Letter to My Younger Self

Dear angsty-rebellious-self-conscious-doesn’t know when to mind her tongue Annie,

First, and foremost, you will always be rebellious and outspoken, although you will gradually learn to choose your battles.  Embrace it. As you get older, people will call you “passionate” and “driven”, “principled” even.

Middle school and high school will suck.  In fact, they may be some of the worst years of your life.  They suck for most people.  Life only gets better.  You will someday understand how pitiful it is to hear people say that “high school was the best years of their life”.

Don’t ever let mom cut your hair.  Enough said.

It’s not just a hunch, you really are smarter than several of your teachers.  Particularly the ones that are coaches, disguised as teachers.

You will never, ever use Algebra.  Or any non-basic math.  Save yourself (and Mrs. Brain) the agony and don’t take AP Calculus.

You are not fat, at all.  Those girls who make fun of you for having breasts – they’re jealous.  They will continue to be jealous throughout adulthood.  Learn to appreciate your curves.  Others certainly will.

Talk to someone after dad dies.  You will spend the next thirteen years of your life overanalyzing all of the ways in which his death has screwed you up.  Get the help now, while you are still on your parent’s heath insurance.

On that note, actually pay for health insurance during college and law school.  Not having any is a really, really bad idea.

Spend less time making cheat sheets and more time actually learning history. When you move to Europe you will wish that you had paid attention in history class.

Stop acting like the world is going to end every time something doesn’t go your way.  No one cares about your SAT II scores, or the fact that you didn’t get into Cornell.  You will never be good at moderation, particularly emotional moderation, but seriously try to focus it on things that actually matter.

The first boy you fall in love with is worth it.  Be less of a jerk to him when you break up.

You cannot outdrink boys who are twice your size.  Don’t try.  A hospital visit and multi-year aversion to vodka and orange juice do not make you more attractive to the opposite sex.

Push yourself.  Even though you don’t have to try at school doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t.  Someday you will wish that you had a better work ethic.  Along those lines, stop immediately quitting everything that you are not naturally good at.

The best part of college is meeting the best friends you will ever have.  These women will prove invaluable to you throughout your life.  Treasure every irresponsible, silly, random moment you have with them.

Stop dating fixer-uppers.  You will marry the man of your dreams.  He rocks.  Cheaters are cheaters.  If you believe me on nothing else, believe me on this.  It will save you four years of heartache.  Also, if you are dating someone “for the story you can tell”, it’s probably not going to work out.

You will travel.  Despite where you have grown up and what many believe, the world doesn’t end at the county line.  You will see the world.  Pay attention.

Join the Peace Corps.

Finally, relax.  Stop trying so hard to be a grown up and have it all figured out.  No one does.  It’s okay to be silly.  In fact, you will never have this chance again.  Savor your first love, before you know what it feels like to have your heart broken.  Stay up ridiculously late with your girlfriends.  Take chances.  Spend Saturday mornings in bed talking about life.  And, more than anything, stop being so concerned with whether everything is going to turn out okay.  It will.  You will have a life that is more fabulous than you ever could have dreamed.  So quit worrying about the future and being perfect and just enjoy life.

Love,

Annie, age 27

27 with bells on…

A few months ago, I resolved to spend 2012 on self-improvement.  Not in that “wear a hat and oversized sun glasses while perusing a certain aisle Barnes and Noble way”, but by getting back in touch with my intellectual side.  Shocking as it may seem, law school largely killed the interesting part of my personality.  22 year old me knew loads about philosophy and politics (I even read the Economist weekly!), had a decent understanding of art, read interesting books, and could read a street sign without overanalyzing its legal implications.  26 year old me was scrambling to make sense of a new life, in a new country, with a new job, and new husband, and oh yeah, did that ink really dry on my law degree?  All the while, trying to recall what I crammed into my brain about property and contract law, but never really learned, for the bar exam.  Interesting conversation, who had time for that? Needless to say, I spent most of 26 feeling overwhelmed.

Given that my last post was in September, I also didn’t stick to my resolution (read: do it at all).  Therefore, my new “resolution” is to spend 27 working on me.  One of the ways I hope to accomplish that is by tracking the issues that are important to me this year (ideally, this will continue after I’ve turned 28; however, baby steps).

Back when I used to be interesting (aka in college), one of the phrases that I fell in love with was “the personal is political”.  Now, some may say that this has become an overused truism associated with the feminist movement.  However, I find myself frequently analyzing events in my life and trying to make conscious decision s about what is best for me, not only in the moment, but in the long run.  I find myself trying to balance what I want now (incredibly tempting) with what would be a good policy decision?

For instance, Andrew and I had recently planned a day trip to Dublin (yes a day trip – our life rocks – but that’s another story) on Ryanair.  For anyone who isn’t familiar with it, Ryanair is a discount airline that operates throughout Europe and offers incredibly low cost airfare, at the cost of rude, nearly nonexistent customer service, uncomfortable seating, and nazi-esque baggage policies.  However, as Andrew and I are much closer to the “starving student” budget than we are to the “actually an adult” budget, we frequently sacrifice comfort and human dignity in order to jet set around Europe for mere dollars.

Two weeks ago, we had our trip to Dublin planned for about $80 roundtrip.  However, due to a glitch in Ryanair’s website, we were unable to print our boarding passes (a requirement), prior to leaving for the airport.  The contract attorney in me calmly devised an explanation of how, given the problems with Ryanair’s system (aka failure to adhere to the terms and conditions of the contract), we would be able to retrieve our boarding passes upon check-in at no cost.  In other words, I didn’t “fail” to print my boarding pass, I was “prohibited” from doing so because of Ryanair’s system.  Totally logical, right?

Apparently not.  When Andrew and I arrived at the airport, we explained the situation – calmly, at first.  And were meet with total indifference.  Having researched the penalty (40 pounds), I listened to the customer service woman rattle off all of the reasons why she couldn’t waive the fee.  ”I’ll lose my job”.  ”I’ve worked here 12 years and never waived a fee” (congratulations on never being promoted).  ”There’s no override option in the system”.  However, seeing a fruitless argument I resolved that I would pay the penalty and just take it up with the airline later.  After all, this was their fault and I had a flight to catch.  However, when the customer service representative tallied the charges, she demanded 120 pounds.

Now, I may not be great at math, but I can tell you that 40 + 40 does not add up to 120.  I confronted the woman with this problem and showed her exactly where on Ryanair’s very own website it states the penalty.  She responded that the terms are “subject to change”.  True… if you don’t understand contract law and the requirement for new consideration before modifying an existing contract.  She didn’t.  And so she demanded that I pay her the 120 pounds (roughly 200 dollars) to print off 2 pieces of paper.

Extortion, right?  Constructive refusal, certainly!

And so Andrew and I did the most sensible thing we can think of, we walked away from the counter, got into our car, and drove home.  We didn’t get a day trip to Dublin (short term satisfaction) but we did refuse to be bullied and treated inhumanely by an airline (who, last I checked, was in the business of providing me with customer service), and, successfully took up the claim with our credit card company (who, although the credit is not final, I feel certain will understand breach of contract, failure to provide a service and constructive refusal).  Sorry, rude Ryanair customer service lady – you lose not only the cost of my tickets for this flight, but also all of my business in the future.  Perhaps only a drop in the bucket for Ryanair, but imagine if all consumers demanded that their rights being respected.  And so, while I may be limited in my budget travel routes since I will no longer be flying Ryanair, I feel confident that my money will be going to airlines who actually respect my role as a consumer.

Anyway, this post isn’t just an attempt to bash Ryanair (although they deserve it – I highly encourage everyone reading this to fly Easyjet instead!).  It’s a realization that my vote (consumer or otherwise) matters, if only just to me.  And so, in short, that is how I am approaching my 27th year – embracing the concept that the personal is political and exercising my right to vote with my wallet.

Remembrance

Where were you ten years ago?  I suspect that as we approached the anniversary of 9/11, most people could say with unique clarity where exactly they were when they first heard that our nation had been attacked.  Personally, I was a junior in high school, sitting in second period.  As we remember that day, I suspect that most of our nation is experiencing a bit of melancholy.  For those that lost loved ones that day, my deepest condolences go out to you.  For those who have lost loved ones in the years that followed to the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, their losses were not in vain.  And for those who wear the uniform of our country (and our Allies), thank you for all you do, every day, to ensure our continued freedom.

As I ponder the day, I find myself dealing with my own melancholy.  I am one of the very lucky ones who did not experience the loss of life due to the attacks on September 11, 2011.  However, with so much attention on remembrance, I find myself coping with my own loss.  April 20, 1999, I lost my dad to a sudden heart attack.  I was fourteen years old.  And what I know for certain, and what I would guess many people feel today, is that although time heals, the pain of losing a loved one never goes away.

A few months back, I read a poignant article about Geraldine Ferraro, talking about the impact losing her father had had on her.   In an interview Ms. Ferraro* stated that if her father hadn’t died when she was 8 years old, [we] never would have heard of her.  She would probably have stayed in Newburgh, N.Y., where she grew up, and married somebody from West Point.  With her affection for ironing and keeping house, she never would have imagined becoming a prosecutor or a congresswoman, and she certainly never would have run for Vice President of the United States.

I wonder if that is frequently the effect that growing up fatherless has on young girls – it pushes us to limits that we otherwise would not have imagined.  Like the death of Mr. Ferraro, my own father’s death was sudden.  There was no time to say goodbye or contemplate what losing him would mean.  Simply, one night, there was a phone call, and as I sat on the edge of my parent’s bed my mom’s words resonated in my head, “your dad is dead”.  Up until this point, my relationship with both of my parents had been very typical.  There were a lot of car rides where I put on head phones and checked out.  At fourteen, my life was about me.  Without ever consciously thinking it, I believed that I had the rest of my life to get to know my parents as people.

I’ve often wondered if my dad knew that he wouldn’t be around to see me grow up.  My parents had had me late in life, so perhaps that had an impact, but from the time I can remember, my dad had an uncanny faith in my ability to succeed.  When I was twelve years old, I remember him bragging about his daughter, the future lawyer. I ran into a former colleague of his several years after his death and although she hadn’t seen me for years, the first question she asked was whether I still intended to be a lawyer?  Looking back, it seems foolish for a parent to foreshadow their child’s future at such a young age.  But, perhaps my dad knew he wouldn’t be around and perhaps he knew that talking about his faith in me would keep me motivated, when he wasn’t there to offer an encouraging ear.

While I never got to know my father’s politically beliefs intimately, I surmise that he was a ardently conservative man.  In many ways, he held the antithesis of my own belief system.  Flickers of our respective belief system (or my future belief system) became evident as my father frequently engaged me in conversations far beyond my years.  We frequently debated politics, the Palestine-Israeli conflict, the Gulf War, and the death penalty, long before I was old enough to appreciate these concepts.  Yet, despite my fledging understanding of the world, my father always let me say my piece – which, frequently was in direct opposition to his beliefs.  As I’ve gotten older and my understanding of the world has developed, I have frequently found myself chuckling at what I believe would be my father’s reactions to my views and the fact that his daughter grew up to be a bra-burning feminist, who adamantly believes in social welfare, champions social justice, and generally thinks the GOP is full of a bunch of ornery old men who are completely out of touch with reality (and rednecks who have no clue what the hell they are voting for).

When September 11th happened, like most Americans, I struggled to make sense of what had happened.  But I also found myself desperately longing for my father and for our conversations about politics.  I wanted to know what he would say about the terrorist attacks; how he would grapple with the uncertainty.  It was then that it hit me that I would never have the opportunity to truly know my dad as a person and that as I faced major life events, I would only be left to wonder what he would have thought and that was devastating.

Looking back on the past twelve years, I, like Ms. Ferraro, wonder if I would have accomplished what I have had I not lost my father.  And although my accomplishments pale in comparison to hers, there is an analogy to be made.  Following the death of my father, I approached life with a single minded determination – to make my parents proud.  For my dad, I wanted to be his legacy.  For my mom, I desperately wanted to make her life easier, to allow her to cope with her own loss.  That determination brought me to many bittersweet moments – things that I know would have made my dad proud – graduating college, being accepted into and graduating law school, passing the bar, and, most recently, taking an oath to defend my country as an Officer in the United States Air Force.  At each of these moments, I found myself longing for my dad and wondering what he would have thought.

As I take time today to remember the events of September 11th, I am amazed at how shocking those tragic events still are.  Ten years ago, I’m not certain that I could have imagined myself wearing our country’s uniform or standing beside some of the bravest men and women our country has ever seen, but as I appreciate my life at this moment, I couldn’t be more proud of my decision.  And so in conclusion, I would like to say thank you, to all of the men and women who do what you do to keep us free and to all of those, not in uniform, who constantly lend your support.

 

 

 

* Fact: Geraldine Ferraro was the first “Ms.”   Ms. Ferraro had never taken her husband’s name when they married (yay!) and when during her campaign for VP, the news media was at a loss for what to call her.  That campaign marks the first time that Ms. was ever seen in print.

Pot, Prostitutes, and the Continent

Ok, so in the spirit of full disclosure, the title of this post is far racier than the content will prove to be.  Continue reading at your own discretion.

Rather than begin with the cliche, “it’s been ages since I last posted”, I’m going to attribute my lack of activity to the fact that I have simply been having too good of a time to sit down and blog.  Why is today different, you may ask.  Well, it’s nearly midnight on a Saturday night and I have just spent the better part of my Saturday, at work, responding to motions and asserting why the rights of a rape victim, who is the star witness in an upcoming court martial, shouldn’t be violated.  Blogging seems like a good mental break.

Andrew and I have surpassed the six month mark in England.  While part of me can’t imagine where the time has gone, part of me is in awe of what we have accomplished so far.  In just a few months we have managed to explore some amazing parts of England, visit South Wales, Rome, Amsterdam, Paris (twice),  Malaga, Gibraltar, and I’ve been back stateside three times (one time for my best friend’s spectacular wedding in Tahoe).  And we’re far from done.  We have tentative plans for weekend trips to Scotland and Belgium, intend to hike Hadrian’s wall, and hope to be in Morocco for New Years (not to mention plans to get to Finland, Sweden, Denmark, Estonia, and Russia on a cruise next summer).  In short, life is busy and good.

So on to the high points.

In March we decided to head to Rome because, out of everywhere in Europe, it was the one place Andrew most wanted to go.  I had been to Rome 6 years earlier and while I enjoyed the city, I never put it on my “I love it” list.  That said, my previous trip had been when I was 20 and going through an “I can do anything” phase.  Which meant, hopping on a plane, alone, to Italy, without a plan and bumming around the country for a few days.  It was a great experience but, I wouldn’t trade having my husband by my side for anything.  Largely, my impressions of Rome remained the same.  I like it, but don’t “love” it.  It’s certainly no Athens.  That said, I tossed another coin into Trevi fountain, so maybe the third trip will be the charm.

For Andrew’s birthday, we booked a trip to Amsterdam.  In my prior trips to Europe, I had always purposely avoided the city.  Pot, prostitutes, what possible allure did such a place have for me?  Boy was I wrong!  Amsterdam is, without a doubt, one of Europe’s best kept secrets.  The things that it is most widely known for are such a miniscule part of the city – no really, you have to TRY to end up in the red light district.  Andrew and I absolutely fell in love with the city  - beautiful buildings, everything within walking distance, clean, and the Bols distillery (if you haven’t tried it, you should).  We will definitely be back.

Our trip to Amsterdam also had the unexpected result of altering some of my political views.  It’s no secret that I am almost entirely left of center (ok, so that might be an understatement).  That said, I still have always had really conservative views on marijuana usage (and drug usage generally), but for no good reason.  Somewhere along the way, DARE did it’s job and I became convinced that marijuana would, if I ever tried it, lead to a life of ill repute (ok, so maybe I just always wanted a government job and knew smoking pot would hurt my chances – but anyway).  Regardless, I had always, illogically, opposed legalization.  However, while Andrew and I were in Amsterdam, I had the distinct realization that this was an amazing place, great quality of life, thriving GDP, one of the most socially progressive countries in the world, and their society wasn’t falling apart because people occasionally smoked pot – in probably a much more responsible way that many in our society imbibe in alcohol.  It made me realize that making marijuana illegal served no greater purpose in our society than preventing people from using a substance merely because it was illegal – it is a standardization mechanism.  So anyway, to answer the question that I am sure is on your mind, no, I did not smoke pot in Amsterdam nor will I while I have a government job; however, I make no promises of what I would do if I ever actually give in, quit my job, and go bartend on an island somewhere.

So onto Paris.  What can I say about Paris except that I LOVE the city?  It is simply one place that I cannot get enough of.  Andrew fails to share the same love, although he enjoys the city immensely; however, if I have my way, we will live there at some point in our lives.  I have no clue how, or what we will do, but mark my words, I will spend at least a year of my life living in Paris (which means that I probably should actually try to learn French).

And finally Malaga.

Malaga is in the south of Spain for anyone who is wondering.  Andrew and I wondered where it was as we stood in line to board our flight to Amsterdam.  And then, conveniently, flights were cheap over the 4th of July, so we went.  It was all rather on a whim.  But what a fantastic trip!  We spent most of the time laying on the beach, drinking ridiculously strong mojitos and eating fantastic paella.  However, we did take a day trip out to Gibraltar, which was AWESOME.  Normally, you can take a cable car ride to the top of the rock, for amazing views of the Straight and Morocco.  Unfortunately, when we got there,  the winds were too strong and cab companies were charging exorbitant rates to get to the top.  So Andrew and I decided to hike it.  (Perhaps it was more like Andrew saying, “we can hike that” and me saying “no, way”, with a few expletives thrown in, and Andrew eventually convincing me).  Regardless, it was an amazing experience and one I highly recommend to anyone who finds themselves in that part of the world (by the way, for those as nerdy as Andrew and I, Malaga and Gibraltar have some great literary ties such as Don Quixote and The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo).

Anyway, when I’m not busy at work and Andrew is not actively pursuing school and work (oh yeah, we just found out that Andrew can work on the British economy – yay!), we are planning our next adventure.  There are definitely moments when we miss DC or are saddened by the fact that friends and family are so far away, but while we are here, we are truly making the most of every moment.

Maybe Baby, Maybe Not

Paraphrasing a friend this weekend, “we are reaching the age where sales associates smile kindly at us when we are buying pregnancy tests”.  That statement makes me believe that we are also reaching the age where people should stop questioning our proclamations that we are not, in fact, having children.

To be honest, this post is partially inspired by a jetlag induced viewing of Sex and the City II.  It’s not good, trust me.  However, in the movie, Carrie and Big are at a wedding where they are asked when they are having children.  While the both love children, Carrie responds, it’s not right for them.  The woman who questioned acts appalled and immediately leaves.  It leads to a sentimental anniversary gift from Carrie to Big engraved, “Me and You.  Just us two.”  In many ways, I related to this scenario.

I’ve always been adamant that I did not want children.  Until recently, this seemed perfectly natural, as all of my friends felt the same.  In college, we all muttered the same “If I get pregnant…”  And why wouldn’t we?  We were young, ambitious women, on the precipice of life.  However, as we’ve secured graduate degrees, those proclamations have gradually waned.

As I’ve entered my mid-twenties, I’ve watched a few of my friends begin to have babies.  And, I am thrilled for them.  More commonly, I have heard my friends discuss the “not now, but soon” scenario.  They are not ready to be mothers yet; however, they have no doubt that someday, soon, they will be.  They feel that “itch”.  Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on how you look at it, I don’t.  I have never looked at a child and thought, even fleetingly, that I want that.

Still, when I mention not wanting children, people look at me, patronizingly, and respond that clearly someday I will (I simply just don’t know what I want).  In an attempt to avoid judgment, I have occasionally responded that I don’t want children now, but in 10 years I will re-access. This usually leads to a worse reaction, where I am warned about the dangers of “after-30” childbirth.  Apparently, in their eyes, I’m a bad mother and I’m not even pregnant.

I know that I am not the only one who has never felt the “itch” of childbirth.  In fact, I have friends who have coined responses such as “it’s in our 5 year plan” or who idly talk about children, even though they have no intention of having any, just to avoid awkward conversations.  However, given my need to assert my principles (to an argumentative level), I haven’t been able to adopt either tactic.   Instead, I feel the need to assert the fact that childbirth is, in fact, a choice – and one that I am not making.

And why not?  Why can’t I say that children are not in my plan?   Is it because we live in a society that still hasn’t embraced childbirth as a choice?  Or because people think because they are married they have to take a next stop?

On one hand, I related to Carrie and Big because, for me, marriage is enough.  Me and You.  Just us two.   I can’t possibly fathom what a child would add to the equation.  On the other hand, my aversion to childbirth is based on selfish reasons.   The truth is – and it’s rarely talked about – motherhood is the ultimate sacrifice.  As women we sacrifice our ambitions, our careers, our education, and our bodies.  We sacrifice the ability to take a shower on our own schedule or go to bathroom, uninterrupted.  And I’m not okay with that.

So why can’t the rest of society be okay with my decision?  If I’m old enough that it is socially acceptable for me to be pregnant, why am I not old enough for it to be socially acceptable to say that pregnancy is not in my future?

What Law School Never Taught Me

So it’ s been forever since I’ve updated.  It’s not for lack of activity.  In the past two months we’ve flown to England, in what turned out to be the worst storm London has seen in decades (read: 3.5″), collected our mutts, found a car, and a home, which 6 weeks later finally has working heat, and I’ve settled into working the first real job I’ve ever had.  In short, it’s been a whirlwind. But as I sit here typing on a lazy Sunday morning, I finally feel like I am at home. 

Work has proved to be challenging and interesting.  What you quickly realize is that no matter how new you are to the legal world (or the military world, for that matter), people look at you and expect answers.  It’s been somewhat of a shock to my system as I’ve barely wrapped my head around the fact that I’m a lawyer, let alone an officer in the United States Air Force.

That newness and sense of responsibility hit me this past week.  Since arriving at base, I have been preparing for my first court martial.  I won’t go into the details of the case,   but it seemed like a fairly low stakes, straight forward matter.  I spent a lot of time over the past two months reflecting on the case, not just because it was my job but because the guy in question was only a couple years younger than me and so I couldn’t help but wonder where the line was between young and dumb and criminal.  

That said, I still had a job to do and Thursday was our respective day in court.  Despite my preparedness, my education, the mock trial work in JASOC, I was shocked by how nervous I was going into court.  In criminal court, rightfully so, all of the attention is on the defendent.  But no one ever tells you what it feels to be the attorney responsible for changing someone’s life.   And that’s what really hit me.  As the verdict was read, I found myself conflicted.  On one hand, I had won, I had gotten the sentence that I had asked for (and one that I truly did believe was fair).  However, in the next instant, as I heard the wife of the defendent dissolve into sobs, I couldn’t help but feel guilty.  Somehow, by doing my job well, I had changed someone’s life.  And that’s the part that no one prepares you for, no one prepares you to be in the room when someone’s life changes.

Moving Across the Pond

So I’ve officially given up hopes of posting about COT.  I planned on it, really I did.  But lately, it just doesn’t seem that important.  To sum it up, COT was a particularly annoying experience and not much else.  Not life changing.  Not difficult.  Just really, really annoying.  If you have specific questions, feel free to ask and be prepared to take my generally cynical opinion with a grain of salt.

JASOC, on the other hand, has been an awesome experience.  It’s like law school, except they actually teach you how to be an attorney (novel concept, right?).   The past 8 weeks I have learned a ton, survived my first moot court experience, and met some pretty cool people.  Part of me wishes the training were still 14 weeks, instead of 9.  Then again, a larger part of me is ready to move on to England, like now.  Hence this post.

It’s hard to believe that 5 years have passed since the last time I was preparing to move overseas.  That said, there were far less mature factors motivating me to make that move.  My move to Athens followed a particularly bad breakup and my desire to put as much space between myself and my former flame  (i.e. the Atlantic ocean) as possible.  I remember being nervous about being away from home for so long, but beyond that, I don’t remember giving much thought to it.  I had never been prone to homesickness and, at 20, all I could think about was how I needed to make this move.

This time around, I have spent a lot more time reflecting.  For one thing, my decision is no longer just about me.  I have a husband and two dogs to think about.  And we are moving away from our friends and family at at time when those we love are starting to get married and have babies.  How many holidays, birthdays, weddings and the like will we miss as a result of this move?  It’s definitely a lot to think about.

That said, I am unbelievably excited about the next chapter in our lives.  For me, it’s a chance to begin my career, to finally put years of education into practice.  It’s also an opportunity to continue to learn.  For Andrew and I, it’s an opportunity to find a home and to live in a stable environment for the first time since we met.  It’s also an opportunity for us to travel.  How many young couples can say that they spent their first few years of marriage touring Europe?  Paris for my birthday, Rome for his, trips to the Greek Isles, just because.  How many wonderful memories are we going to make?

It still seems surreal to me that this is really happening.  The movers came this week and packed up our apartment in DC, that made it a little more real.  But still, the idea that in just two weeks, I will be living in England (and not perpetually stuck in Alabama), is just incredible.  Thanks to JASOC, I will get to spend most of the next two weeks back in DC (albeit on an air mattress in an empty apartment, but home nonetheless).  I hope to see all of my family and friends.  And, I know that the people I love will support me no matter where in the world I decide to move (in fact, I’m pretty sure most people are less surprised by the move than I am).

Let the adventure begin.

 

Veterans Day

So, truth be told, I have lots and lots to post.  My dreams of posting daily during COT were just that, dreams.  Truth is, the last think i wanted to think about at the end of the day is what I had just gone through during the days.  However, it’s Veterans Day and, as such, I have found myself seriously thinking about what is means to be a “not yet vet”.  In doing so, I decided to send a letter to the editor of my local paper.  I did so at approximately 2300 local time – so I’m pretty sure it’s not getting printed; however, I felt it was worth a post.

To Whom It May Concern:

I joined the United States Air Force Judge Advocate General (JAG) Corps on August 20, 2010.  As Veteran’s Day approaches, I have found myself ruminating on the impact military service has had on my family.  My two oldest brothers have each contributed over 20 years of service to the United States Army.  While a military career had always been on my mind, during their recent deployment, while I was in law school, I committed to a 4-year commitment, that I hope to be at least a 20-year career, in the JAG Corps.   The following are my thoughts, as a military member that has not yet had the opportunity to deploy.

Thoughts from a Not Yet Vet

One of my earliest memories is that of my two big brothers leaving for boot camp in the summer of 1989.  Following the deaths of the Sullivan brothers in WWII, it was unheard of for brothers to serve in the same unit.  However, as the wars have raged in Iraq and Afghanistan, it has become more and more common to see brothers, literally, in arms.

I was barely in kindergarten during the first Gulf War and, thankfully, my brothers, as National Guardsmen, were spared from combat.  Over a decade later, during a high school history class, I watched as planes were flown into the Twin Towers on 9/11.  Still my family was spared from the reality of warfare.  It wasn’t until 2008 that my family faced the reality that so many families across our country have faced – both of my brothers, serving in the same unit, were ordered to Iraq.    Fortunately, my brothers returned, largely unscathed, but still severely impacted from their experience in war.  In the year that they were deployed, my brothers had missed the birth of children and had been subject to Line of Duty injuries that would forever impact their career.  Yet, what amazed me is that, if asked, they would willingly do it again.

It was around this time that I also chose a military career.   People have frequently asked me why I, as a lawyer, would choose to join the military.  I doubt that I have a satisfactory answer.  Yet, what I often reply is that “if my brothers could do it, so could I”.  Truth is, many of us enter the legal career field to make the world a better place.  However, a very of us, see no better way to fulfill our goal than to take up arms in defense of our country.  We have joined the military in a time when the question is not “if” but “when” we are deployed.  And for many of us, we are eager for that experience, to serve our country and to join the ranks of those who have served before us.  For me, I am proud to say that I have the opportunity to serve with men like my brothers, and to serve like so many brothers and sisters that have come before us.

TD 0

So after 16 months of preparation, I arrived at Maxwell AFB at approximately 1500 hours yesterday afternoon.  After unloading all of the bags from the car and trekking across the parking lot, I executed what I thought was a perfect reporting statement to the attending Captain (“Ma’am Lt. Morgan reports as ordered”).  To which she replied, “Are you COT?”.  ”Yes, ma’am”.  She then kindly informed me that I was in the wrong place… completely.  Luckily, Andrew had not left and 20 minutes later, I was standing at parade rest for in-processing.

Having read all of the online accounts of TI’s screaming at you as soon as you rounded the corner, I was mildly terrified.  Fortunately, for me, my TI was otherwise occupied, nodded at me and, after instructing a group of us on how to stand at attention, generally left me alone to in-process.  At in-processing, I was issued  my room keys and access cards, my OPSMAN (which I am responsible for learning by the end of this week), had my height and weight (oy!) checked and waist measured.  The rest of the day consisted of standing in line, at attention, for hours on end with largely no result.  Again,  I was reminded of the statement “hurry up and wait”.  However, my biggest fear, being yelled at, was unfounded.  When I did mess up (I can’t seem to begin my sentences with “sir/ma’am”, rather, I end them with the greeting), the COT staff was generally polite in reminding me and helping me “gain my military bearing”, which is a phrase that people apparently like to use a lot.

Honestly, I walked into the whole thing expecting to be yelled at (mildly terrified, but expecting) and realizing that the staff has to yell – it’s their job.  In fact, it is so much there job that I found TI’s reaching for things to yell about.  Two of my personal favorites from yesterday where when a TI was instructing an officer to remove her earrings, telling her that he did not care what she did with them after she could swallow them.  Later, the same TI asked an officer if she suffered from a condition that prevented them from following instructions.  Regardless, it wasn’t nearly as bad as I assumed.

Things that I would definitely keep in mind for future classes is to wear a shirt that can be tucked in (I had one that covered my belt but was didn’t lend itself to tucking as well as I would have liked), show up in sneakers,  no matter what anyone tells you you need, carry EVERYTHING (medical records, marriage license, extra copies of orders, ID’s, money), and, if possible, purchase all of your uniform items prior (you can spend free time napping in the dorm rather than sitting reading the OPSMAN in the sun).

After TD O, I am mostly checked in, need a few things from AAFES, and still missing an ID cards, which, MPF claims will not be issued for up to a week.

Reflections on a second bar, a ginormous move, and my last few days in DC

I’m stuck at home waiting for our new bed to be delivered – king size, Tempurpedic, arguably the first real “adult” purchase I’ve ever made and ironically, one I won’t get to enjoy for the next four months while I am sleeping on a twin size vinyl mattress (I’m assuming).  Anyway, there are so many things I should be doing.  There are still boxes to be unpacked, closets to organize, and packing to be done for our vacation tomorrow, not to mention that nasty daily task of running.  However, the past two weeks have been such a whirlwind that all I want to do is hang out on my new couch and catch up on life.

I had hoped to post my reaction to the NY bar shortly after sitting for it.  Seems life had other plans.  That may be a good thing since I’ve had some time to digest how I feel about it all.  Truth is, taking a second bar was easier.  Not necessarily because NY was an easier bar than VA – although I found the questions a little more straightforward – but rather because there wasn’t any of the paralyzing fear that had been present when I sat for Virginia.  Also, despite studying only a fraction of what I had studied for Virginia, I felt better prepared.  Spending the better part of 6 months studying for bar exams simply meant that I knew more law.  For instance, when NY asked me about commercial paper, I relied on more than what I had studied in the NY outlines and drew from what I had known about VA’s law.  I still missed some major points – warranties of presentment, etc.  However, where I felt I had completely made up rules on the VA bar, I was at least remotely familiar with all of the concepts tested in NY.

That said, I still have no idea how I performed on the exam.  My primary reason for taking the NY bar was my ability to transfer my MBE score. However, VA, unlike any other state (bitter much?), has zero transparency in their bar examination.  Meaning that I could transfer my MBE score to NY but I could not know what my score actually was.  So, theoretically I could have rocked the MBE back in February or I could have bombed the MBE and eeked out my passing score in VA based on the strength of my essays.  Anyway, the MBE, for me, is a wild card.  There was a rumor floating around that this was the last examination where NY would accept MBE score transfers.  I never bothered to confirm it but figured it was a sign that sitting for the exam was a good decision since I refuse to ever sit for another MBE, ever.

NY also has an MPT portion of the bar exam.  VA doesn’t bother with it.  I was told that there was no way to prepare for this portion of the exam and so besides reading a few memos that I had written my 1L year, I didn’t bother.  I went in blind and am pretty sure that I bombed the entire portion.  Luckily, it’s only worth 10 points and is unlikely to be determinative of my overall performance – I hope.  Regardless, I left NY feeling pretty okay and seriously grateful that I wasn’t one of the hundreds of applicants sitting for multiple bar exams (good luck to everyone who took both NY and NJ or NJ and PA or any other combination!).   Results will be out late October and I’m pretty sure, given the next few months of my life, I will have forgotten about the entire exam by then.

Following the bar, Andrew and I packed up our lives and made our move from inside the city out to the Alexandria suburbs (we had also packed up our entire lives 5 months earlier and moved the weekend after I took the VA bar because, I’m pretty sure, fate treats my life as a large cosmic joke).  Since we had been living in furnished housing for the past 18 months, Andrew and I had both rented storage units – his in Kentucky and mine in Maryland – and so on top of moving our house, we also needed to empty both units in order to furnish our new apartment.  Pretty much the weekend consisted of flying to Kentucky, renting a U-Haul, emptying Andrew’s unit (donating most of what was stored to Goodwill), driving 800 miles to DC, unloading the truck, packing up our entire house, moving to Alexandria, and emptying my unit (again donating most of what was stored to Goodwill).  It was an exhausting move but we managed to pull it off without any major glitches (and get our U-Haul for free – thank you U-Haul for engaging in unethical business practices).   The dogs appear to be unaware that anything has changed.  Given the number of times they have moved, I’m not surprised that they seem to be developing boundary issues – mostly Neza, and mostly just assuming everything is hers.  Before she turns 4 she will have lived in 3 countries and 11 new homes, Argos, at a year and change, is working on home 5 (not counting the 4 he lived in before we adopted him).  They are becoming quite the seasoned travelers.

As for our new place, I couldn’t be more in love with it.  While I loved living in the city and – let’s be honest – Andrew and I had some pretty sweet places, I love the fact that this apartment is totally ours.  No more corporate furniture, bad artwork, cramped spaces.  No more calling our property manager when Comcast went out or something needed fixed and hoping they would get around to it.  No more neighbors complaining that my dogs were disturbing their mid-afternoon nap.  It feels good to be in a place that is totally ours, problems and all.

Loving this place so much makes it even harder to think of leaving at the end of the month.  Without a doubt, the hardest part about COT is going to be being away from Andrew and the dogs.  Andrew and I are that couple that can never seem to get enough of one another.  We genuinely enjoy every minute we spend together and find time apart, even a night or two, agonizing.  I can’t fathom five weeks without him or without his support and constant encouragement.   The same with the dogs.  Neza and Argos make up a huge part of every day.  My life would be so boring without them.  The other day, while unpacking, I found them curled up underneath my clothing in our new closet.  While I’m sure their position had less to do with “mommy’s scent” and more to do with avoiding being stepped on and yelled at, finding them there made me cry.  It was the first time that it hit me that this is all real and that in just a few days they won’t be pushing me out of bed or panting on me with hot breath, waiting for me to do something, anything.  Makes me realize how much I am going to miss my life here.

In reality, I only have 4 more days left in the DC.  Tomorrow Andrew and I leave for Jamaica to celebrate our 1 year anniversary (a few days early).  It’s unbelievable that we’ve been married a year already (for anyone who doesn’t know, Andrew and I were married by a JOP on August 19, 2009, we attempted to keep it a secret until the wedding although we’re both pretty lousy secret keepers).  I’m really grateful that COT isn’t a few days earlier and we get to spend our first anniversary together.  We’ll be back for a day on the 17th and then leave for Roanoke for two days for me to attend a mandatory ethics course (*gag*).  We’ll be back late on the 19th and then start our drive to Alabama on the 21st.  I don’t know where the time has gone.