Mementos

I am writing this on Wednesday, April 13, 2022. My last day at my law firm is two days away. In the frenzy of wrapping up my practice, doing my best to ensure a smooth transition for my clients and colleagues, homework for my Master’s program, packing up my house, and trying to figure out how to ease the anxiety of my youngest dog who apparently handles change as well as his mother (but instead of consuming sugary substances he destroys furniture), I totally forgot that I also have to clean out my office.

I did a podcast interview the other day, and the host described my career path as “dynamic.” That was the kindest way I have ever heard my path described. But let’s be honest, no one else ever describes my career, except me. In my head. To myself. After law school, I spent two years clerking for a judge, two years at a big firm doing litigation, almost two years at the Oregon Department of Justice, and then landed at my current firm. I felt like I was always continuously starting over. Reinventing. Trying to fit. Trying to see where I could do good.

I’ve been at this firm for seven years, which feels like a long time. And in sorting through my papers and momentos, there are so many feelings. So many fond memories. So many milestones.

For example, I saved this note, written by my work-bff, we’ll call him, Brad. On November 3, 2014, I joined the firm, and six months later I left my husband and our divorce judgment as finalized on my one-year anniversary with the firm, November 3, 2015. Between coming back to private practice and litigation, and losing my best friend and only life that I had known as an adult, it was a lot. Brad and I were talking in my office about all the changes; he was worried, and I was exhausted (this is still a common theme in our friendship). In our conversation, I said, probably sighed, “I would like to go a year without any big life changes.” His eyes lit up, he ran to get paper and wrote down the quote as quick as he could, and dated it. November 25, 2015, at 3:15 pm. (Spoiler alert: I did not make a year.)

Then there was my litigation paralegal that was down the hall from me. She and I are big musical buffs and HUGE fans of Hamilton. (I saw Hamilton the fourth week it was on Broadway! I almost died when Lin walked out on stage.) She grabbed an extra copy of the Rolling Stone magazine for me because we had both been talking about it and were excited to see it.

Then there was the necessary changing of my office name plate after my divorce. I took my first husband’s last name when we married, and went back to my maiden name when we divorced. I was relieved to return to my maiden. Ex-#1 is Mexican, and his last name is very Mexican. When meeting new people who I had met over email, they were inevitably confused when a very white girl showed up instead of the Latina woman they were expecting.

Even though I was ready to go back to Einowski, I felt so much shame in the name change. It made my divorce and failed marriage feel so public. My paralegal, I think, sensing this unease, covered up my name plate with the post-it saying, “HURCULES MULLIGAN,” another Hamilton reference. (She felt uncomfortable to write the next lines because there are so many swear words and, well, we are a professional organization after all!) It made me laugh and smile, and eased the pain. I left the post-it up as long as I could over my name plate, and then kept it in my office ever since.

Then this note. It doesn’t look like much, but it meant the world to me. When I was a litigation associate, a group of us did a trial practice class led by one of our retired partners. I was slightly terrified of this partner and another partner in the class, and I have never been a confident litigator. This class did not do much to help my confidence. But, dammit, I was determined to figure it out!

At some point, I did something—I can’t remember now, probably a direct or cross of a witness—and I nailed it. I stayed calm, asked my questions, my voice didn’t visibly shake, and, even though I really wanted to, I didn’t cry with relief when I sat down. A woman partner in the group ripped off a corner of her paper and slide me this note.

That was probably six years ago. And to this day, I still look at it and remember that I can do hard things, and there likely will be people who notice and are proud.

Finally, there was this calendar:

On January 1, 2018, I made a New Year’s resolution to stop drinking. I didn’t know what an alcoholic was. I didn’t know I needed Alcoholics Anonymous, or even really what AA was. I just knew I couldn’t keep living the way I had been living. My law school had just sent me this calendar. I hung it in my office and made an “X” every morning when I hadn’t drank the day before. I remember making these X’s. How my hands shook in the beginning. How satisfying it was to see them add up. How hard it was to keep going. How scared I was of what could happen if I couldn’t. Thankfully I found Alcoholics Anonymous, and admitted I was an alcoholic. It was still hard, but now I had support and wasn’t just white knuckling it. And it turns out there is an app for that! So the X’s stop in March, even though my sobriety (thankfully) kept going (and keeps going). Finding this calendar tucked away in my drawer brought back all those memories and feelings.

I’m not keeping any of these momentos. Part of this transition is shedding things that no longer serve me, and carrying around less baggage (both figuratively and literally). I think that’s in part why I felt the need to write this post and take these photos. To remember. To feel. To honor. To recognize the amazing people in my life, the things that we’ve been through together, and all that has happened in these last seven years. I am so grateful. And ready for whatever comes next. (More on that soon….)

XOXO