The Wake Up Call for Lawyers

The trouble with letting my enthusiasm show is that most of the time I’m afraid I won’t look cool. I’ll be outed for being joyful in a world that’s scary and getting worse. Enthusiasm almost feels inappropriate.But what if enthusiasm is just effort infused by love? And what if we didn’t feel inhibited to bring love – not romantic love but the natural luminosity of our own minds – into our days? What if, even in the midst of the chaos that is 2024, we still, nonetheless, brought a kind of enthusiasm floated by love, into our courtrooms, conference rooms, classrooms, and living rooms? That would be cool enough, wouldn’t it?(For my Berkeley students, who navigated a difficult year and all the while, honored me and one another with their loving and dedicated practice.)

I don’t know whether I’m more impatient with the world and the people in it, or with my own impatience. When I’m impatient with the world and my people, the antidote, patience, feels like it softens striving. And more: patience with family, friends, the way things are, has a kind of alchemical quality. When it arises - in me or in anyone - everyone seems to relax, and to see and listen and care for each other just a little bit better. When I’m impatient with myself, the antidote of patience is a relief. I can let go of being frustrated with myself. In fact, I can let go of “selfing” altogether (for a moment) – all that exhausting “I/me/mine.” I can be more present, hear what others are saying, and sometimes, listen to nature. There’s a window of peace. That alone makes the practice of patience worth it, for me. (For everyone like me, whose impatience has gotten the better of them now & then)

One way of thinking about ethics is that we have a cannon, we have rules, and as lawyers, we’re bound to follow those rules. Another way of thinking about ethics is that on some fundamental level, all ethics are about not causing harm. From either perspective the question for me is, how to be a ferocious advocate and not cause harm? Which begs a larger question, which is, how can I not only not cause harm, but also, cause, or at least be a catalyst for, harmony?Maybe that’s not realistic. But I want to imagine it is, or at least that there’s an ethical path that makes harmony possible. And then I want to find that path. Because if it’s find-able, and walk-able, then who knows? Maybe we can create more harmony in our lives and in the world than any of us can imagine... (In loving support for all suffering in Israel/Palestine/Gaza)

I like to think of myself as generous. Hopefully so do you. And, I know I could do more.It’s not just about philanthropy although that matters. It’s about being loving, compassionate, and patient, too.And it’s about giving the gift of fearlessness: asking myself how I can help make everyone feel safe and at home, even the “other side,” and even those whose political views are very different from mine. What if we could begin all of our conversations with that kind of generosity? Maybe we could build more bridges instead of tearing so much down.(To the memory of those who lost their lives on the Francis Scott Key bridge this week, and to the families they loved and supported.)

With all of this training of the heart and mind, shouldn't we be getting somewhere? I feel like at least we should have something to show for all the hard work.And yet the great teachers all say the same thing: there’s no place to get to and no one to become. There's only the journey of cultivation and letting go. There's only learning to love and slipping up; learning to be more generous and then forgetting; learning patience, losing it, and remembering, again and again and again.No problem, no hurry, nowhere to get to and no one to become.

 Once upon a time there was a lazy lawyer. Said no one, ever.How can a lawyer be lazy? They wouldn’t last a minute, in law school or in practice. There’s an endless amount to do, and then there’s more to do later. And our job is to, well, do it all. Well.But maybe there are ways we’re lazy in terms of taking care of ourselves. I’m guilty of that. So...what if we could be a little less lazy about our wellbeing, our resilience, our mindfulness? What about that happily ever after?

Whenever I say or do something unskillful, my first hope is that no one notices. Hat trick. But let’s say that happens - no one notices. What then? Then, I have to notice. And I need to call myself out. With humor, hopefully – after all, this 'being human' is an imperfect thing - but yes, call myself out.Which means that until the day I’m no longer unskillful, which is probably not ever coming, I won’t get beyond reproach. Which feels cringey. But also, true, and like a relief.

For me, forgiveness is possible in many cases but in this heart, not all. Not all, yet, anyway. I wish I could forgive the people who caused me grave harm. Because not doing that feels like allowing something to fester. Underneath not-forgiving, I can feel dread. But about what? That not-forgiving is hurting me, or someone I love? That the people who caused me harm didn’t know, and so obviously merit forgiveness? That they knew but didn’t understand what a terrible thing they were doing, and so at least deserve the benefit of the doubt? At the very least, I can forgive myself for not forgiving. Maybe you can do that, too, if forgiveness is challenging for you. It’s a start.

I want to be loving. I want to not separate people into camps: worthy of my love, not worthy of my love. Because who am I to decide? No matter what someone has done, no matter their views or even their actions, why would I want to hate them? All that does is create a hole in my heart. And yet so often, I parse. This person is good, this person is not. This person is giving me what I need, or want, this person is not. This person – in my estimation – is contributing to the world. This person is not. What if my own heart were big enough to see the humanity in each person, and bow just to that? Not to their mistakes, their selfishness, their crimes. Just to their humanity. What if we could all do that? What would the law look like? How about the world?

For sure I want all the goodies. And I’m pretty convinced that when I finally get them (or when I notice I already have them, if I do ever notice), then I’ll be happy. And for sure, life doesn’t work like that. The coach passengers want business class seats, business wants first, and first wants a charter. I have no idea what people who own planes want, but you get the point: wanting, grasping for the brass ring, ending up with the goodies. The good old American dream.But what if it’s not? What if there’s something even better than that particular American dream, available to us whenever we finally let go of the wanting? Whenever we finally stop grasping for the brass ring and make do, joyfully, with our old silver band? I’m not there yet, so there’s that. But it sure seems like a better direction.

When things go wrong in my life, I tend to think about…me. When things go well, I tend to think about…me, again. I, me, mine. As humans, we’re hardwired for that. Maybe it’s how we protect ourselves. Maybe it’s one way we teach our kids to protect themselves. Maybe it's helped our species survive (or has it?). What if we thought of others instead, in both instances? What if, when something went well – in our practice, in the law, in our lives - we thought, oh, I have enough. I have plenty. I’m sending this good thing, this good energy, to my friends, my family, my colleagues. To people I don’t even know. To my enemies! To all the humans. All beings. What if we did that? And what if, when things went wrong, we did less “I, me, mine-ing?” And instead, thought of everyone else going through something similar, and wished them ease and wellbeing? Or just remembered what Ram Dass said: that we’re all just walking each other home?

Happiness Without a Hangover I would love to take credit for that title but it’s from Pema Chodron’s book, The Places That Scare You.  What I think she means is, happiness that’s different from me saying, I won my case! I closed the deal! I got a new coat! Have a glass of champagne!What I think she means is, happiness that I’m here, on the earth, breathing, writing this note. Happiness that this moment exists, and that I’m right here, paying attention, and not wishing things were different. Which feels huge, this ability to scan not for danger but joy, and to locate joy, even though the judge is intense or someone is shouting or I’m overwhelmed. I wonder what would happen if we all practiced that kind of joy, just for one day, together…without getting the win, or the coat, or the drink. Happiness, without a hangover. Sounds pretty sweet to me.

Mostly I’m breathing for myself. But sometimes it feels like the world could use a breath. Things feel tight, the suffering in the room or on the planet seems palpable, and I wonder if I can help. I wonder if I can help by breathing in for everyone, taking in the intensity, the hardship, the suffering, as if they’re mine. As if all suffering is mine – and ours. And then breathing out peace in place of the suffering. Breathing in sorrow and breathing out peace, over and over again. I wonder what would happen if everyone did that. Would anything change? Maybe. Maybe everything would change, and, as the poet Juan Jimenez once wrote, we’d be sitting in the middle of our new life.

Who are your scariest demons? Mine are the people who scare me in the courtroom, in the conference room, on the news, on the ballot. Those are my scariest external demons, but my scariest internal demons are different. Or maybe there’s only one: fear. But not fear itself: fear of the world’s pain and suffering. Or more accurately, fear of how it might feel to step into the midst of that pain and let it touch me. I mean, I can step in and not let it touch me. I have great defenses. But letting that pain touch me? For me, I think that’s the scariest thing.And so, maybe it’s time to go there. Because if that’s my scariest thing, I’d better.Are you coming?

It’s a conundrum to me when I imagine befriending everyone. How would that even work in the law? Shakespeare’s instruction notwithstanding, how is it possible to strive to the end and then call my adversary friend? Even more challenging, how can I learn to relate to my frustration and grief with friendliness? When all I really want is for it to stop?And yet this is the path of the warrior. What a paradox.  

Sure, we’re all warriors in the law. We fight the good fight (and sometimes the bad).But what if, in every fight, we could abandon all weapons except wisdom and compassion? Would we still win our cases? Would our clients come back for more?This is my inquiry for a 2024 that feels just a little bit short on wisdom and compassion. What do you think? Are you willing to be patient, not know if this will work but try it, and in doing that, maybe, someday, co-create and live into a future different from the one we seem to be barreling towards now?

I’ve been thinking about how to say goodbye to 2023. It feels like bowing out of a circle to which, yes, I could definitely say good riddance. But what about all the good? By recollecting and bowing to that goodness, could the scales (of the heart? of justice?) tip just a little (more) towards kindness and wisdom, as we turn, inevitably, towards 2024? Which is also what I've been wondering: how to turn towards, and what to aspire to in, 2024. I feel like turning and aspiring towards safety. Yet it also feels possible – and in some ways, urgent – to also aspire to step into the circle of next year, into its fire, with courage, and resolve, and equanimity. Today on the Wake Up Call, let's consider how we want to bow out of '23, and into '24. Please join me.

These days there's at least one moment if not a thousand moments during my morning sit when I want to scratch my nose, shake the thoughts out of my head, or abandon meditation entirely. It just feels like there's so much to attend to, to be concerned about, to repair. Restlessness and worry are such faithful companions.And yet when I do sit still, so much sweetness arises. And then, whatever wisdom I have, whatever compassion resides in this heart of mine, has a chance to emerge. And to move me forward into my day in a more loving way.Are you able to sit still these days, or are you restless like me? Let's talk. 

We all know there’s no cure for hot and cold. And still, I find myself trying to solve for just about every discomfort I encounter. It’s exhausting. And there’s a different way.There’s a way of relating to discomfort with ease. Not with resignation, not with resentment, not with anything other than a relaxed mind and body. When we can do that…we’ll still have hot and cold. What we won’t have is the frustration of not being able to change it. It might sound  paltry or it might even sound sneaky, but it’s been a game-changer for me.  

Three Things I know for sureThree things I know for sure: everything is always changing. When something unpleasant feels like it'll never change, there it goes, being different. When something good happens and I never want it to change, there it goes, slipping right through my hands.This includes me. That’s the second thing I know. I'm not one, well-defined, knowable, person, someone I can count on to think and speak and act in a reliably kind, wise, way. I’m a kaleidoscope, turning and changing based on a limitless number of filters. And relatively unpredictable, except when I'm completely predictable.  And the third thing I know is that impermanence, my inability to pin my “self” down, which amount to just being human - it's hard. And, it’s doable. I know that because we’re all doing itAnd all of this? It’s the good news. I know that, too. So I guess I’m wrong. It’s not three things. It’s four things I know for sure.