the cusp

I don’t know where those last two weeks went. I guess they went to lounging around the house, reading non-law things, visiting family, reconnecting with neglected friends, stalking the immigration forum and the like. Nothing that really inspired writing. Oh, and turning 30.

No big celebration here though. I don’t really have special feelings about being 30. I certainly don’t feel bummed about it, though like many I’m sure, I wouldn’t mind doing the 20s over. Not that I’d do so much differently, but I generally enjoy living. The last decade has been filled with so much learning, growing, and traveling, much of which I would love to re-live.

But really, it’s just another birthday, and all in all, I feel lucky in life. I love my husband, am doing exactly what I want to be doing (minus the loans), have wonderful friends and family, and considering all the financial turmoil in the world, I’m not in a terrible spot. Certainly not one anyone would envy, but it’s manageable, and for me anyway, manageable finances mean less stress.

And I’m excited for what is ahead. Maybe we are going to have some rough years in this country, but maybe it won’t be as bad as we’re expecting. Or maybe it will, but we’ll all become stronger for it. I do know I feel an immense sort of relief knowing that an extremely intelligent, pragmatic, conciliatory sort of human being – a most excellent American in so many ways, is about to become our president.

I don’t have unrealistic expectations and I know things aren’t going to change immediately, but I have a great deal of hope (I know it’s cheesy) that we’re going to progress out of the mess we’re in right now (no matter whose fault it is) and become a better country.

Anyway, tomorrow I head back to college town for my second semester of law school. As much as this will out me for being a huge nerd, I’m kind of excited. Along with property and criminal procedure, I’m taking constitutional law and administrative law this semester. An immigration lawyer recently told me I should take special note of how those two subjects will come into play with my future immigrant clients. I fully intend to do just that.

Thursday

Yesterday I had one of those moments, when the past and the present mesh, when a remote and unimportant memory suddenly surfaces, and it feels strange, and it makes you self-aware…

Ten years ago I was a sophomore at the university where I now attend law school. Back then, I took daily trips up and down the hill the original campus was built on 150 years ago. It’s a wonderful and historic place. Abe Lincoln’s likeness looks over students shuffling between classes, going from botany class to the Education building to a political science teacher’s office hours in the oldest building on campus.

There was a brief time as an undergrad that I considered law school. I didn’t follow through. I didn’t have a purpose to consider law, other than having a vague notion I may be good at it. I threw myself into the student newspaper and other social activities and got my journalism degree, only to never use it again. No regrets though, just the truth.

The only modern building on the hill, the law school’s glass facade connects two nondescript older buildings, showcasing a mock courtroom. Walking by many years ago, in the evening, I wondered at the play lawyers arguing in front of pretend judges, surrounded by cherry paneling, illuminated by unflattering fluorescent lighting. I never envied them, that is for sure.

Yesterday afternoon, suited up and heading to my oral argument, I realized we’d actually be arguing in front of Professor Civ Pro in this mock courtroom. An old friend who’s also on campus mentioned to me a few months that she sometimes walks by and imagines I’d be in there, playing lawyer. I laughed at the time. Nah, I said, we just read cases and hang in lecture halls.

Frankly I never wanted to have to go in that court room. I’m not interested in court work. I may eventually do it in immigration court, but I don’t relish opportunities to speak in front of others. In fact, it terrifies me. I’m not interested in the theatrics of persuasion. I can’t extemporize to save my life.

But anyway, last night I went into the courtroom with my even more nervous argument partner, thinking, shit, here I am. Not like it’s some great accomplishment to go in there. I mean, I was forced to do it. But I just thought about the craziness of being almost 30 and in law school, changing careers, moving toward doing something I think will highlight my strengths and actually be rewarding, and being back in college town, in this building, this specific room, that I used to just stare at in awe.

And then I had to get up and talk to the judge. And it wasn’t horrible. Not awesome, for sure. But okay. And then in seven and a half minutes, it was over, and I went home to meet my law school buddy to make tamales and drink beer. All in all, not a bad day.

wrestling with life experience and learning law

Yesterday in contracts, my professor contrasted the deductive reasoning typical in legal study with the inductive reasoning of the scientific method. Lawyers study statutes created by legislatures. They also study important cases, which make precedents which sort of trickle down and make up the common law. Scientists do experiments. After they have a lot of experimental results, they analyze and form theories. Social scientists conduct surveys, then consolidate the opinions or experiences of a great number of people in order to draw conclusions.

As he was talking, a small light bulb went on in my crowded brain.

I realized this inductive approach fit the way I have learned immigration laws for the past two years. Basically, thousands of people, including myself, gather on the immigrate2us.net forum seeking a way to reunite their families in the midst of harsh and often unforgiving immigration laws. Over time, someone like me, who reads most of the postings, draws conclusions from the experiences of all these people. I draw conclusions about the process itself, potential pitfalls, and what sort of things, for example, most effectively prove hardship for a waiver.

This is how myself, and many other experienced non-lawyers there, feel comfortable sharing our opinions in the forum. When one of us errs, someone else will catch it. The collective experiences, and our rudimentary knowledge of narrow sections of immigration law, makes us pretty useful for lots of people who simply cannot afford to hire an attorney. We also have the benefit of a few attorneys who volunteer their time for free chats and occasionally answer questions, but the vast, vast majority of the postings come from non-lawyers. It wasn’t until relatively recently that I started actually studying the Immigration and Nationality Act. Unfortunately, it’s just so much less engaging than the real stories of families.

Since becoming an official law student last month, I’ve joined a listserv called the National Immigration Project. Every day I receive dozens of e-mails correspondences between attorneys looking for assistance with matters of immigration law. PC (potential client) is substituted for real names and only the cold, hard, relevant facts make it to the e-mail. This summer, at the American Immigration Lawyers Association conference, I felt and inkling of the transition that was ahead of me. This is what lawyers do. I’m learning that every day. It’s about analyzing where a person’s actions or situation may or should fit into the law. It’s about arguing one side of that, regardless of what you think about it on a moral or human level.

This is the struggle for me, as I adapt to discussing legal matters in class, and also as I daydream from time to time about applying all this to immigration work. So as much as I have become endeared to the stories of families and the experiential view of these issues, I have to adjust. I have to become a lawyer without losing my soul.

past, present, future

Every day on the way to the law school I walk past the epicenter of undergraduate campus life – the southeast-area dorms – where the majority of the 18 and 19-year-olds live. It’s crazy to be 10 years older than them, yet relating to the disorientation that comes with starting school.

I turn the corner and walk adjacent to the mass communication building, where as an undergraduate I spent countless hours writing, editing and collaborating with other students to produce a daily student newspaper. One of these days I’ll peek inside the office as I have occasionally since graduation. I’ll check to see if the dollar bill my predecessor pinned to the bulletin board next to the opinion desk is still there, reveling in a nostalgic moment.

I have learned that while many methods of communicating with students on campus have changed (registering your cell phone number with the university so they can text you in case of an emergency?!), others are exactly the same. Colored chalk on sidewalks still announces the kick-offs of religious organizations, student government and visiting speakers.

Surprisingly diverse cuisines are still offered at an array of food carts along the main campus mall. I can say with certainty that a few of them have been in business at least ten years now.

Today I ran into an old school mate at the law school. “Old” meaning I-knew-you-when-you-were-four old. I’m pretty sure we were in pre-school together. If not, we definitely went on parallel paths from kindergarten through undergrad. We were only acquaintances growing up, but how strange is it to run into someone from the same upper-middle class, conservative, suburban neighborhood at a meeting of a liberal, human-rights oriented lawyers organization ten years later, in 2008.

Places have always impacted me. I’m 29 and a student again, in the same, but also a very different version of the place I spent my formative 18-22 years. It’s strange and wonderful. This town has a different meaning to me now, but it’s still a beautiful place. My life was so different last time I lived here. I saw the world differently. I had some different friends and very different goals. Different things seemed important and unpleasant.

It’s all strange and good and challenging. It’s all just progress, I suppose.