arm. It felt strange seeing the blood leaving my body. My head felt light and my stomach was uncomfortablely quesy. As a cancer survivor, I'm told that I'm disqualified from donating blood. In truth, I don't know if I could take watching several pints leave my body.

I'm usually not such a wimp- I've known the inside of a boxing ring, have killed rattlesnakes and survived an armed robbery. However, the doctor's office always gets to me.

And don't get me started on dentists...

A time to write?

I've been, like many people, inspired by my country's selection of Obama as president. I think it says wonderful things about how far we have come in a relatively short period of time. Racism is not dead, but is clearly greatly diminished.

In light of this inspiration, I've sought to put a little extra effort into my life. I'd like to live a fuller life- to laugh a little bit more, to relish my family and friends more, and perhaps to create art in my writing.

I have often flirted with the idea of becoming a writer. For as long as I can remember, I've written fragments of stories or poems.

Recently, I began to write steadily and to work towards finishing my first novel. I signed up for writing classes and became friendly with people whose writing I admired. Yet, I always felt a little bit out of place. I never felt that my pains were deep enough to write anything personally profound- though I am a survivor of cancer, I made my way through it with more daring and humor than self reflection. And culturally, I felt a little out of touch with the writers that I admired. I have the salesman's outward ease with people, but inwardly I'm more conservative than the Brady bunch. I can converse with people who are, shall we say, "chemically altered" into an artistic frame, but I've never been comfortable around drugs. As a kid, I was so straight laced that I ended up fighting with someone who offered me a cigarette. In many ways, that conservative kid is still with me.

And, yet, I've always felt that I had something to say. That there was something inside begging for artistic expression. I will write this weekend and give my inner artist a few hours to live in the light of this new day of hope. Yes, we can.

Voting!

I took my wife to vote today. It was her first time voting, though she's been a citizen for over a decade. She just never believed that her vote mattered before. She saw corruption in the system and thought that one politician was just as untrustworthy as another politician. Then she listened to Hilary Clinton and, later, to Obama. Now she, though she wouldn't admit it out loud, feels hope for the first time. She feels that maybe things can be better.

I think a lot of us are feeling a great deal of hope today. We have a candidate that by all of the old rules of politics should lose. He's african american. His middle name is Hussein. He's been labeled as the most liberal Senator in the United States. He's running against a Republican that was hugely popular with many democrats. He has been hit with non-stop negative campaigning- including all the resources that Fox news can bring to bear.

And, yet, Obama is winning because he's been able to focus Americans on the issues in a way that more experienced candidates like Kerry and Gore couldn't. He's remained steady through all of the distortions of his record.

He gives us hope that Americans will focus on the issues that matter- the economy, Iraq- and not be distracted by the politics that Republicans have too often used to divide us.