I took the bar last week, and as my father would say, “it’s all over but the cursing and the crying” and the waiting… Two long dreaded months of waiting that is. During the test the proctor announced the results are projected to be posted around April 25th, which is 8 weeks away, but he might as well have said it was going to be 8 months. I am stuck in a ‘no man zone’ unable to move forward (apply for new positions) or backwards (start studying for the July test).
This time taking preparing for and taking the bar, I gained a new appreciation for just how much power this test holds, most importantly income potential. Without passing this test, I am paying for a fruitless degree. There are few advantages to be had from having a juris doctorate without a bar license (aside from having a second degree to even out your mantle) in today’s society even the prestige of going to law school is gone, everyone does it.
So I wait, with bated breath (well, not really since it’s two months, and I would probably die from lack of oxygen to my brain before the results come out) but I wait nonetheless, and can only hope all my preparation and efforts yield a passing score.
In the meantime, I return to my regularly scheduled life, which in and of itself feel a bit like purgatory. All around people seem to be moving in fast forward, proposals, promotions, weddings, babies, houses, and here I sit watching it all whirl by, making diaper cakes and mailing congratulatory cards, as my life sits stagnant (usually literally on my couch watching Law & Order marathons). It has been nice not having to worry that I am not studying, and my stagnant sitting is no longer a reason to reprimand myself.
Since I finished the bar, I had a lot of reading to catch up on, namely my subscriptions to Glamour, Self, and O Magazine. I finished most of my fluff readings on the graveyard weekend I have, and set about to find motivation and wisdom within the pages of O (something that happens with every issue). I love O’s existentialist take on the world, I’m pretty sure Kierkegaard himself would have a subscription if he was alive today. This idea that I am solely and completely responsible for my own happiness, is terrifying (enter existentialist angst I suppose) however, if I’m going to trust someone with my happiness, I suppose I am a good candidate, so I tend to buy into this philosophy hook, line, and sinker.
My birthday is approaching, and as of now, I have no plans, I do have a super cute outfit, just nowhere to wear it. All of my local friends either have newborns (as in my baby is ___ weeks old) or are incredibly (I mean about to pop any day) pregnant, none of which really goes with my outfit. All of my friends it would be feasible to travel to have plans. Everyone else lives a plane ticket away, and that’s not in the budget this month (especially not after buying the super cute outfit). So I thought, after reading Martha Beck and other inspirational writers, I will put together my own party, and it will be grand. After all, I already have a fabulous outfit, and pink champagne all I need is a decadent cake and some decor right? Then reality set in. Who wants to sit alone on their birthday? I at least need people to see my outfit right? So I started thinking of what plans I could make with my parents, but nothing seems good enough, fun enough, ‘what I want’ enough. And I reverted back to my old whining about why someone else didn’t throw me a party (that is proper etiquette after all).
So, I was forced to ask myself (seeing as how I was being existentialist and all) where do I get these great expectations for life? Was I born predisposed to grandiose visions? What little girl doesn’t want to be a princess? Nothing comes to mind in my upbringing that would have indoctrinated me with some sense of entitlement, quite the opposite actually. Is it the media? I always have watched a lot of television. What is it that creates these fantastical expectations in my head that life has no choice but to fall lacking to? If Kieerkegard and Martha Beck and everyone else is right, that I am completely responsible for my happiness, perhaps part of that is realizing what realistic expectations are, and accepting things how they come, and finding happiness in that. Maybe my expectations are what is holding me back from being my authentic self.
Yet, I find I am reluctant to turn away from these grand expectations, they are so lovely when they dance through my head, and although they may always end in heartbreak, don’t they always say it’s better to have loved and lost? After all, I have to find something to do while I pass the time in purgatory.