I woke up at 2:30 a.m. that morning, and had not been able to get back to sleep. It wasn't from anxiety that I woke up, even though I had a big, important hearing later that morning -- a hearing that touched on national policy issues, a hearing that our executive office in DC was interested in, a hearing I'd better not screw up. Okay, maybe a little anxiety was at play . . . But mainly, I think, I woke up from being 47 and from experiencing that phase of life that being 47 begins to introduce you to -- the one with temperature issues, lack of sleep, and a higher risk of heart attack. (Lo, do I loathe to blame something on hormones -- because that's so lame, and it feels anti-feminist. But insomnia is one of the symptoms too, for the condition that afflicts women "of a certain age.")
Anyway, I woke up WAY too early on a day when I really needed to sleep, and I suffered for it.
The day before the day of the big, important hearing had been a tough day too. This big, important hearing was not happening on its original setting. It was happening two weeks later than originally scheduled. And, long before, I'd arranged my schedule so that other important (but maybe not quite so big) matters, would occur a couple of weeks after the big, important hearing. With other matters deferred to after the big, important hearing I would be able to focus exclusively on the big, important hearing. And then I could focus on these other important, but not quite so big, things after the big, important hearing had concluded. That way they wouldn't compete. See? Planning ahead. That's what a good lawyer does.
But then the big, important hearing got moved right on top of all the other important matter that I also needed to handle, and that I'd carefully scheduled to avoid the big, important hearing.
So, you know, shit.
And I don't have help. I don't have associates I can shove things off on. I share a paralegal with five other lawyers. I do not have a secretary. We are lean at the government law office (despite the generalized complaints in the wider world of government waste).
Anyway, the day before the day of the big, important hearing was trying for two reasons:
First, I had all the other important stuff I had to cram into that day because I would not have time the rest of the week (or at least the next two days, as previously supposed) because of the resetting of the big, important hearing.
Second, the exhibits of my main opponent were not delivered to me in a manner in which I can access them. (They were delivered via a website link, which my office IT policy forbids me to access.) The link was sent on Friday night. On Monday morning (the day before the day of the big, important hearing), I saw the email with the link I was forbidden to click. I immediately informed my opponent of this problem.
One lawyer on that vast team of attorneys on the other side told a paralegal (via email copied to me) to have hard copies delivered to me. Perfect. Hooray! Another lawyer at the same firm emailed me about setting up a call or emailing them. But I didn't need that, I needed the exhibits to read them and decided if I was okay with them. And lawyer the first was having them delivered. I had also informed opposing that I would have to leave at 3:30 for an appointment with my son.
So, I waited for the hard copies while I worked on my other cases. The binders didn't arrive before I had to leave. I sort of expected this: their exhibit list was vast.
So I left at 3:30 p.m. as planned, thinking, "Oh well, they'll be delivered in the late afternoon and I'll just get in early tomorrow to look at them right before the hearing."
Except they weren't delivered.
When I arrived at the office, I had nothing. I was not happy.
In retrospect, I see that there was a miscommunication within the the big firm -- as between the two lawyers communicating with me about the exhibits -- regarding delivery of exhibits to me in a form I am permitted to accept. That can happen. And maybe I should have confirmed before I left the office that the notebooks would be delivered by X time. (Still, it's the responsibility of the party offering exhibits to get them exchanged, not mine to demand them be delivered. Just last week I had emailed exhibits and the email bounced back so I had to hustle and get paper copies in the snail mail so that they would be timely delivered.)
So, already exhausted at the beginning of what was sure to be a long, tedious, and mentally taxing day, I was not in a frame of mind to be magnanimous and understanding. And neither was my boss, who directed me to request a continuance before the big, important hearing started based upon the failure to exchange exhibits.
So, yeah. No pressure.
And then I entered the courtroom.
(Here's where I lost my shit.)
The younger of the two lawyers I had communicated with regarding exhibits started trying to explain. I was not interested in explanations. I raised my voice. I said vaguely angry and frustrated things. (Inside, I uncharitably thought, "You young, single, nonparent at a big firm with a large staff, you can't possibly fathom the pressures I am under," or thoughts to that effect.) Then I dragged the other, older (which is to say, he is my age) lawyer I'd communicated with about exhibits into it. (The my-age lawyer, incidentally, is someone I have known since law school and a Facebook friend -- so very likely to read this. Hi! 😊)
The courtroom fell silent. All eyes (it seemed to me anyway) turned to me in my pique. Still agitated, I told the younger lawyer we'd just talk to the judge about it and, inwardly mortified at having made a scene, I made my way to my seat (stacked high with four binders -- my exhibits for the hearing delivered at last).
A colleague, a friend who was a fellow young associate at my old law firm (and his old firm too), made his way to me and asked if I was okay.
"I've been better," I said, exasperatedly. And then I told him that it'll all be okay because, in the end, none of this is personal. It's just our jobs. At the end of the day, I said, we will finish our work and no matter what happens in that big, important hearing, we will remain beautiful children of God, if you believe in God, and good humans, if you don't.
I was calming down. I'd regained perspective, the perspective I always seek to hold in my head with this job: that this is merely my job. It's not me. It's but one side of a multifaceted life that includes family, friends, puzzles, books, games, occasional crafts, photography, long walks in the fresh air, music, writing, fabulous shoes, and so many other beautiful things. This job, so full of so many conflicts and frustrations, is not personal.
And then another lawyer friend said she couldn't wait to read the blog entry on this. "When do I have time?" I said. But then I thought, yeah, perhaps I do have time. Perhaps I needed to be reminded that this occasional writing thing, this public diary, is good for my soul. So, thank you, friend.
At a break in the hearing, I gave the two lawyers I'd barked at hugs and we all said we're sorry. We're all still friends. I'm glad they don't think it's personal either.
So what did I learn here? Maybe nothing. Maybe that I should confirm that a delivery I am expecting is actually on its way. Maybe don't schedule anything within a month after the scheduled date of a big, important hearing. Maybe take deep cleansing breaths before I enter a courtroom when am out of sorts. Maybe those things. Yeah. Maybe just that no matter what happens, it'll be okay.
(By the way, in case you're wondering: continuance not granted. But I got extra latitude with the exhibits.)
