Another cold call

All of my professors use some form of the Socratic method for teaching and most of them use cold-calling* as a technique for ensuring that every student is prepared for every class. (I have to reread this case; what if Professor C calls on me today?)

I screwed up on my most recent cold call. In class yesterday, after I struggled through a Supreme Court decision and the follow up questions, my professor informed me that my client just lost the case.

It’s not often that a student gives a completely, utterly wrong answer. An answer so wrong that the professor can’t possibly spin it into some semblance of a correct answer. It’s not often that a student walks backward through the Socratic method. I did. Yesterday. I argued from the wrong side of the courtroom. I lost my client’s case.

I admit that my professors are really good about cold calls. Some of my professors are tougher than others, but mostly they want to get some form of the right answer out of whoever they’re addressing, so they help the students along. My professor didn’t ring me out or scold me. He didn’t call me names. He just moved on and used the answer I gave to teach the answer I should have given. I’m way past being embarrassed when I give the wrong answer. It’s happened, to me and to just about everyone else, enough times that it’s been normalized. it’s a condition of law school.

The bad news: I lost my client’s case. The good news: it wasn’t a real client and I’m only a 1L. Also: I’ll never forget the Commerce Clause non-economic activity test.

*Cold call: when the professor picks a random person in the class to speak about a case/issue.

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Second Semester

It’s beyond all that now.

I’ve never, in all my life, been so busy. You’ve heard it before; you’ve heard it from me and from others. Studying law is a lot of work. It is, it is, it is. Last semester was very hard, but I found a rhythm.

This semester? Whoo.

I thought the hardest part was behind me. The whole ‘law school thing’ was a colossal adjustment. It was a backward world, a foreign expanse. Weekdays were full; weekends were full. Free time was Benjamin Button, but even at its smallest, free time existed.

I thought I had it. I thought the hardest part was behind me.

I didn’t account for what would happen in the second semester. I did not account for the massive increase in the amount of reading, briefing, and reviewing. I did not account for the cover letters and writing samples and research that are part of my summer job search. I did not account for Constitutional Law. (ConLaw: majority opinion; concurrence; dissent, dissent, dissent. This often results in four to twenty pages of justices’ assertions. I read three or four cases per class. I have class three times a week.)

Whoo.

I’m doing it. Of course I’m doing it. But holy Pete, I don’t know how.

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Scheduling

I got a new cell phone last week. It’s a Motorola Droid Eris.

I upgraded from this:

The Droid Eris is FANTASTIC. Benefit: I can check email, plan my day, and update my Twitter status from a miniature, shiny, touchscreen computer. Problem: I’m bonded to my phone.

At the beginning of this semester, I vowed to revamp how I schedule my time. Or, I should say, how I don’t schedule my time. I had fallen out of the habit of planning, and when I did schedule, I didn’t stick to the plan. This led to intense inefficiency. I was blogging when I should’ve been reading. I was studying when I should have been sleeping. I was doing yoga when I should have been briefing cases. I was briefing when I should have been reviewing. I was sleeping when I should have been studying. Every time I sat down to do work, I had to take time to think about which classes I had the next day and what reading I had to do. Trash-can time.

This semester, I’m using my Google calendar, and I’m sticking to it. (I have 28 minutes left to finish this post. Then yoga, then briefing for my legal writing class, then…) I’ve synced my Google calendar to my [Google] Droid. I carry my Droid with me at all times. I keep my Droid set to the calendar app. I’m considering getting a belt clip for my Droid so I can look down at my waist and know what I’m supposed to be doing at any point during the day or night.

This may not be right, but this is law school. At any rate, it’s working for me. I’m tied to the schedule synced to my phone, but sticking to my schedule grants me guilt-free yoga time and occasional naps. Also, I get to blog without squeezing out something else.

I finished this post eight minutes early. I’m taking a break.

Marbury v. Madison, behind the scenes, re-enacted

“[W]e shall have stated emphatically, that it is the province of the judiciary department to say what the law is.”
27:30.

Let’s give it another go

After the first semester, law school becomes boring.

Not to me, of course. I’m loving my Constitutional Law class. The career information sessions and networking opportunities are coming at me faster than I can catch them. I’ve got fellowship deadlines, and application deadlines, and financial aid deadlines. Grades are back and everyone’s happy or frustrated or content or they’re pretending to be one of the above. Or E: none of the above. (Ah, the carrot/stick dilemma of law school grades.)

The second semester of law school is boring to you.

I’m done complaining about how busy I am. You already know. I don’t have much to add about how tough it is to prepare for thirteen classes a week. You get it. This stuff is stressful, but I’m finding my groove. You knew that, too.

I’ve got lots of reading and writing and outlining to do. Just like last semester.

Second verse, same as the first.

The ride

The first semester of law school was a dragon.

I fought and fought my way through Contracts and CivPro. I pushed on through study aids and hornbooks. I passed through weeks of urgent and frenzied studying and the ordeals of midterm exams. This was a foreign land populated with poli-sci majors and one-time paralegals and I worried from the beginning that I wouldn’t be able to keep up. I did ok, though. Here’s some things about which I can reassure 0Ls.

Case briefs. You’ll figure them out. Probably by the third one you write. They are time sucks at first, but you’ll get faster and faster as the semester goes along. Also, trust me: you will figure out very quickly how to tailor each brief to your particular professor. The question of whether you’ll be able to figure out how to read and brief cases doesn’t merit another second of your time. You’ll pick it up right away.

The Socratic method. It’s not as bad as you think it is. (Take it from someone who always thought she had a fear of public speaking. It becomes almost second nature.) Anyway, the class is not paying attention to what you say. We’re focusing on more important things. Come to class prepared, and you’ll be fine.

Being top in your class. It depends on your class size, but you probably have a 99% chance of not being the top. I’m not saying you shouldn’t go for it. I am saying that law school is entirely made up of people who are very bright and pretty driven. You’ll be doing yourself a favor if you try to let go of absolute perfection and just try for good enough. Note, though, that in law school a line of Cs or lower is probably not good enough. You don’t want to flunk out, here. You just want to be a little easy on yourself.

Working hard. You will work hard. Possibly harder than you ever have in your life. You’ll be spending eight, 10, 12, 14 hours a day studying. Law school will consume your life. You’ll talk law school; you’ll tweet law school; you’ll discuss law school with your family and friends; your facebook updates will be about memos and what pages you need to read for Contracts. You’ll blog about law school.

You’ll also probably love it. And hate it. And love it. It’s definitely a ride.

Where I take back what I said

Someone important recently told me that I “don’t seem like a lawyer type.” It absolutely ticked me off. I raged about it for days. Maybe that person was right. That person is entitled to his opinion.

I’m an ISFJ. I’ve tried multiple times to test out of my type on the Myers-Briggs (Jung) typology test [link to the test or link to another test], but ISFJ seems to be my destiny.  I am, by every measure,  Introverted/ Sensing/ Feeling/ Judging. [Click here for a description of ISFJ.] The same web page tells me that lawyers are ENTJs.

Here’s the scoop, from the above page:

ISFJs live in a world that is concrete and kind. . . They value harmony and cooperation, and are likely to be very sensitive to other people’s feelings. People value the ISFJ for their consideration and awareness, and their ability to bring out the best in others by their firm desire to believe the best. . . ISFJs learn best by doing, rather than by reading about something in a book, or applying theory. For this reason, they are not likely to be found in fields which require a lot of conceptual analysis or theory. They value practical application. Traditional methods of higher education, which require a lot of theorizing and abstraction, are likely to be a chore for the ISFJ.

I don’t know; does that look like a “lawyer type”? It turns out that it doesn’t matter. Or, maybe it really, really does.  There’s lots of bad news out there. But thanks to a recent tweet from my sister, I’ve discovered something pretty great: it turns out, I could take over the world. You know, if I wanted to, which I don’t.

I’m somewhere around 90% introverted. An introvert is a person who prefers minimal doses of activity; who needs to be alone to recharge; who is tired after being surrounded by lots of people. “Lawyer type”? Yes, I believe so. It turns out that I really enjoy being around people, especially on a one-on-one basis. Introvert or no, I can do this.

Forbes.com says that introverts make the best leaders. Barack Obama is probably an introvert. So are the CEOs of various companies. Bill Gates is an introvert, according to USA Today.

My law school professors (except for that one, *narrows eyes and purses lips*) might be surprised to know this. I sit in the front row, face to face with the prof. and with a huge number of students sitting behind me. Also, as I noted here, I speak up in class. A lot.

I hate speaking in front of people, and speaking in front of 91 individuals (89 students + 1 professor + 1 Laura) is nightmarish. I also detest sitting in the front row. I cringe inside every day when I take my seat.  But I have my reasons. I don’t actually mind speaking in front of lots of people. It was tough at first, but after four months of law school I’ve discovered that there are lots of things I was afraid to do that I’m actually pretty well-suited for. I will never be the same.

I don’t like public speaking. Put me with even two other individuals and I’ll shut up, not put up. Place me before a class of 90 and I start slouching down in my chair. Lawyers, though, form have opinions and voice them in front of judges and clients and senior attorneys all the time. That skill, for me, is ghostlike. (Not the having opinions part. The voicing in front of others part.) Before I started school, I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and promised myself that I would say something in one class every day. (Sorry, guys. I know it’s annoying. Can you forgive me?) I’m a writer, not a speaker, and if someone could please tell that to my legal writing professor I’d really appreciate it. Note: I’ve realized since I wrote this that the above is not true. I enjoy speaking about things I really care about it, and I’ll do it in front of 90 people as easily as I will do it in front of a mirror. When I am passionate about something I forget about the rest of the room. Maybe I have a sharky lawyer inside of me, after all. I’ve also stopped slouching in my chair. Bad posture saps energy.

Second, I need to be engaged to get this stuff. Reading theory isn’t exactly my thing. (See ISFJ, supra.) I need to dig my hands into it. A vocabulary list means very little, though I can memorize like a banshee. Don’t make me read about the objective theory of contracts; give me a story about how a guy lost his farm because it appeared that he meant to sell it, even though he wrote out the contract on the back of a restaurant receipt and was half-drunk at the time. Then let’s talk about what would have happened if he had been laughing while he was making the sale, or if his wife hadn’t signed on. I actually do enjoy reading theory. I just prefer applying it to a set of facts. If that’s anything, it’s lawyerly.

Third, I’m a sensing/feeling type (SF). I have to read my professors’ body language to understand the things they’re lecturing about. Seriously. I watch their hand movements and their eyes. I am not making this up. If I can’t see it, I might as well not be hearing it because it won’t mean anything. This is still true.

And, guess what: I treat every class as a performance. Bob Goodyear, an introverted tech leader at Symantec Corporation, tells Forbes, “I can do anything for 30 minutes.” Aren’t most parts of our lives performances, anyway?

A professor recently noted that he thought I’d make a great prosecutor and I thought, MAN, did I fool you! I’m now wondering if maybe I could be a prosecutor. I might just make a great prosecutor. I’m certainly not the person I thought I was pre-law-school. At any rate, this truth remains:

I can do anything for 50 minutes.

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Lassitude

My school made the tactical decision to release all 1L grades this Friday at 5 pm.

We’re a mass of sad and jumpy little 1Ls moping around in our first week back after the holiday break. The curve is at our backs. We are prepared at all times to don our ‘la la I can’t hear you’ gear. Professor: “so the issue of X, as you probably wrote about in your exam…” Class, silently, but in unison: “La la I can’t hear you.” (It’s been a month; did I write about that in my exam? Did I miss that issue entirely? The curve is jabbing me in the shoulder blades.)

It’s not just the uncertainty that’s choking us; we’re also a genuinely fatigued bunch. We’d be dragging our books on the ground if we weren’t concerned about the resale value. We fought a good fight, and on December 23, we rested. It was a perfect ending. We beat down the villain with the very last of our strength.

I can’t believe I forgot to kick away the knife. I mean, EVERYONE knows the bad guy’s still alive. That rapscallion is getting back up and it turns out I’m only 29 minutes into the movie.