five years later

Four years ago, I wrote a post called "one year later" on Valentine's Day, reflecting on a love lost (more accurately - a love relinquished). Later that year, I met the man I would marry.

It is cliche to say, but I knew right away that he would be the one. Perhaps I knew, because I had set my intentions into the world, and he materialized sooner than I anticipated.  We married this past  January, making today a one-month later, if we are to use beginnings rather than endings as markers. Either way, I am here, trying to capture the things I've learned about love in the last five years, and it feels too large to wrap my mind around.

First, I learned to love my life untethered by the expectations I imposed on myself. There were many times I wondered if I was a disappointment to my parents, because I chose to journey through life by myself. My favorite moments were getting on a plane, settling in for a long nap, and waking up on the other side of the world. When I was with K, I "saved" my trips for us to go on together. Without him, I spontaneously booked plane tickets - I rode ATVs in Santorini, stood in quiet awe of the Hagia Sophia, ate my way through Tsukiji market on Thanksgiving, and danced into the wee morning hours on Bourbon Street. I felt a little lost, a little off-script, but incredibly in love with the world. 

Second, I learned to prioritize my feelings above what I thought was the "right" decision. I stopped being so wary of my feelings and trusted the wisdom that came with being older. I distrusted passionate love nine years ago, and I thought the most important thing was to just pick someone devoted to me and to the idea of a family. I put my feelings second, because I thought I couldn't have it all. But as I started to travel down that path of head over heart, I knew I couldn't make the wrong choices again. I couldn't pick someone that I wasn't 100% enthusiastic about. 

And then came my husband, and four years later, I still feel the same burst of excitement seeing his (very handsome) face every day, same as I did in the beginning.  I have known love to be deep, but I have not understood it to be this big - an inadequate word but how else do I scratch at the surface of all the admiration I have for him and the way he makes me want to be better and the way he makes my small space in this world better.  But isn't that something that everyone already knows? That love is huge and consumes, and if you are lucky, it makes you want to be better.

So there it is, love with a happy ending (beginning). Happy Valentine's Day, everyone. 

the third decade

My friend and I are on either side of 30, close enough to appreciate each other's perspective.  We had a talk the other day about how 20-30 was so easy, at least for us. We knew what we had to do. We studied. We applied to law school. We went, we graduated, we passed the bar, and we began to practice. Easy. The second decade was easy. By 30, we had our careers. That was the goal. The mark has been ticked.

Looking ahead to the third decade, we asked ourselves what we hoped to accomplished. For women who are outside of the mating game (at least I would like to think that it's secondary) what is there? Is this the decade where we find our partners, set down roots, and send our genes into the next generation? She doesn't want kids. I do, but not with the wrong person, not with just anyone in my desperation to procreate. So the decade stretches ahead, completely blank. I ask myself what I want to have accomplished by the time I reach 40- savings goals, career goals, life goals and the answers are complicated; it's harder because the script has ended.

"I just don't want to look back when I'm 40 and think, what do I have to show for it? Or man, I really blew it."
"Yeah me too."

one year later

I post photos and little updates here and there. I exchange hundreds of short messages a day, things that run through my mind, but I haven't been throwing my voice out to the wind in a long, long time. I suppose this is where I express some aspiration to blog more or write more, but only time will tell if I actually keep up. What I'm really hoping is that I will write about one topic at a time and then my life will become clearer to whoever cares to read.

In the spirit of Valentine's Day, the topic is love. 

My last love ended. Three years, nine months, some odd days that I am sure I can calculate if I really care to. It ended in a parking lot. It ended in tears, and in the months that followed, it seemed like it ended a long time ago. The reasons were many. I picked a couple, simple reasons to articulate to new friends and dates. I've never articulated them in public, well online public, and it's simultaneously hard and simple to explain: we weren't compatible. Isn't that how all love stories end? That moment that builds on a hundred moments when the fissures become clear, and the separation is inevitable. We tried our hardest. We loved each other. For that, I will always be grateful.

Sometimes, I get someone who says "You couldn't tell? You didn't know? It took you four years to figure out you weren't compatible with someone?" This question assumes that I knew myself. And maybe it took me four years to figure myself out. 

I have no bitterness. No regrets. Valentine's Day wasn't a big red letter day this year, but it prompted me to read that Steinbeck letter on love again. (Steinbeck on Love).  

"There are several kinds of love. One is a selfish, mean, grasping, egotistical thing which uses love for self-importance. This is the ugly and crippling kind. The other is an outpouring of everything good in you -- of kindness and consideration and respect -- not only the social respect of manners but the greater respect which is recognition of another person as unique and valuable. The first kind can make you sick and small and weak but the second can release in you strength, and courage and goodness and even wisdom you didn't know you had."

The first time I read the letter, the quote that stuck out was to be patient and nothing good gets away. At this particular juncture in my life (this has nothing to do with the last boyfriend), that quote ^ really gets to me. I have been single for almost a year now, and as I open the door back up to love, I understand that some people will use love for self-importance and that I might fall in that trap too if I'm not cognizant of the difference. 

Moving forward with hope.

Valentine's Day

Ever since I got my new phone, I've been obsessed with posting everything on Instagram and checking in everywhere. Tonight, I took no less than 10 shots of my dinner, trying to get the angle and lighting right. Then I had to select the right filter. When I didn't have a great camera on my phone, I was always thinking, I should take more pictures. Now that I have no excuse, I find picture taking exhausting. The grass is always greener I guess.

Now, I am going to post a bunch of pictures to distract from perhaps some personal reflections. I regret not taking pictures last year, but I was kind of rushed coming from work. I think we took like 2 grainy shots at Lawry's. Anyway, here are some snippets of my celebration this year.

Valentine's Day Eve cookies

Valentine's Day cookies from work

Sugar cookies from scratch. He also made a dulce de leche cheesecake, which is currently in my refrigerator.

I made smothered filet mignon, quinoa stuffed bell pepper, and caesar salad.

Decisions decisions

Tunnel Vision

The problem with locking myself down to specifics is that as soon as I figure out what I want, something comes along and causes a paradigm shift.

"A good first kiss culminates a period of longing, but its true sweetness lies in the promise of a new beginning."- Michael Cunningham, The Hours

"I didn't get any presents"

I lugged a Nordstrom's bag out to my cousin's car at the end of the night. "Can you pop open the trunk?" I asked. She had driven me to the family party.
"What's that? Gifts?"
"Oh no, it's just food, leftovers."
"Oh, I was about to say, I didn't get any gifts!"
"Me neither."

My cousin and I grew up like sisters. We were the only children in our age group for a long, long time, so naturally, when Christmas came around, everyone showered us with gifts. I remember leaving these annual Christmas Eve parties with piles and piles of gifts. We were allowed to open one on Christmas Eve and the rest in the morning. I never waited. I just stayed up until midnight and declared it to be Christmas based on a technicality.

We got older. The gifts got smaller. We were handed envelopes full of cash or gift cards and sometimes, expensive cosmetics. Our older cousin introduced me to Hello Kitty and Sephora, the loves of my life. We still received gifts in college. I may have gotten some Starbucks gift cards in law school. There was a time I lamented this transition in a high school diary. I felt sad that no one could tell what I wanted anymore, that I wasn't easy to predict anymore.

I don't even bother looking for gifts under the tree. No one presses envelopes in my hand after I started working. Last night, we drove off with full bellies and an empty trunk. I've never felt more like an adult.  

Little Tokyo jaunt

Labyrinth

comfort food

I feel like I should post this on "Hare-Brained Schemes," which is a blog that Yves and I share.  The concept of that blog is that we would post our business ideas/ventures on it, the dumber the better, and you would get a laugh. There's been two entries, both written by Yves.

I (and maybe some others) have been kicking around the idea of a restaurant that serves food you can only get at home. Home, in this case, is a concept, not your actual home. Restaurants tend to serve roughly the same fare. For example, I can get bowl of pho anywhere in the city, but when the craving for chicken ro-ti strikes, I have to call my mom. Then I have to wait until Sunday and drive 35 miles to my parents' house. Or I have to make it myself, like I made some meat stuffed tomatoes the other day. My friend was coincidentally eating the same thing all the way across the country, except hers was from a frozen batch made by her mom during her last visit to NYC.

I wouldn't limit it to just Vietnamese food; it's a cross-cultural thing. During lunch at LAFLA (a non-profit where I used to work), my Taiwanese coworker would share her food, things I wouldn't even know how to order. My ex-boyfriend loved this souffle egg thing his mom made. It didn't appear on any of the menus of the three Thai restaurants she owned. She had just the basics, stir fries and noodle dishes, while at home, we ate home Thai food.

Clearly, there is an underlayer of regional cuisine that hasn't been explored. Since this is just the germ of a hare-brained scheme, I don't know what the demand would be for such a restaurant, but it is LA--plenty of foodie appetites to fuel a burgeoning concept. If I build it, will you come? Or better yet, if I pitch it, will you Kickstart it?

Reality Show Pitches by my friends

This Is How You Spend Your Money. Patience is going to find people with money and spend it for them.

It's as simple as it sounds. Patience came up with this when she noticed that a lot of rich people spend their money on tasteless things or not spend it at all. She is going to show them how to live it up.

Surprise Wedding. Instead of proposing, a guy (or girl) will plan the whole wedding and ask his/her significant other to show up. The significant other says yes or no at the surprise wedding. Credits to Ray for coming up with this one. 

family time

Spent some time with the fam over the weekend. I gave the kiddies my business card. Their mom (my cousin) advised, "If you ever owe anyone money, give them this card, and say 'Call my auntie. She will pay you.'" -___-

Me (to the 13 year old): If you want a car, start asking now. It's going to take 3 years to get one.
Rachel: Yeah, and if they say no, you can ask for a cellphone and it won't seem so bad in comparison.

I added the 13 year old on facebook. His mom is my facebook friend. She found out and made him deactivate. He was not that mad about it. They still have Xbox. 

lawyer jail

My friend Mercy had her first hearing in federal court last year. Her name wasn't on the pleadings. I've never appeared in federal court (even though I am admitted), but apparently, appearing when your name isn't on the pleadings is a big no-no. She came back from her hearing and we asked her how it went. "They didn't send me to lawyer jail!" she exclaimed.

And thus the term "lawyer jail" was coined.*

Today, another friend (let's leave her anonymous for now) asked me, "Hey, is it okay if someone else contacts a party represented by counsel? As long as it's not me, right?"
"Yeah, as long as it's not you or at your direction."
"I don't like that answer."
"Fine, then make up your own rules!"
"No, I don't want to wake up next to [sleazy lawyer name omitted] in lawyer jail!"


*I'm still not sure what lawyer jail actually is, but my understanding is that there is a special jail for lawyers when you act in contempt of the court.

night runs

Drake and I have had a long history. I first met Drake first year of college, when I could barely run a mile. I jogged/walked with my roommate and floormates. It was bad times.

I kept at it though, and by second year of college, I could run four miles without collapsing. I used to come to Drake late at night, after the lights have gone off, and run until I was too exhausted to think about my problems. Second year was kind of tough on me. My grades weren't where I wanted them to be. The freshman 15 made me feel self-conscious about my body. I was mentally recovering from a death of a friend. I didn't realize how depressed I was until I emerged on the other side during senior year of college. Drake was there, with its open inviting lanes, giving me peace of mind in the darkness.

By senior year, Drake and I were regular buddies. I turned to Drake to clear my mind. I didn't really have problems, just the occasional boy drama. Whenever I was frustrated or angry, I would just leave my phone at home and hit the track with my mp3 player. By the time I got back to my apartment, I had a bit of clarity, new resolve, and a couple of new text messages (sometimes).

I met up with Drake again tonight. Ran the 3.7 miles from my apartment, felt the familiar rubber under my feet. Hello old lover, I've missed you.

#donttellsteve

We have an unofficial General Counsel at the firm. I say this because the first time he found out he was the GC was during a firm presentation when the managing partner announced that he was the new GC (in addition to being a new partner) and everyone clapped. No one questioned it from that point, not even Steve.

As our GC, he has to counsel us when potential liabilities arise, so the associates have taken to tagging our emails with donttellsteve whenever something remotely scandalous is mentioned in an email. (We still do it even though hashtags don't work in Outlook.) I have the distinction of being the only person to ever say it out loud in front of Steve.

Today, Steve came in my office to tell me that he told our client about #donttellsteve and he received an email from an employee of the client who had included #donttellsteve at the end. Love it. 

California Bar exam nostalgia

Write, I tell myself. Write something. Write anything. No one reads this blog anyhow.

     The California Bar ended today. It's been two years since I took the bar, and I'm starting to feel nostalgic? My friend's boyfriend is taking it this year, so it seems more real to me than it did last year. Last year was too soon for me to feel any nostalgia about the bar. It was just this terrible thing that happened to me once. The memories have dulled, and now it doesn't seem that bad? (I am seriously questioning my own memories. Did I imagine how terrible it was?)

      By far the worst part about the bar was the possibility of failing. During bar prep classes, urban legends began to surface. Everyone knows someone who went to Harvard/Yale/Stanford who failed. The word failed is delivered in the most ominous way possible by the storyteller while the rapt listener chugged some more Red Bull, grabbed a highlighter, and furiously attacked the Conviser guide. What about that guy who suffered a minor concussion and still passed? The legends span both sides of the extremes.

     What made studying so difficult was the fact that no one knew how much was enough. You're never done studying. It's impossible to master all 16 or so topics, so you try to learn maybe 70% of each topic, or maybe master 11 and hope that the 5 that you don't know don't come up. I think I tried to master all the topics in three months. That was prob not the best strategy for my health, but it made me feel better going into the exam.

     I miss the comraderie of having a ton of friends going through the same hell. I miss making up stupid acronyms and teaching them to each other. I miss spending way too much time in coffee shops, not really getting much work done, then coming home and actually doing work. That summer just flew by, just like this one. The end of summer always feels a little sad to me, because it seems like we steamroll right into the new year, and all these changes start to unfurl.

    I guess all this nostalgia isn't really for the bar exam itself, but for that part of my life that ended with the bar exam.  

that time plaintiff's counsel walked away with no money

I was scheduled for a trial which was supposed to start today. It was pushed back to next week-ish. Plaintiff's lawyer kept calling with lower demands until finally, today, he was willing to just give up and dismiss the case with prejudice and our client doesn't have to pay a penny! Say what? Not very common, but this is the second time I've seen it at my firm. 

wisdom from younger me

     I used to believe that strength meant steeling yourself and not letting anyone hurt you. It was shutting yourself off, walling yourself up, making yourself impermeable and impervious to everything around you.

    It took me some time to learn that strength starts with your own open, hopeful heart. It's being able to handle the pain that comes from being vulnerable. It's being strong enough to handle disappointment with grace and humility.

Be a woman.

My guy friend sent me this link today: http://justmytype.ca/11-differences-between-dating-a-boy-vs-a-man/. 

I thought he was giving me some brotherly advice about men, but turns out he was trying to tell me to stop being a girl and start being a woman. Thanks dude. Worth a read.