Not What I Planned

I taught yoga to a bunch of ninth and tenth grade high school students this morning. In case you are wondering, I have not suddenly become a yoga instructor. Nope. I am a substitute teacher at my son’s school.  And I have been asked to be the permanent sub for the P.E. class. 

As much fun as I had today, this is not what I imagined I would be doing twenty-two years ago.  

You see, I had big plans.

As I neared graduation from law school, I had already lined up a clerkship with Utah Fourth District Judge Lynn Davis. I chose to apply to District Court because I wanted to be at the trial court level.  After eighteen months of law clerking, I moved on to the Salt Lake Public Defender’s Office.

My plan was to work my way up to the felony division, have a couple of kids along the way, then in five to ten years move to the other side of the aisle. Federal or state level—it didn’t matter that much to me. My ultimate goal was to sit on the bench.  Judge Helene. I imagined myself draped in black robes, dispensing justice with a large helping of mercy gained in my years working as a public defender.

That was the plan.

Allow me to indulge myself here a bit, but I believe that I had the ability and drive to achieve these goals.  And my plan was working. In 1994, I was about to move up to felonies. I had the best trial record in the misdemeanor division.  I loved being in court and especially being in front of a jury. I loved the law and I loved criminal justice. I loved the social work aspects of being a criminal defense attorney. I loved everything but the extreme caseload we carried and the stink of the Salt Lake County jail.

According to plan, Shawn and I began our family.  I would work thru the pregnancy, take my six month paid leave, add six more months’ unpaid leave, and then I would return to work, job sharing with another new mom. I even had my day care arranged. 

But plans change.

Right after I found out I was pregnant, Microsoft recruited my husband. They flew us both up to Redmond. Put us up in a fancy hotel. Wined and dined us and laid out the sparkling golden handcuffs known as stock options. It was the chance of a lifetime.

I wanted to throw up.

I will never forget the moment, right after they made us the offer.  We were in our swanky hotel room and I was sitting on the edge of the bed. Shawn asked my opinion. He wanted to take the offer, but it wasn’t his decision alone. I had to agree. Did I want him to take this job?  I didn’t feel pressure from him. I knew if I said no that he would be okay with it. It wasn’t as if we were hurting financially. He had a good job—just not as great a job as this one.

I didn’t want to pray about it. I already knew the answer. I felt the whisperings and stirrings the whole time I was in Redmond—‘this is where you need to be.’  Fat tears spilled out of my eyes and down my cheeks. They were not happy tears. They were tears for a dream destroyed. I felt akin to Abraham on Mount Moriah, raising the knife, preparing to strike down my plan with my own hand. Only no angel came; no substitute ram found caught in the bramble.

My mind went back to the first week of law school. Some of the men in my class felt that women did not belong there. They felt that we were taking the place of ‘breadwinners’—i.e. men. They voiced this opinion openly—placed copies of President Benson’s talk, “To the Mothers in Zion” talk in all our law school mailboxes. They challenged our qualifications, saying we had only been admitted due to affirmative action on the part of the law school.

Now, here I was, ready to prove them all correct.

And yet, I knew it was the right thing to do. At least it was for me, at that time, in that place.

So, I made my decision. Shawn and I were separated for a time. He had to start immediately on the Windows 95 team. I had to stay behind to sell our home and work. During the seventh month of my pregnancy our house finally sold and I moved to Redmond.

It rained every day. Worse still, the O.J. Simpson trial was going on. I spent seemingly endless days in the grey and cold Seattle spring, watching one of the most awfully run criminal trials I had ever seen.  I knew almost no one. None of the women in my new ward threw me a baby shower. Shawn was working twelve hour days or more. I was lonely and pregnant and miserable and bored. I so wanted to go back to my old job, to anything really.

On top of that, I had this growing fear that I was going to absolutely suck at being a mother.  I was sure of it, since I had no good model for mothering in my own family. I felt no warm fuzzy feelings towards the baby growing inside me, other than annoyance at the constant need to eat and pee.

Then Arianna was born.

It was like a light switched on inside of me. I knew the moment the doctor placed Arianna in my arms that I had a greater purpose to my life than achieving legal prominence. I found something that could satisfy my need to do something with my life, even if it wasn’t my original dream.

I am not saying that I would not have had this same epiphany if I had stayed in Utah and followed my original plan. In fact, I am sure I would have. I am not criticizing in any way women with young children who work outside of the home. What I am saying is that in this moment, I changed the way I measured what I felt success would look like.

After Arianna was born, I took and passed the Washington State bar and practiced (sort of) part time working for a small personal injury attorney. I hated it but it kept me working. Then Alex was born and my hands were full. I wasn't making enough money to justify full time day care and I didn't like the work enough to do it for free. So, I took a break, fully intending to return to work and wheedle my way into the King County prosecutor's office one way or another once Alex reached kindergarten.

In the meantime, I enjoyed being a mom of preschool children. Really. I loved every bit of it.

I have since joined the ranks of retired attorneys. We are legion. Had I had the opportunity to return to the law ten years ago, I would probably have tried to revive my plan. But it was not to be.  North Carolina beckoned.  I don’t regret it.

I wrote a poem about my feelings toward the law and my choice to leave my career behind. I wrote this in 2001. It is called ‘A Mother’s Reply.’

A Mother’s Reply

 Twelve years ago I crossed a bridge, there called

To study law, my talent to exchange

Despite my fear that no man would marry a woman

Trained to argue.  I felt the infidel, challenged

By those who, zealous for the Kingdom, questioned

My place in the class: some breadwinner denied

Who would have used the talents gained in service

To family, bar, and church, not burying them

Beneath endless mounds of laundry. I

Demurred then, being single. Now I answer. 

My obligation is the same as yours. 

My time and talents equally dedicated

Not buried but lovingly planted and tended, dormant

For a season to spring forth a hundred fold.

 I see the fruit of those years at law school and criminal defense practice every day.  I have used these hard-earned talents in church and community service, not to mention at home.

And I use it as I stand in front of my P.E. classes, confident, feeling that familiar rush of being in front of a jury again—only this time the jury is teenaged and pimple-faced. I see the impact I can have, even if it is only fleeting.  It is strange, but I feel like there is something similar to teaching and public defending. Maybe it is in the way so many of these kids feel lost to me. And beside, what teenager doesn’t need someone who will stand up for them? Even if it is encourage them to try yoga. Or believe that they can find success too.  

And you know what? I have new plans--new dreams for how I will fill the years ahead. They do not involve teaching P.E.