Finding the positive effects of a negative diagnosis

I’ve got a few posts in the works, but in the meantime I recently found this piece that I’d written a year or so ago and thought perhaps it was one that should be shared as I focus on taking back my life in other ways.

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The other day I received an email from a friend, a Type I Diabetic, complaining about how a low blood sugar had cut short yet another workout.  I responded empathetically, as I'd sent her a nearly identical text message the week before, and sighed a loud 'Diabetes Sucks'.  She agreed, of course, but pointed out that if it wasn't for diabetes, we would never be friends.  I laughed, but she was right.  This admission is not meant to throw support to my friends over in the 'everything happens for a reason' corner of the ring.  However, her statement did get me thinking.  As far as I'm concerned, diabetes is bullshit.  And 'everything happens for a reason' is bullshit.  But, when faced with adversity we still have the choice to make the most of situations.  We can choose to not play the role of victim.  We can try to find positives in negative realities.  We can learn.  We can teach.  We can make a difference.  

Her email made me sit back and reflect on the things that I've gained from Diabetes.  A thought that seems completely idiotic, or at least counter-intuitive, at first glance (unless of course you view it in the negative and almost ironic sense and say you gain a greater risk for heart disease, kidney failure, neuropathy and blindness, a greater risk for DKA and hospitalizations, etc.).  Every time I send out a fundraising letter I drum up statistics, I inform my readers how many (countless) times I’ve pricked my finger to test my blood sugar and I estimate the number of insulin injections I've taken.  I tell them I'm scared and I show them why a cure is important.  While I curse the day I was diagnosed and will continue to do that until the day we beat this disease, I have to acknowledge that there are ways that this diagnosis somehow contributed to my life in a positive way.  I have to acknowledge the ways Diabetes has made me who I am today and admit that in some ways I am grateful (though I’d, of course, happily trade the so-called positives for a longer life sentence).  

People often say that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger and I suppose that line would apply here as well.  Indeed, I learned I was capable of handling things I never imagined I could handle.  As a child I was that nightmare in the doctor's office, a nurse had to actually hold me down for my vaccinations.  Today I inject myself 6 times a day without so much as a flutter of the eyes.  I also learned from a fairly young age that I had to be responsible for myself.  I was forced to grow up in many ways, be independent and take control of my life.  It was my life, my diabetes, and I had to learn what that meant; I had to learn what the right decisions were and then be responsible enough to make those decisions.  I had to watch out for myself.  But, I am grateful for much more than this.

 I have met some of my closest friends as a result of diabetes.  Many of them have diabetes as well; others care deeply for someone living with this disease or just care deeply about the cause.  It is hard to imagine I may not know some of these people if my pancreas had just kept on keeping on.  And this phenomenon doesn't just apply to me.  Growing up, my mother, a certified diabetes educator (and Type I herself) ran a support group.  My parents met their best friends through that support group because their daughter was diagnosed with Type I.  That daughter became my sister's (another Type I) best friend.  

I went to Clara Barton Camp (CBC) the summer I was diagnosed (and 2 more summers after that), there I learned much more than catchy camp songs.  And, boy, were those songs catchy.  I learned how to treat my diabetes and to be independent, and I also made some friends who remained pivotal in my life for years.  After CBC, one of my camp buddies and I volunteered as counselors at another small diabetes camp, the Circle of Life Camp, for a week at the end of each summer.  We took the things we had learned from our camp experience and taught them to the next generation.  We showed them that living with diabetes doesn’t have to stop you.  We helped them take control of their lives.  After camp ended, we tried to continue to be a support system for these campers, to the best of our 17 year-old abilities.  When I applied to colleges, a close family friend of one of these campers asked to write a letter of recommendation on my behalf.  She explained that I was a role model, that they were so thankful for all I had done for this camper.  At the time I didn't think I had really done anything.  I still don't.  That's the thing about making a difference - sometimes you are not even aware of the ways you matter.   Now this 12 year-old girl who looked up to me, has grown up to be an incredible young woman, traveling the world and receiving grants that give her opportunities to experience things that I've only dreamed of and that people generations ago would not have even dared imagine a diabetic could experience.  It’s funny the way things change.  Today, she inspires me.

I became (or re-became) active in the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation (JDRF) at a time in my life where I needed to do something that mattered, where I needed to feel like I mattered.  I was stuck in a rut and felt myself becoming jaded and frustrated and as a result both my mental approach and my diabetes control suffered.  In 2010 I signed up to participate in my first JDRF Ride to Cure Diabetes.  Through the Ride program I have made lasting friendships.  I've learned how to control my diabetes while cycling for 8 full hours, and, oh yeah, I bike 100+ miles in one day each year - no big deal.  Of the team I train with about half have diabetes.  The camaraderie that accompanies five or more people all stopping and testing their blood glucose reading is an amazing and somewhat surreal feeling and one that I honestly feel fortunate to have experienced.  It is through these bonds, these connections that I have become stronger, that I have learned how common and how normal, every fear, every issue, every moment of guilt, I feel is.  Through each of them I've learned how to better control my highs and lows and I've learned so much about their struggles and triumphs both about and despite diabetes.  One of my fellow riders competed in her first ironman over the summer.  Her personal blogs about training with diabetes are inspiring, so much so that triessential took notice and has featured her as well. 

A month after signing up for my first cycling adventure, I learned about a junior committee or young professionals group in the NYC area committed to raising money and awareness for Type I – the JDRF Young Leadership Committee (YLC).  I’ve gotten more and more involved since joining, and co-chaired an amazingly fun and successful event last winter.   I've been involved with fundraising events and brainstorming ideas and with each person I meet through the YLC I learn more about diabetes, and in so doing I learn more about myself. With each new way I become involved with the cause, I find myself wanting to learn more, wanting to do more. Type I Diabetes has forced me to stand up and take action, it has given me a voice and a purpose, it has enraged me and by channeling that rage into action I have discovered I am capable of accomplishing remarkable things.  Through these activities, I've found things I'm passionate about.  I've made amazing friends. I've had the opportunity to attend informative research updates. I've been involved in planning fantastic events.  And, I've taken back my life.  Now, I find it hard to believe how much I've gained in such a short time.

In three years I have singlehandedly raised over $15,000 for JDRF through my personal fundraising for the Ride program.  I co-chaired an event for YLC that raised $15,000 in its first year (and almost $24,000 by year 3).  I can point to these numbers and say "look, I truly have made a difference."  I've made a tangible mark that I didn’t even imagine I was capable of achieving just a few years ago.  But, the truth is the dollar signs are the least of it.  On this road to the cure, I've met many incredible people, I've challenged myself in ways I wouldn't have dreamed I could master, I've learned so much about diabetes, about myself, about life. 

When I was first diagnosed, my mother made a point of sharing articles about famous diabetics; athletes, actors and musicians who had achieved their dreams and who had conquered, despite their pesky pancreas issues.  Like many Type I's (I suspect) I read books about Mary Tyler Moore and even wrote an article about her for a school project.  I rooted for Elliot Yamin on American Idol in 2006.  I cheered on Adam Morrison, who made it to the NBA.  I watched Rock of Love (much to the dismay of many people) to support Bret Michaels.  I followed Jay Cutler after his start in the NFL and while I'm not personally a fan of the Jonas Brothers (you can blame my age), I appreciate Nick’s dedication to JDRF.  While, I continue to follow famous Type I's and am thankful for what they have done to spread awareness about Type I Diabetes, to educate the public about the differences between Type I and Type II (a distinction many people still do not understand) and to show the world what can be achieved despite these obstacles, I find myself more inspired by those "real life" individuals who I have had the privilege of getting to know as a result of this disease.  I am inspired by my friend - the triathelte, by my ex-camper - the world traveler, by my sister and my mother - nurses  and certified diabetes educators,  who both teach newly and not so newly diagnosed individuals everyday and who are better at their jobs because of their diabetes, by my friends who have shown me all the amazing things you can accomplish with diabetes, who prove everyday that there is nothing we can't do if we want to do it, and by the many supporters I've met along the way whose stories and generosity have humbled me and have shown me that people, at their core, are good, so good, the supporters who demonstrated overwhelming love and hope in ways that I was beginning to doubt existed.  It is all these people to whom I owe the deepest gratitude, for their perseverance, their achievements, their goodness have melted my cynical heart and they have taught me so much about life, about what we are capable of doing with our lives.  It is these people who have inspired me to want to make a difference.

Mahatma Gandi is often quoted as saying, "be the change you want to see in the world" and I’ve learned it is important to really take that message to heart. It's easy to get focused on the "world" part of that quote and view it overwhelming; as impossible, but I think by being the change you want to see in the world you can indeed change your own world.  I have and I will continue to do just that.    And if you're very lucky you can change (even in some small way) the worlds of those around you (or some of those around you).  When you're inspired, you find that you want to inspire others, you learn that you can indeed inspire others.  By inspiring others, even one other, you'll learn that you can, in fact, change the world.

New Year, New Choices...Finally.

I’m not one for New Year’s resolutions.  That’s no secret.  I’m not good at change.  That’s clear from most of my life choices.  Rational is not always right.  Right is not always best.  The devil you know versus the devil you don’t know dictates too much of my life, it leaves no room for the possibility that there might, in fact, be no devil in the alternative.  I’m ready for an alternative.  

Life in a Post-Apocalyptic World

I’d be lying if I told you I wasn’t slightly disappointed that the Mayans got it wrong.  And I’m as horrified to write that as you are to read that - except, of course, for the 5 people who wholeheartedly agree and know that I’m lying about being horrified and are unsure what cop-out line to fall back on now that the apocalypse did not come to pass. (As a disclaimer: This piece is for entertainment value only and is not meant to cause concern or imply a need for serious medications.  I’m not sure I’d be wholly opposed to serious medication depending on what you’re offering (I kid), but my point is you shouldn’t take this post (or yourself) too seriously.  So, read at your own risk, or whatever.) To clarify, I’m not talking about those of you who went ahead and packed backpacks full of essential supplies (whatever it is you deem essential when the world has ended) to survive in post-apocalyptic America, with the zombies and lack of electricity and warring factions.  People could argue I have some depressive tendencies as of late (I prefer to call it ‘being realistic’), but you folks are batshit crazy.  I’m also not empathizing with those people who traveled to destinations where they thought they’d be spared – seriously, folks, did you read about the people traveling to small town Bugarach, France because of its doomsday appeal?  Apparently people in that town thought they’d survive the apocalypse, on a mountain top, maybe or maybe not as a result of an alien presence.  Aliens.  I’m not kidding.  So, to be clear – while I awaited December 21^st with curiosity and disturbing anticipation, I was quite certain the world would indeed go on and all I’m saying is that when my alarm went off as scheduled that morning and I looked out my window to see everything quite intact, there was a slight feeling of letdown.  I mean, at the very least there could have been a downed tree or two or perhaps a miraculous (and short-lived, since Christmas was approaching and I’m not trying to embrace the Grinch in all this) subway failure or bridge closing, so as to avoid just one trip to the office.

Just take a minute to think about the appeal, if the world ended I wouldn’t have to go through the same song and dance about expensive and bullshit new years eve plans in a week (reason enough), I wouldn’t have to worry about health insurance dictating life decisions, I wouldn’t have to plan two bachelorette parties next year, I wouldn’t have to third (fifth, seventh, ninth) wheel dinner parties any longer and most importantly, I wouldn’t have to go to my job.  All I'm saying is there was an appeal to being able to walk around the last few weeks saying “oh well I don’t have to deal with that thing or issue, because the world is going to end, la la la.”  Someone, somewhere is scoffing at my rationale with an arrogant “yeah, because you’d be dead, jackass” sort of response.  That someone isn’t wrong but it also doesn’t change anything I just said.  So, there.  Lawyered.  Someone else is awkwardly trying not to point out that if I wanted to end things, like, umm, my life, I, err, likely, could, you know, do that.  Also, not inaccurate.  Perhaps that even warrants a touché.  But, first of all, that isn’t my intention.  I’m not suicidal, I’m just bored and tragically unimpressed by life’s current state of affairs.  Also, I’m a little insulted you aren’t assuming I’d be like Katniss and would be one of the survivors.  I actually think I would be.  Let’s be honest, not only could I run circles around you, I’m way more clever than most people out there (and boy does that shit becomes more and more apparent everyday).  So I’d bet on my odds, you know, for like 3 days until my insulin ran out and then I’d be screwed. 

But the point is, after 2 or 3 or 7 (I’ve lost count and have never really been good at math) recently failed predictions of apocalyptic doom, this was the last hurrah for doomsday enthusiasts.  This was, supposedly, the big one.  The Mayans warned our sorry asses about December 21, 2012 centuries ago.  Although, I have to admit that the hysteria before Y2K and even last year with the rapture actually seemed more impressive than the lead-up to 12-21-12.  In fact, I couldn’t help but be disappointed with the lack of extremists on the streets of New York preaching about coming to Jesus before the end or alerting us of our imminent demise.  But nonetheless, this one was prophesized, it wasn’t some fanatic preaching from a mountain top, this was an entire civilization throwing up their hands and saying "sorry gang the calendar ends, so, enjoy it while you can." 

Of course, that’s actually not what they said at all.  The truth about the date's significance is fascinating really.  The Mayans indeed acknowledge December 21, 2012 as the end of their calendar, but it seems they did not interpret that to mean the end of the world (leave the panic to the white people).  The prophecy of Tortuguero was misinterpreted and while it indeed predicted the end of a cycle in time which would take place in 2012, the end of a cycle of days is not equivalent to the end of all days.   In fact, Guatemala and Mexico (and other areas where the Mayan culture lives on, I'm too lazy to list them) were preparing for the start of a new era, the start of new days, not the end of days.  They planned to welcome in this new calendar with celebration, as the start of something fresh, a new beginning – yes, but not necessarily one resurrected from the ashes, full of zombies and militia.  (Yes, yes, I’ve clearly gotten my apparent views on what this post-apocalyptic world would look like solely from AMC and NBC.)  Not the promise of destruction, instead the promise of something new.  I could certainly get on board with the idea of welcoming in a new era.  Indeed, leaving 2012 and the years that came before not just in the past, but in an entirely other cycle of life, doesn’t sound too bad to me.  In fact, it sounds refreshing and therapeutic.  (Oh that - that was just some bad call in another era of time.  Can't worry about that anymore.  Thank you Mayan calendar.)  They prepared for parties to celebrate this rebirth, so to speak, not to drink themselves to an oblivion in preparation for impending doom (though, to be fair I imagine the hangovers were about the same).  Call it a spiritual awakening.  A more dramatic version of new years resolutions.  I kind of like the idea of ushering in a new era and preparing for change.  Maybe after years of bad luck and unwarranted hits from karma, the planets will shift and the stars will realign and life will go on exactly as it was, except for oh-so-differently.  I'm down with that. 

Of course, in some ways it could be argued that the world has in fact already ended.  Perhaps we’re living in the aftermath of civilization and didn’t even notice the transition.  Let’s recount the last few months, the tri-state area is still recovering (and will be for quite awhile) from the latest natural disaster to hit the east coast; senseless mass killings have been taking place across the country without any hope for comprehension, and no promise of justice, igniting people across the states in a heated debate about gun control (I will not engage, I will not engage); Europe is in crisis and unrest is growing throughout the world; Bloomberg essentially acknowledged global warming was a "thing" as we went from a hurricane to a nor'easter and then back to 60 degrees within 2 weeks and even the naysayers are starting to have a hard time disagreeing; and I heard at least two of my uber republican friends praise Obama in the last week (if that’s not proof of the world ending, I'm not really sure what else you're looking for). But, at least on the surface, we seem to have escaped a fiery demise - or however exactly it was people expected this thing to go down.  So, here’s to moving forward in this new era, in this post-apocalyptic world that didn’t exactly come to be.  Let’s still use this as a reason to leave the bad behind, to cleanse, to restart and let's see what this next cycle has in store for all of us.

But, as one last ditch effort to hold on to my pre-Deceber 21st views of what may lay head, in addition to the more dramatic things I'd like to leave in this former era, here is a list of 5 random things I hope don't survive this new post-apocalyptic world.

1. The word "epic."  I mean we tried to leave this back in 2010 but there are some really persistent followers that keep trying to make this come back (stop trying to make fetch happen, it's not going to happen). 
2. Call Me Maybe.  (Damn you Carly Rae and your catchy lyrics.  I long for the day when I can say the phrase “this is crazy” without immediately following it up with “but here’s my number, so call me maybe.”)  Gangnam Style.  (I think my hate for this song culminated when my remote control got stuck on the today show - okay, it didn’t get stuck, I’m sure I voluntarily subjected myself to that program and then later complained about how irritating it was - and I was forced to watch someone's Griswold style abundance of Christmas lights dance to this 'anthem' in the aftermath of Sandy, while most people I knew were without power.)  And Taylor Swift, in general. Just shhh, stay behind Taylor, stay behind.
3. Times Square. Look, I never claimed my wish list was realistic but I sure as shit would not miss Times Square if the world were to disappear. Honestly, I'm not sure what horrific war crime I committed in a past life to be subjected to that area each day after leaving my nightmare of a job, but I imagine in my next life, walking through times square will be punishment for stabbing a tourist in the face.
4. AIM.  Like really, how is this still a thing?  I recognize for 9/10 of the world it is something they vaguely remember from college or high school and they’re not sure they even remember their password, but I keep signing my ass on everyday to appease my 3 friends who have not yet managed to embrace Gchat.  What's that? I could just not sit on my computer at work and chat with people all day long? Stop it.
5. The Kardashians.  Who cares.  Seriously, why do you people still watch their shows and give a shit about their many, many failed relationships and idiotic shenanigans.  I’ll admit I tuned in, on occasion, to one of the early seasons to see what the fuss was about and couldn’t help but be amused by their antics and absurd drama...but enough already.  Kim’s multi-million dollar wedding special (and immediate divorce) represented all that is wrong with America and let’s be honest, if any foreigner wanted to prove that Americans are dumb, they’d merely have to point out how many years these people have been gracing our television screens and rolling around in piles of money they earned simply by being reality stars, I imagine we’d have a hard time arguing their logic.

The Lies I Learned in Law School...and other unhappy endings.

 Oh nooo not another post about the mistakes associated with being a lawyer - is that what you're thinking? I bet it is. I'd be thinking it too.  Well I promise to curb future posts about the legal profession, mostly because I'm saving it up for the scathing tell-all I'll write someday, but I had some unfinished business to attend to after http://redorwhiteandlifesotherdilemmas.blogspot.com/2011/09/just-sit-there-and-look-pretty-case.html and I somehow waited this long to spew it all over you. Mostly because I forgot to hit publish back in September.  It's just been sitting in the wings, waiting patiently for its debut. (So, on that note, this was written months ago for those who may or may not be aware of current contemplations). I'm going to write a book, call it the "Lies I Learned in Law School "and set up lemonade type stands outside Kaplan LSAT review courses to sell it. I might even sell crystal light, circa the good ol' lemonade stand days, for good measure and you know, as sort of a consolation prize.   What's that?  You sold real homemade lemonade - well la di da, good for you.  As a follow-up to http://redorwhiteandlifesotherdilemmas.blogspot.com/2011/09/just-sit-there-and-look-pretty-case.html and a continued public service announcement against attending law school, I would consider myself a failure if I didn't warn you about the rest of the doom and dread associated with following your life's "dream." 

It isn’t just that I wasted my good years sitting in lecture halls and libraries as I pushed my way through law school. Although I did waste my good years sitting in lecture halls and libraries as I pushed my way through law school. It’s that once you graduate with that diploma you worked oh-so-hard to achieve, you now have to do something remarkable with it. And the harder you worked, the better you did, the harder you will have to continue working, because the better you can do. In America, remarkable and better generally means prestigious. Prestigious (with some obvious noble exceptions) generally means money. And money means working your life away, at least for a few years, while you strive to achieve whatever is next. Of course, at that point you can’t even remember what you sought out to achieve in the first place. And, it’s not just the prestige and related cultural exceptions - as if that wouldn’t be enough outside pressure - it’s the cost of that higher education in the first place. The oh-so-hilarious thing about being a lawyer is there are some who make the big bucks, so to speak - the ones who follow the route (the perfectly landscaped yellow brick road) we're all told we're supposed to want to follow and make the salaries that make other people's heads spin. And then there is the vast majority who make less (or at most the same amount) as those who never attended law school in the first place. But regardless of your destination after school, you HAVE to pay an institution hundreds of thousands of dollars to get an education that will allow you to make a salary that won't allow you to pay back the cost of said education in the first place. Yes, that seems reasonable. And so, alas, many people who swore they'd never walk the golden hallways of a corporate law firm, find themselves working for the "man" out of necessity. As they say, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. 

Many make ambitious promises to pay off their loans in 5 years and then swear they will do what they want to do. But, 5 years come and go and there is barely a dent in those loans. It’s all fine and good to walk into your first law school course with some intention to “do good”, to help people, to make a difference, or to simply do something you care about (tell me more about these things). However, as my father so astutely observed (after I was three years out of law school and my decisions, despite my best efforts, could not be reversed – honestly, how have we not invented a time machine yet?) while not always the case, it sure seems that people who like their jobs don’t make money and people who make money don’t like their jobs. And here I’d been so caught up in just accepting that women can’t really, truly have it all (in terms of career and family – that’s another post), now I’m discovering no one can have it all (in terms of happiness and money). Seems like we all got a pretty raw deal here. Suicidal yet? And, the problem is (one of the problems is) saying we don’t need to make a lot of money or being content with what we have is only half the battle, when a graduate degree leaves you so far in a hole you can barely scrape your way back to the surface. It's a decision that will continue to follow you around, one you can't even escape by filing bankruptcy (true story). And say you've simply had enough and are willing to make less to "be happy", there is the notion of taking a pay cut and then there is being irresponsible. Most pay cuts in this field average close to six figures. Ahh, now you see why this isn't such an easy decision. My monthly loan payments cost more than most people’s monthly rent payment (regardless of neighborhood), and then, of course, I still have to pay rent – a sum which in NYC is barely affordable as is. And even if you manage to pay those momentus sums back, and get to a break even point (don't even raise your hand and ask me about savings), you're faced with the concept of living paycheck to paycheck - after working so hard to get to a point where you wouldn't have to do just that. 

In discussing the phenomenon of money and happiness, there are plenty of people who will tell you that money can’t buy happiness. Well, of course it can’t. That’s an absurd statement. Please don’t insult me by ever saying that to me again. Ever. (Not that I haven't searched it on Ebay - a search that resulted in a ridiculous number of self-help books. Seriously, the number of self-help books on 'how to be happy' make sme think I could just write a whole lot of nonsense, slap the phrase 'get happy' on the front, get that shit published and have a pretty simple solution to this whole blog post actually.) But it can buy a lot of other things, which let’s face it - is a pretty big deal. Sometimes when I’m feeling dramatic I remind people that I’d rather be unhappy and rich (not that I’m rich, that was for effect), than unhappy and poor. Because, taking a pay cut and making less money does not automatically mean someone will be happy and it is no secret that lack of money causes a lot of stress and unhappiness. After a bad day, a trip to a wine bar with a friend makes me happy and that costs money. The prospect of vacations is expensive but results in happiness. Online shopping when I’m stuck at the office makes me very happy. And, the list goes on. 

A lot of my friends (in attempting to be helpful) who do love (or at least like, or you know what - lets start small – who don’t cry on a daily basis or fight back nausea while actually sitting at their desks) think it is well worth it to make less money and encourage their friends to make a similar move. However, in most of these cases, the friends who make these heartfelt proclamations don’t have the same money issues. While I understand they are trying to help, it is somewhat frustrating when you are a speaking to a dual-income individual while trying to survive on your sad, single salary or to someone who is debt-free while you’re juggling 6 or more student loans. If you have a boyfriend, fiancé, or husband who makes good money (or just makes any money - the idea of having two incomes and splitting bills makes me salivate), your salary becomes less important, or if your parents paid for your graduate degree or set up a trust fund (its amazing how many people I know now with such a privileged upbringing), we are just not on the same playing field. While I certainly don’t begrudge you for somehow managing to have it all (contrary to my earlier conclusion that such a thing was impossible), I’m paying all my bills, plus my loans and feel as though I am barely getting by and the idea of leaping into something new with a much lower salary at this age seems fairly stupid (and even if I don't think it seems that stupid, there are plenty of people who have assured me it is). And, while I will continue to yell at my parents for not setting up a trust fund and encouraging me to be an overachiever (reasonable conversations that they fortunately don’t bother to entertain) the fact is that they didn’t and I was and so here we are, trapped in high-rise prisons we put ourselves in.

There was a time (not that long ago, although it feels like a different lifetime) when I had life goals and aspirations that went beyond a salary, but that was before factoring in the cost of my stupid education (as alluded to above) and now those dreams just seem like dim memories. Plus, money is a demanding mistress. It is one of those things that you might not need that much of before you're introduced to her seductive ways, but once you have it, you can't imagine how you would live without it. The so-called golden handcuffs. And I'm not discussing the concept of giving up a lavish life of luxury, but we do have certain comforts, certain expectations, certain securities and things we take for granted and try as I may to crunch my budget, I cannot fathom how people can possibly survive on so far less than my salary.  Money can be paralyzing. And those of us who grew up as part of the infamous middle class seem to have more of a struggle with our salaries in some ways (than those who grew up "privileged."). We're both blessed and cursed by our relationship with the dollar. In one way, not growing up with this kind of money makes it harder to achieve it and then walk away from it, because it is something we never took, will never take, for granted, but it also means we know that we don't need these salaries to survive, to be happy. Split personalities are fun. 

But, its not just the money. It's really not. I'd love to chalk it up to just being that shallow and materialistic and suggest I need designer clothes (I'm relatively clueless about fashion) or cleaning my apartment myself would kill me (yes, you're inferring correctly, most of my friends have a cleaning lady and I too used to take this luxury for granted before I gave up the doorman for a 3rd floor walk-up in anticipation of my fall from grace) but thats not it. Liking nice things and getting used to a way of life is certainly part of it, but it is a part that I really wouldn't have all that much trouble giving up. The bigger issue is that I worked so, so hard to get where I am and then decided I didn't want to be here. So, now what? The idea of walking away from something you spent so much of your life and energy striving for is not an easy pill to swallow. Plus, since I've been wrong about so many things, I don't trust my own opinions. I am paralyzed by the fear that I will simply hate anything I do and then I'll have walked away from a paycheck only to learn it wasn't you law firm, it was me. Gretchen Rubin (in "The Happiness Project") also quotes novelist Lisa Grunwald who said ‘best is good, but better is best”, the idea of taking a voluntary pay cut goes against our very notions of success, of what we’re told should result in happiness. Indeed, it will lead to views of failure even if you leave to pursue something you care about, you're excited about, even if you leave for a respectable job, for one that may ultimately make you happy. The fact is once you’ve crossed the line (by wasting your good years, recall) and joined us on the dark side, it is hard to go back. If for no other reason (and piggybacking on the sentiment of my earlier post - at least now if we find ourselves alone we (and our friends and family) can point to this career, the hours, the job, as being to blame (it makes your friends and family a lot more comfortable when they can point to something like that), and, more importantly, at least now we have the means to support ourselves, there is somewhat of a comfort (except for the 212 days of the year where you are terrified of being laid off and the weekly waves of nausea that accompany a potential mistake) that you will be able to continue to pay the bills. And, of course, the recurring vision of me in my 40's discussing my previous life as a shmancy attorney at a haughty taughty manhattan law firm while now cleaning bathrooms or filing papers in an office building or walking a dog (for the record I have stolen those future career choices from other current attorneys, to illustrate my point) just seems crazy. To peak in salary and conventional notions of success by age 30 is downright depressing. I'd argue it is not better to have had and lost than to never have had at all. (I understand the actual expression is "it is better to have loved and lost"...but there was never love here to lose). 

And, once you've been working within these walls for a few years you lose sight of any reasonable ambition. While 2 years ago I may have been able to articulate alternative options to pursue, at this point I'm so beaten down, so burned out, so abused, that I've skipped right over that step, and well probably right over the next 4 steps as well. So, now I find myself walking by a starbucks with a help wanted sign and walking in (I'd make a damn good barista), or passing a McDonalds and being envious of the employees. I daydream about absurd alternatives. Recently I strongly considered moving to Peru and raising alpacas (check my internet searches if you want proof). I've figured out how little you can live on in the Far East and in South America and have started packing my bags. I've asked friends with new children if they're looking for a nanny. Not only do none of these things require a JD, they don't require a college degree, or really even a high school diploma. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. 

Plus, the sadder reality is that in this post-recession wasteland, even if you are fully willing to work for hugs - and quite honestly, I could use a job that pays me in hugs after the last few years of mistreatment and abuse - those jobs are hard to find and harder still to land. Of all the things in the world that don't make sense, there is a "problem" of being overqualified that is truly quite maddening. So it turns out you are overqualified for some things and yet not even close to qualified for most others, and so this feeling of being trapped starts to break you down into a position of submissive, subordinate slave as you try to sell your JD on Ebay. (I've seen craigslist ads, I did not make this up).

I hear virtual strangers discussing their plans for law school and I yell "Don't do it!" I don't even have to be part of the conversation to chime in with this unsolicited advice. I leap over subway turnstiles to knock applications out of some poor, unassuming fool's hands. (Of course I don't actually do that, mostly because people apply online, but I also recognize such an act would be illegal.  Though in that case, what's the worst that could happen? I'd get disbarred?...and then I couldn't be a lawyer anymore? Shame.) I consider it my duty, perhaps my new life calling, to inform people of the error of their ways, the way I wish people had warned me (I'm certain people warned me, attorneys are a stubborn breed). It is fairly common knowledge that attorneys abuse drugs and alcohol more than almost any other profession (although pilots notably are pretty high on the list too, so keep that in mind next time you're gearing up for a long flight) and depression runs rampant in the profession, and yet every year more and more people take the LSATs, every year more and more people go to law school, every year more and more people join our ranks and only then do they realize (first that there are no jobs to be had and then) this wasn't what they signed up for. Propaganda at its finest. So this is my attempt at being a good samaritan, to save you from making a potentially devastating decision, I'm selfless like that. And, I require nothing in return....unless, of course, you'd like to send me a tip which I can apply to my mountain of law school loans. You know, pay it forward, folks.

Here's to New York

I am so overdue for a blog post, that many of you (at least 2 of the 5 people who read this) probably thought something had gone terribly wrong (in which case, thanks for checking in…).  The truth is, the summer and early fall were filled with so many trips and activities, I was a bit MIA, but I did manage to write a post or two and then somehow neglected to post them.  My apologies.  However, in light of the recent devastation to hit New York and New Jersey, I will hold off on publishing a sarcastic rant complaining about first world problems for just a bit longer.  Instead, I’d like to do something uncharacteristic and dedicate this piece to the people of New York (and New Jersey, but adding these parens each time is going to get real old, real quick). 

When the meteorologists started predicting the super storm slated to hit the northeast, I did not take them seriously.  I, like many New Yorkers, remembered the hype of Irene where we were mercifully spared from any real damage.  As a result, it was difficult not to underestimate the predictions.  Nonetheless, I obediently went to the grocery store to stock up on non-perishables, water and batteries.  I hunkered down, as directed, and planned to wait out the storm.  By the early hours of the evening, I started to get scared.  The wind gusts were punishing and the news reports started showing images of coastal towns that were already feeling the impact of this storm (which had since been downgraded from a hurricane, giving people –or at least me - a false sense of comfort).  As the trees outside my window started beating against the glass, I took additional precautions.  I moved couch cushions to my bedroom and set them up beside my bed in the hopes that the bed would block any blown in window shards from hitting me directly.  At this point, naturally, I was convinced that I would be impaled by broken glass by morning, as I had simply never heard wind like that before.  In Manhattan, my friends were losing power one by one.  NYC had not lost power since the blackout of 2003.  This seemed serious.  When I woke the next day, I realized my lights were still on.  I had escaped the storm’s wrath completely unscathed (though likely 5 pounds heavier as a result of all the wine and hurricane snacks I managed to devour while I prepared for impending doom).  Outside, the sun appeared to be shining.  Perhaps this storm was not that bad after all.  Only then did I turn on the television. 

I can’t fully describe my reaction to the images on the news.  The images that only increased in number and devastation over the next few days.  And I can’t do justice do those images in writing.  Entire towns were destroyed.  People were displaced from their homes with nowhere to go.  Breezy Point had burned to the ground.  Staten Island looked like a war zone.  The Rockaways were unrecognizable.  Long Beach and Hoboken were literally under water.  And the death toll began to grow and grow.  And that is saying nothing of the millions of people without power.  Many of whom are still without power, as the nights are getting colder and another storm, supposedly, is approaching. 

In the days after Sandy, the city was devastated.  There was flooding and collapsed trees and debris everywhere.  New York City, the center of the universe, was virtually shut down.  The transit tunnels were full of water and trains and subways could not be quickly restored.  Buildings were flooded and businesses could not function.  People were walking miles to work or spending hours commuting on the limited bus options.  With power out downtown, the images looked like something out of a movie.  (I am told “I Am Legend” is the movie you're thinking of.  I haven't seen it, but I'll take everyone's word for that.).  Driving down Broadway with no traffic lights, no people, and very few cars was creepy and surreal.  And, without doubt, we were the lucky ones to be driving down Broadway on our way to our homes. 

But, it’s not a hurricane and its destruction that I want to express in this post.  We’ve all seen the news and the images displayed do a far better job illustrating the realities of this aftermath than I could ever hope to do.  Instead, it is the reactions of the people of New York (and New Jersey) that deserve note.  Say what you will about New York City, but the people who live here are truly a remarkable and inspiring breed.  And, I have never been as proud to be a New Yorker as I am right now.

Within hours of the storms exit, friends and families opened up their homes to those who had lost electricity and running water.  It felt like Brooklyn had become a refugee camp for Manhattanites below 39^th street.  So together we all watched the continued destruction unfold.  NY1 felt like a 24 hour movie, every time I turned on the television I watched another tragic story about a family who was dealing with the loss of a house, or worse, the loss of a loved one, as a result of Sandy.  To see this level of devastation just miles away was beyond humbling.  I felt so fortunate to be safe and warm, surrounded by friends and my property and possessions, all unharmed.   Each day I learned of another friend who had lost something, most things, or everything.  Offers of "anything I can do" felt so trivial.  I wanted to help, but felt so helpless.  And as people struggled to put their lives back together, together New Yorkers came out to help. People started putting their own issues aside.  They made the long commutes to work without much complaint, acknowledging they had little to whine about in light of what had happened all around them.  They asked only what they could do to help others.  It’s amazing what a little perspective can do. 

Over the next few days, volunteer opportunities started popping up all over social media and the internet.  My friends and I signed up for countless lists and sent many requests for information.  People started going through their closets and donating anything they could.   New Yorkers dropped bags and bags and bags of donated items at donation centers all over the five boroughs.  When I showed up somewhere with my second bag of sweaters, I was told clothes were actually not a priority at this point because they had received so much.  Imagine that; within 24 hours, the need for clothes was minimal because so many New Yorkers had already stepped up.  People then went to stores and picked up specific items requested by those in need.  Cases of water, medicine, personal hygiene products, and food, among others, started lining the walls of the drop-off stations.  Over the weekend, people went from shelter to shelter and clean-up initiative to clean-up initiative, asking for ways in which they could help.  People showed up willing to be assigned to do just about anything, just desperate for the chance to do something.  The response was so overwhelming that people were actually turned away.  I spent a few hours at a shelter before realizing there were simply too many volunteers to be useful.  I went to donation sights and helped in any way I could (however small) and attempted to get rides to the hardest hit areas (as part of an organized volunteer movement, not simply hitchhiking, although the end result was probably not that different).   My experience was the same as my friends.  Too many people today.  But thank you and bless you and please come back tomorrow.  (Of course, some of those hardest hit areas are also the hardest to access by public transportation and as a result were still in desperate need for assistance but until the gas crisis was resolved, it would be harder to get to them.  Oh, did I forget to mention the gas crisis?).  In the process, I met so many inspiring and selfless people all trying to do the right thing.  To watch and experience this reaction to such a heartbreaking situation was incredible.  Perhaps it was something like survivor guilt, perhaps it was genuine selflessness, likely it was a combination of many things, but whatever it was, people showed up ready to roll up their sleeves and help those who had been less fortunate during the storm.  And as the days pass, the relief efforts only increase.  I continue to receive emails each day with new opportunities and look forward to joining my neighbors and trying again and again until this area is returned to where it needs to be. 

One important thing to take away from any crisis is the response that follows.  In New York, the response was overwhelmingly positive.  I was blown away by the lengths people went to try and make a difference.  I am impressed and amazed and so very inspired by my many friends who found their way to the Rockaways and Staten Island and helped clean basements, organized donations or gave blankets to people who were cold.  The sheer generosity of NYC residents gives me pause.  I am grateful to witness such goodness around me.  In the aftermath of a natural disaster, New York powered through and it powered through together (yes, even without power.  too lame?).  In the wake of a tragedy, the thousands of volunteers carried the same message of hope, the same promise to rebuild, the same determination and pride and genuine compassion that I am not sure exists everywhere else, or even anywhere else.  It is a true testament to the people in this city, in this state, in the whole tri-state area, really.  The relief efforts, so strong in the face of despair and devastation, restore my faith in humanity and make me so proud to be part of this great city.  Here’s to you New York, because today I am truly honored to call myself a New Yorker.  Thank you.

Just another tween phenomenon that makes me want to homeschool my future children...

Yesterday I posted about Barbie and her wedding planning website and the negative effects the message of that website could instill in young girls of today. (Among other grievances). That sentiment seems to represent a bit of a kick I'm on as just prior to going off on that rant, I had received an email ad that seemed rather uncool (to put it mildly) and I had immediately forwarded it to a few friends to ask if I was missing something and confirm my sanity. I write again today (albeit briefly, I promise), because this morning I woke up to a text from my friend alerting me to the fact that Good Morning America was about to do a segment on this very email ad. So, (a) 2 points for me for spotting controversy and (b) I was happy to see I was not alone in my reaction.

The advertisement was placed by Uni K Wax. And, I hate to speak negatively about this company as I've been a loyal customer for years (and will recommend their services to anyone who asks), but as they stand by their advertisement, I imagine they'd have no problem with the 7 of you who read this blog hearing about it as well. The ad featured a young girl (we'll call her a preteen for lack of a more specific guess) jumping for joy (essentially) and declaring her independence. I'm not entirely sure what she was declaring independence from (hair?) but it was touted as a sort of Fourth of July special. The ad then offered 50% off waxing services to girls 15 and under. It was limited to first time patrons and seemed to be intended to entice this young demographic to try waxing.

(You may also note my new obsession with uploading screen shots.  But, I mean, come on, look at that, aren't you a little bit disturbed?)

Naturally, my immediate reaction was horror. And because sometimes I'm a bit of a conspiracy theorist, my first thought was: "Is Uni K running a child porn ring? Why else would they be trying to lure young children into their premises and pouring hot wax on them? This just seems wrong on so many levels." Of course, I'll admit my initial reaction was focused mostly on the concept of a bikini wax (which was aided by the fact that the 12 year old girl in the ad was jumping for said joy in a bikini) but I recognize that the ad did not require children to remove their clothing and the offer also could apply to a girl who wanted her eyebrows or mustache waxed and I suppose most child pornographies are not casted with fully clothed children sporting unibrows. But, the ad did not limit its services, and indeed when asked for comment on the Good Morning America piece, bikini wax was a viable option for these young girls. In fact, the (12 year old) girl featured on ABC went in for a bikini wax. Plus, you'll have to forgive my ignorance of this whole tween waxing culture in the first place. Apparently it is somewhat commonplace and accepted. Well color me stupid, but it seems like it should be the exception not the rule. But, whatever. Then again, as a blondie, I recognize my body hair woes were minor and when I started shaving it was - without permission - and only because everyone else was doing it (I never claimed to be above peer pressure).

The initial horror was quickly followed by better-placed bewilderment as I tried to understand why any corporation would think targeting young girls in this manner was a good business model. I mean, even if you think it is perfectly appropriate to rip hair from preteens (I'd argue its barely appropriate practice for adults, but we suffer through because pain is beauty. Guys have it so freakin easy.) why limit the promotion to young girls? Why construct a special that will likely result in debate? And, if it seemed a bit controversial to me - a 30 year old without children, I was sure there was an entire camp of outraged parents. (There was. That's what ABC investigated). Bottom line, don't draw attention to a somewhat questionable practice (stupid).  If Uni K had offered a general 50% off ad applicable to ages 12 and up, it would not have received the same attention even though 12 is younger than the 15 advertised (See, I'm good at Math after all). To limit the ad to young girls is what I think is the actual problem here. It isn't just that it encourages children to think that they should be removing this hair in the first place - and in an already superficial society, why do we need to teach these sorts of lessons on vanity? - but it gives you a sort of bonus for getting to it early.

Now, granted, even though Uni K offers this service to minors, a parent must consent to the procedure if the child is under 17.  Please add this to the list of reasons to get the hell out of dodge (i.e. NYC) if I ever have children.  These mothers are signing off on 12 year old children getting bikini waxes for summer camp?! You have got to be kidding me. And, side note, thank god I'm not a 13 year old girl in 2012.  But again, as I continue to drift from my point, it is really the emphasis on tween waxing in the ad that I found so cringe-worthy.  The ad felt very reminiscent of 'a guy in a white van in a parking lot with candy' because of its picture and age cut-off rather than age minimum. The statement Uni K provided to ABC was "By the age of 11 or 12, some young girls develop hair on their legs and upper lip. This can not only be embarrassing, but it often makes these young girls targets for bullying at school, especially during PE and recess...Uni K Wax is offering a safe solution in a comfortable environment for these girls.”  While I suspect that is all true and god knows kids can be cruel, why can't they shave their legs like we did (in the good old days) or even better - do they still make Nair? Let kids asphyxiate on the sweet smell of whatever the hell that chemical is that allows a product to essentially burn away unwanted hair on your leg without leaving a trace....plus as I recall the ads claimed it lasts longer than shaving(!) though I suppose not as long as waxing, so...alright then, never mind. As for the mustache, I imagine that could be quite a source of bullying, but it is up to a parent to determine the best way to handle that situation and if their child is being bullied I doubt this extra 50% push from the waxing industry is going to be what saves the day. What I'm saying is perhaps waxing is the best answer sometimes, but I imagine, in those cases, a 50% promotion is not going to make or break the decision and certainly not a 50% promotion that caps out at 15.  I can empathize and by all means go get a wax (I suppose) but targeting tweens seems unnecessary and feels just a little dirty.

I'm not saying anything that hasn't already been said on this subject in the 24 hours since the ad was released (I'm just saying it better.  jokes), but I figured I'd take a moment to do a sort of public service announcement on yet another subject that makes my skin crawl a little. By all means, feel free to draw your own conclusions - http://abcnews.go.com/blogs/lifestyle/2012/07/waxing-for-girls-younger-than-15-ad-sparks-parenting-debate/