February 23, 2011 Inagodadavida

A friend, who I hadn't spoken to in a few months, asked me the other day if I was on disability.

The thought is so repulsive to me, that my initial reaction was anger. I immediately realized that he meant no insult so I suppressed the anger.

It’s funny, I don’t particularly love what I do for a living. Don’t get me wrong, I love being a Lawyer. Law School trains you to think in a way that will last for the rest of your life. You’re taught to look for the big picture, not to be mechanical. It’s something that I have embraced in my life. I never want to stop learning.

I love being a Lawyer. I don’t love practicing Law. It’s not like Perry Mason, where at the last minute, somebody bursts in and confesses to the crime. It’s not like To Kill a Mockingbird, where you get to try to have justice in an unjust society. It’s not like L.A. Law, where you get to sleep with all of your model clients. It’s not like Ally McBeal, where you can break into song at any moment.

It’s like any other business, where you have to deal with clients, who feel that because they are paying you, they own you 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. You have to deal with other Lawyers, who had the same training that you did, and are equally as obnoxious

So why don’t I want to go on disability?

At my father’s funeral, when as part of the eulogy, I read the following poem by Dylan Thomas:

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

My Dad did “not go gentle into that good night,” and neither will I.

I will fight to my last ounce of strength before I go on disability. Today I feel great, there is no reason for me to believe that tomorrow will be different.

My mind was trained in a way that makes me want to keep it expanding. Part of what allows me to do that is the knowledge that no where in the foreseeable future will I wake up and say, that “I’ve got nothing to do today.”

Now, after all this, you’re probably asking, “what does this have to do with Inagodadavida?” Actually, it has nothing at all to do with Inagodadavida. When I first started writing this I couldn’t think of a title. So I gave it the most absurd title that I could come up with.