Pains In The Neck

When I had been a full-fledged lawyer for about a year, a well-respected female lawyer at the firm I’d just started working for told me, “Practicing law is the most fun you can have with your clothes on.”  She was completely serious.  And I had one of those moments where a tsunami of emotions rushed toward my face.  I wasn’t sure if I was going to start laughing or crying or vomiting or all of the above, and suddenly all of my attention was focused on making the flesh of my face hold it back.   I mean, I’d only been at the lawyer thing for a year, but I was pretty sure I didn’t like being a lawyer.  As a matter of fact, I’d spent most of the third year of law school trying to come to terms with the idea that, while I’d basically enjoyed law school, the thought of being a lawyer was giving me existential hives.

The conversation with the “clothes on” woman was nearly ten years ago.  I spent less than a year at that firm, where I would literally fantasize about the building catching fire and burning down, before I was finally rescued by another firm that was much more pleasant.  Pleasant in the universe of practicing law, I mean.  I was working there when my son was born, took 12 weeks of maternity leave, went back to work for six months, and then quit for 18 months because . . . I just couldn’t do it.  I could list a bunch of reasons, but I think the most important one was that I didn’t care enough about being a lawyer to put myself through the hell of trying to do it with an infant.  And of course I was indescribably lucky that we could afford for me to freak out and not make money for 18 months.

During those 18 months, lots of people asked me if I was bored, if being at home with a baby all day was mind-numbing, if I missed my job.  And I would smile and say that I really missed my friends at work.  Which was true.  And I missed my income.  But that was about it.  At least, that was it until month 15 or so, when it started to sink in that if I stayed out much longer, I might have a hard time getting back in.  And if I couldn’t get back in, I didn’t really have any other skills and I might someday find myself being an over-educated (and indebted) grocery checker or in-home daycare provider.

So back to work I went.  The kidlet was old enough for preschool, and I’d had a really generous “break” from the work-for-pay world.  It’s been five years since I returned and three years since I moved from the firm to the public sector.  Many days I have looked back at those fantastic 18 months and pined for the freedom.  I still don’t like being a lawyer. I've had way more fun, both clothed and otherwise, doing other things. But my biggest complaint these days is that I never have enough time to do anything. 

But then the other day I was whining about it all and my husband said something about it being okay if I wanted to quit my job.  I’m pretty sure I got whiplash from whipping my neck around so fast.  In fact, I wondered if the rapid movement of my head jostled my brain because I thought, I don’t want to quit my job. It’s pretty secure.  My performance reviews have been good.  The benefits, though pricey, are really good. I don’t run around in the late afternoon spraying lemon scented furniture polish on all flat surfaces to make it seem like I did something productive with my day.

Not that I ever did that or anything.

Gah.  Honest self-reflection is brutal sometimes.