I have been making a concerted effort to write about other things that occur to me besides my generalized angst and any and frustrations I have with my lovelife (using the term very loosely).

Questionable as my recent entries may have made these efforts look, they are without question sincere.

However....

Much like the "no offense" and "I hope you don't take this the wrong way," I am going to use those first couple of qualifying sentences to go the other way.

Yes, we are going back to talking about me and my life and its goals for now.

Unlike the topics upon which I can lament, complain, or self-deprecatingly riff, I am actually rather uncomfortable with this one.

I don't like to talk about my goals, because on a fundamental level, I don't know how. I, of the robust vocabulary and the 10 minute explanations for inane questions like "What are you doing for lunch today?", don't have the capacity, the words to articulate my goals.

Then again, that last description makes it sound as if my personal goals are an abstraction to which I merely need to find a cogent shape. That's not quite accurate. Honestly, I really have no idea at all what I want to do with myself.

I have a number of metaphysical goals, of which I am quite certain: I want to be happy; I want to love and be loved; I want to worry less; I want to act more; I want to live without fear and without regret; I want to appreciate all of the blessings that make up my life; I want to contribute meaningfully to the world around me; I want to leave this world - be it in a small or large way - better than how I left it.

I also have some simpler daily-life type goals: I want to be a neater person; I want to get a good night's sleep on a regular basis; I want to be more organized; I want to pay off my loans; I want to master my finances; I want to always be in the process of learning something new; I want to cook more often; I want be able to plan my weekends without asterisks or qualifications; I want to smile more, grumble less.

All of this is well and good, but how it will make my loan payments, sign my rent check, and put food in my mouth, I am not entirely sure.

I never had to have an articulated life goal before. My life, to this point, always just had natural life goals which conveniently popped up every few years. They were expected, they were safe. It was all part of the track. Finish high school. Apply to college. Take on a couple of internships. Take the LSAT. Apply to law school. Graduate from law school. Pass the bar. Work at a big firm. And now, if I want to move on, then what?

There are still some fairly easy options out there: Move to another big firm (though why one would do this is beyond me; The only thing worse than the evil you know is the evil you don't; Then again, stupid is as stupid does); Move to a smaller firm (once again, the evil you don't know problem; coupled with less hours, though not that many less, less amenities, less perks and, likely, less pay); Move to the government (as a lawyer)(less hours; less support and less pay; Mountains of bureaucracy).

I've said it before, I will say it again: No matter what capacity you are doing it in, the practice of law sucks. Time is your commodity and you are paid to worry. Pretty much a shorthand recipe for taking years off of your life at an ever escalating pace.

They say everyone has their price. I denied it. But, clearly, mine is spelled out in those four numbers on my paychekc every two weeks. For what other reason would one keep doing a job that you are ever more convinced slowly deadens your soul more and more each day, and which ultimately will cause you to collapse (and probably pathologically wonder to whom you could bill the time spent in the emergency toom).

Do this job too long - in any capacity - and it changes you. As many issues as I may have with myself, I am unwilling to make those changes. What frightens me most is that my unwillingness to make such changes ultimately will count for nothing in the face of the inertia of remaining in this job for much longer. If the inertia overtakes you, the seeping of the changes into your very core are invitable. Drama queen as I may be, I do not exaggerate here. There is a dull glassy eyed look taken on by many senior associates and partners of too many compromises made, too many opportunities of life missed, which pervades the halls of my workplace and haunts me long after I leave here at night.

I cannot continue to work in a place that thrives on continual and unfettered anxiety, for if that is what is required, I am capable of doing it. However, at what price? As I concluded in a recent disclussion with a friend, the difficulty in being a lawyer is that try as you might, there is no predictability. You cannot govern your schedule. You are paid to deal with client emergencies. Emergencies (both real and imagined) have no timetable. As such, even in the calm times, you are in a constant state of anxious anticipation. They say that the highest percentage of heart attacks occur on Sunday nights because people harbor so much anxiety about going back to work the next day. Basically, being a lawyer is like living your life out as one perpertual Sunday night.

No way to live.

So, the only thing that is really clear at this point is that I cannot be a lawyer. When I shuffle off of this BigLaw coil, I am going to have to hang up my lawyer hat for good.

After I passed the bar, my mother told me that whatever I chose to do in life, I would now always "be" a lawyer.

Fair enough.

I may always be a lawyer, but I do not have to like it.