Yes, Florence, the Dog Days are Over

I pride myself on ensuring that I engage in consistent introspection. It is important to me that I regularly examine whether the actions I undertake are actually in line with the values I supposedly claim to hold. Among other things, I consistently ask myself, “Am I where I need to be?” "Am I doing what needs to be done?" Nothing has made me ask myself that question more than my first month of law school.

I have never felt less of a sense of belonging than I currently do. I am surrounded by true brilliance. The friends I have made, people I now have the privilege of referring to as colleagues, are intelligent beyond my ability to ascertain. On numerous occasions in just these first four weeks, I have asked myself: Why am I doing this? Why am I here? I have told myself several times that I simply do not belong here. I do not know why they accepted me because, quite frankly, there are days when I am convinced that I am not up to the task.

The consistent drinking from a fire hose is expected to elicit these thoughts. The university even says so. The law school system goes so far as to warn us that we are likely to think these things and that those thoughts are untrue. To caveat, the law school I attend takes mental health VERY seriously, and has made mental health resources more than abundant and at no cost to the student. No fragment of my rambling should cast a poor light on my institution, I could not be more impressed with them.

Nevertheless, regarding these intrusive thoughts, my close friends have assured me that this is simply a feature of law school. It is designed to wear you down to bare knuckles and force you to attain an entirely new modality of thinking, and it certainly does. In such a short time I have never felt more educated or better prepared to understand the world around me, while simultaneously feeling more insignificant and alienated from the people sitting beside me.

Despite this, I continue forward in my pursuit with full intensity, discipline, and the usual can do attitude I have always had. My instinct to leap without thinking, though it has certainly brought consequences, has yet to lead me into pastures less green than those I've left behind. And speaking of leaving behind less green pastures, I have never been more motivated to accomplish a singular task.

There is, of course, some comfort in knowing that if everything fell apart tomorrow, I could return to business and make a living. I know how to do that. I know how to build companies, make payroll, keep equipment running, work outside until my clothes are soaked through, and do whatever has to be done to make the mortgage. I spent years building successful businesses, and I am tremendously proud of what I built. They provided for my family, taught me lessons I could have learned nowhere else, and gave me opportunities I otherwise never would have had. I also think I would rather die than return to those industries.

Here is where my tendency to leap without thinking comes into play. I have reoriented my entire life around the pursuit of this juris doctorate. My wife has changed her job. My daughter has changed schools. We have put our house up for sale. I have walked away from successful businesses that many men would probably kill to own. I willingly left stability and plunged not only myself, but my own family, into instability. The downfall of which is that I have no choice but to succeed. The relief, ironically, is that I have no choice but to succeed.

I was talking with my dad not long ago about the generations of our family and the modern political situation, and somewhere within that conversation we began talking about how each generation of our family arrived at the place where it stood. His great grandfather came to this country with essentially nothing, and from him, each generation managed to climb a little higher. From a legal immigrant with nothing with the next generation holding a schoolteacher, to the next a pharmacist, and to the next a highly respected legal professional, and now, somehow, the baton has found its way to me. I stand on the shoulders of giants who walked thousands of miles so that I might have the opportunity to run. The relief is that I have the ability to run, but the downfall, of course, is that I have an obligation to do so.

I have to run for the family that came before me and gave me the opportunity to do so. I have to run for the family I have now so that I can care for them and follow the tradition of giving unto the future what was lacking to me. Most importantly, I have to run for myself.

What kind of man would I be if I did not make advantageous the situation before me? Perhaps that is too much responsibility to place on my own shoulders. Perhaps I have manufactured some grand generational obligation where none actually exists, but that is simply the way I view it. I am resolved to accomplish this goal regardless of what it may ask of me. I owe it to those around me, and I owe it to myself.

The dog days of slaving away outside just to make the mortgage are over. The dog days of always being the mudflap for the big clients and the bigger companies are over. The dog days of building my schedule around the whims of someone who would drop my company tomorrow at the hint of a cheaper vendor are over. I spent years building that life, and I am proud of what I built, but I do not want it anymore. For the first time in a long time, I know exactly what direction I am running.

So, yes, Florence, I can hear the horses coming. The dog days are over and done, and despite what I may think of my own intelligence, or in this case the perceived lack thereof, none of that changes what has to happen next. Generations before me walked so that I could have this opportunity to run, and I have rearranged the lives of the people I love most for the chance to do it. Whether I belong here or not is a question I may wrestle with forever. Whether I intend to keep going is not. I intend to run.