Tag: attorney

• Drive, Not Reverse

  I’ve been slacking on here. Sorry. It’s been an odd week. I spent it taking care of the dog (my beloved) and seeing friends again. It feels like there’s a distance between me and my friends now. I’m not sure why, but I’m struggling to be more present. It’s also my birthday month, and I’m throwing a party this Sunday with two other birthday girls. Seventy people RSVPed going, so it’s going to be pretty fun.

  Last night at 9:15 PM, my ex-husband emailed me. His car had broken down and he was stuck on an LA highway, and he wanted to know when our dog had last been taken out (I had returned her to him that afternoon). I immediately dropped everything and drove to his place, since he wasn’t there, to take her out and feed her. Immediately. I gave my boyfriend a heads-up, and he got upset, which led to our first “fight”. It was gentle, respectful and kind. It wasn’t really a fight, more a serious conversation, but it was still our first. He felt threatened that I dropped everything to go see the dog the moment my ex needed help. It was also 10 PM. I get it: if the roles were reversed, I’d feel the same way. In the moment, I was so anxious about the dog, who had been alone for almost seven hours, that I ran straight to her without thinking. The problem is the precedent it sets with my ex – that I am still willing to drop everything and help him, via her. But I want to choose this new relationship, and I am so over my ex.

  Oh, and I also put my boyfriend’s car in drive instead of reverse and bumped into the car in front of us. Thankfully, the other car had a tow hitch and wasn’t damaged, but his car was. Not badly, but still.

  I also went to the doctor yesterday for an allergy test. After being poked 47 times, I learned I’m severely allergic to dust mites (great), weeds like pigweed, and cats (a bit). On the bright side, I’ve finally recovered from jet lag, though it took a while. All in all, it was a weird, stressful week:

  1. Dog care and the handoff, which meant a lot more talking with my ex
  2. My first serious conversation with my boyfriend
  3. Guilt over the car and the ex situation
  4. Severe dust mite allergies
  5. Money stress after the EU trip

  What interests me is how I reacted during our serious conversation. I freaked out. I felt cornered and anxious, my heart was racing, and I was boiling with stress. I kept chuckling nervously and had no idea what to say. I couldn’t put into words what I was feeling, and I felt so guilty and bad. Because of that, it felt like I had done something wrong, like I’d cheated on my new boyfriend with my ex. That absolutely never happened, and it never even crossed my mind! But I was so visibly freaked out that he asked whether something might have happened. I immediately chuckled and got defensive, which only made me look guiltier. I couldn’t believe he’d think that, and it made me even more anxious.

  He saw how distressed I was and calmed me down. He asked how I felt, why I might be feeling that way, and what would help ease the urge to flee. I told him I hate conflict and avoid it at all costs (ironic for a lawyer, I know). I saw a new side of him, and he saw a new side of me. I think it made us stronger. This morning he apologized again for feeling stressed, threatened and a little jealous. He’d never shared feelings like that with me during my whole divorce, so it took me aback. I told him not to apologize for having feelings and thanked him for being so open. We both felt a little silly, apologized, and comforted each other last night and again today.

  I still need to work through this. I think because I’m such a people pleaser, and so afraid of causing hurt or starting conflict, I lose my mind when conflict actually happens.

  

  2026.10.02

• Building a Life Across the Atlantic

  Sorry for the radio silence. I thought about you, though. I was buried in work in London, then went to Paris for almost a week. All with my lover. I attended my 10-year high school reunion and saw an incredible number of friends and family. It was so much, yet at the same time, so little.

  To be the daughter of an immigrant in Los Angeles — in my case, Italian and French — is a wonderful experience. Everyone in the United States, especially California, is from somewhere else, and incredibly proud of their roots. It’s starting to feel like home. This divorce is tainting that feeling somehow. It reminds me that I was never really from here because I did not choose (alone) to come here, yet I want to cling to something I fought so hard for and built.

  I attended a one-year law program just to transfer my credentials so I could attend law school in the U.S. That alone took months of applications. Then I had to get accepted. Once accepted, I had to fight. I took the bar twice, mind you, in my second language. No employer knew my credentials here, and on paper they looked far weaker than any other JD student’s. I did a couple of informational interviews a week, securing them first, then preparing for them, every single week for nine months. I lined up four interviews (two of which I flew to LA for from the Bay Area) and got two offers. I want to make this mine.

  But then I return to France, to Europe, and I’m faced with the reality that this is, or should be, home. I only lived in France for two years total, but it should feel like home. I feel good there. I reunite with old, dear friends, the food makes me feel better, and so does the pace of life. I miss France a lot, but I know living there would be a fantasy. I know it wouldn’t be what I expect, and that, overall, I should stay under the palm trees.

  I’m back now, dazed and confused with jet lag. I am caring for our dog (co-parenting with my ex-husband), and having her back in my life after two months of missing her is wonderful yet scary. Getting back into the swing of things, and for me, that’s always bittersweet. I’m leaving behind a life I knew and loved, and I need to keep building a new one, across the Atlantic.

  

  Paris – coffee, lovers, & kisses.

  2026.09.25

• Emptiness

  As I was thinking about a theme to write about today, I felt empty. Utterly empty. Is that a good thing? Unclear. Feels odd, uncomfortable, and peaceful all at the same time?

  I had another day of corporate meetings in London, marketing myself and my practice – goal is to sign new clients soon and build my own book of business. Partnership is right around the corner. Big question is: do I even want that? Those clients are not exactly the kind of companies or entities I want to represent. I do not think they are worth my time, and indirectly, life. I feel conflicted about it. I worked so hard to get this far in my niche, and I am the youngest one in my entourage to pursue this…yet I also feel empty? Like, do I want this, or am I just doing it because I feel like others want it, and so I should too? Long-term plan remains to save the marine wildlife and oceans with Earthjustice – and become part of its Our Oceans department. I have always wanted to work for the environment. As they say, “the Earth needs a good lawyer.”

  This week, and the next, are incredibly busy social and work weeks in Europe. Amidst the chaos, the re-uniting with very old and dear friends, I feel such melancholy and emptiness. Are any of my decisions right? Should I live in LA? Should I be a lawyer? Do I feel, happy? I have not felt this calm and empty in quite a while, due to my crazy last few months escaping a bad marriage. And overall, somehow – emptiness feels like happiness?

  2026.09.15

• O Captain My Captain

  This Labor Day weekend, after spending the whole weekend in a cozy cabin in the mountains near Los Angeles with my two closest law school friends and my new lover, I returned home, and as soon as I sat down, unpacked, and ordered myself some Vietnamese food, I was suddenly flooded with the urge to watch Dead Poets Society. No surprise there, as I watch Dead Poets Society on a yearly basis. And every year, it brings me to tears. It is not the self-harm part (which, of course, is devastating) but the part where the boys finally learn how to critically think for themselves, find joy, respect, resilience, and camaraderie — strive for what they actually want, not what they’re told to want. I resonate with that emotion tremendously.

  I attended a French private international school, demanding and requiring excellence, told by everyone else (especially my father) what to do and who to be. I adored literature. I adored studying texts, deciphering the author’s desires, wants, and wishes. Highlighting text in various colors; color-coding themes and stylistic techniques; annotating books with fancy words like “chiasmus.” Whenever I watch Dead Poets Society, it enrages me — and all I can think is: Do not go gentle into that good night, / Old age should burn and rave at close of day; / Rage, rage against the dying of the light. It makes me want to carpe diem, as the boys would say. Instead, I folded. I followed my father’s and my teachers’ orders. Strangely enough, I do not regret it. I am almost thankful for it.

  Somehow, I replaced fictional stories, beautiful prose, and technical poetic writing with dry, adversarial legal jargon — without merit, inapposite, notwithstanding, unavailing, misplaced, insofar as, absent, burden, arguendo, ipso facto, etc. Funnily enough, none of the boys aspired to be a doctor, lawyer, or engineer, or to pursue any of those “bougie” careers. I, like the boys, was put on a train running set tracks to set destinations, with the conductor and staff ensuring I stayed safely within my seat. I wish Mr. Keating had been my professor. Today, I carry so much anger; feeling like a puppet is not a good feeling. Yet I am so thankful for my discipline, ambition, and independence. All these wonderful traits stem from my legal education and career as an attorney. I feel fortunate and frustrated, all at once.

  Sometimes I wonder what life would be like if I had continued down the literature path. In high school, I extensively studied British, American, and French literature. I loved it — hell, I adored it. As we say in French, “avec des si, on referait le monde” — with enough “ifs,” we would remake the world. Essentially, we would rewrite our history and our future if we kept dwelling on hypotheticals — and in the end, nothing would change.

  Yesterday, as I was crying through the last scene, a new thought struck me. We are each our own captain, steering our own wheel, making our own navigational choices. O Captain, my Captain is, and should be, about finding your compass and embracing captain-hood. Interestingly, I had a recent chat with a new psychiatrist. Within 30 minutes (and one session), she unraveled something so deep that I changed course: “why do let people dictate who you are, and why do you let others change your perception of yourself and your perception of the world?” Evidently, this goes against the whole movie plot, which is all about learning to be comfortable with the uncomfortableness of not conforming to others views, opinions, and beliefs. Since then, I have felt this visceral guttural burning – I must, and need, to trust my perception and feelings – over anything else. Find said compass. Dictate my own sailing routes.

  So, let’s grab the helm, shall we?

  

  2026.09.08