A few weeks ago, I announced that I’m taking the California Bar Exam in July. One of the biggest challenges from the last time I studied for a bar exam was dealing with every day errands like laundry and grocery shopping. They’re not hard tasks, but some days, anything that takes me away from studying feels like a burden.
My plan for this bar prep is to stock up on the basics so when I have to go to the store, I won’t need much. Here’s part of my list:
Some of the things currently in my pantry
Canned beans
Canned pineapple
Cereal
Brown rice
Lentils
Tuna
Peanut butter
Frozen fruit and veggies
Toothpaste
Face soap
Rosie’s treats
I have two trips planned during bar prep – Orlando for BlogHer and then California for the Bar Exam itself. When I stock up on my toiletries, I’m going to make sure I have the travel-size toiletries I’ll need for these trips too – one less thing to worry about.
My goal is to have to run as few errands as possible while I’m working and studying between May and July. The more stressors I can wipe off my radar, the better. I want my life during bar prep to be as simple as possible, almost systematic so most of my energy can be used to focus on work and studying.
Don’t worry, I’m still going to enjoy myself when I can during this process. But those of you who have studied for a bar exam know how stressful it can be. Anything that can make the process easier makes a big difference.
Making myself a priority is not an area where I excel. I put my work first. I put my goals first. I put other people ahead of taking care of myself. I didn’t want to be in a position where I felt like I was letting people down, especially when it seems like everyone around me is doing so much more than me.
I know, quit comparing my insides to their outsides.
The Road Not Taken by Greg Westfall from Flickr (Creative Commons License)
Lately, I’ve felt like a typical lawyer: I get up; I go to the office; I do client work; I go home; I wake up the next day and do it all again. This isn’t what I wanted for my life. I’m so drained by the time I leave the office, I barely have enough energy to work on my blogs, let alone new projects.
I’ve been working on my first online course, but it’s been a much slower process than I envisioned. As long as I need sleep to function, I don’t have enough energy or bandwidth to just work on this just in the evening and on weekends and expect to bring it to market. It needs substantial blocks of uninterrupted time. The hackathon method has been effective so far, when I do it.
Yesterday, I decided the right thing to do to get this course done is to take one weekday every week to stay home and crank on this project. I think this is the only way to give myself the time and space I need for this creative endeavor.
Yeah, that’s me with fire breathers. Photo by Annie Christodoulou
So that’s my plan – I’m going back on the road less traveled and clearing my calendar one day a week until this course is done. I hope once I re-dedicate substantial time to this project, that it will have a snowball effect and I’ll be even more jazzed about it instead of being crippled by the fear of failure.
I’m reminded of the Beverly Sill’s saying: “There are no shortcuts to any place worth going.†One step at a time, one component at a time, this is going to get done. And likewise, if I want a lifestyle that works for me, I have to make it happen.
Footnote: I have no plans to leave my firm. I love working at Venjuris, but I need to balance client work (which is so satisfying to help people in a way that they can’t do for themselves) with speaking, writing, and other projects. It’s just who I am. I’ve never been normal, and I’m not going to start now.
My disease is a bitch. Even in recovery, there isn’t a day that I’m not aware that I have an eating disorder.
The best way I can describe my disease is it’s the Fast-Eddie-used-car-salesman-older-cousin of The Oatmeal’s The Blerch. It feels like it’s floating next to me, everywhere I go, and I can’t shut him up. For St. Patrick’s Day, I had a constant barrage of thoughts about binging and purging. I felt like my Blerch was hovering next to me saying:
Back to My Old Life: Alone by Rachmanuddin Chair Yahya from Flickr (Creative Commons License)
“Check out all the St. Patrick’s Day goodies. You can have an entire tray of cupcakes with green sugary buttercream frosting. Oh – and a Shamrock shake. You’ve never had one of those. You can eat all the things, and don’t worry about the calories – because you won’t keep it down. It’s win-win. It’ll be great.â€
Reality check: When I was in my active disease, forcing myself to binge and purge was not great. It hurt – a lot. Eating that much hurt my stomach, and then forcing it to contract to vomit really hurt. It’s violent, and when it’s over, my head throbbed, I had no energy, and I felt like shit.
Ugh. I wanted to growl, “Shut up shut up shut up. Shut the fuck up!†My disease tried to convince me that it’s not dangerous, that all the literature that binging and purging is hard on your heart and rips your esophagus apart was written by neurotic doctors. My disease said those are rare instances. It wouldn’t happen to me. Reality check: Eating disorders have the highest morbidity rate of any mental illness.
I dragged my fingers through my hair in frustration, then grabbed my phone and sent a single request to two of my confidants: “Tell me again why it’s bad to eat all the things and puke my guts out. My disease is messing with my head.†They both reminded me of the myriad of ways this disease can destroy my health. One of my confidants is also in recovery from an eating disorder. He reminded me of the powerlessness that comes with this disease. Giving in once makes it that much harder not to give in next time (and the next time, and the next).
I asked my therapist if my Blerch will ever go away. He said it might not, but it can get quieter. I likened that idea to Russell Crowe as John Nash in A Beautiful Mind making the decision to ignore his hallucinations, though they seem to always be lurking in the shadows. As he said, “I’ve gotten used to ignoring them and I think, as a result, they’ve kind of given up on me. I think that’s what it’s like with all our dreams and our nightmares . . . we’ve got to keep feeding them for them to stay alive.â€
I’m not fond of the idea of living with my Blerch for the rest of my life, but that may not be something I can control. The disease of addiction never goes away. My default setting may always be to self-medicate and self-destruct, but choosing recovery means I don’t have the luxury of indulging these thoughts. Perhaps if I ignore it long enough, my Blerch will finally shut up.
