On Wednesdays, I usually write silly stories (like this one!) about my adventures with my girls. And maybe I will pony up a second post today in which I regale you with one such silly story. But, in this post, my agenda is (slightly) more serious. I must articulate two apologies for transgressions I committed. Transgressions of which I have heretofore been haplessly unaware.

The first apology is to my girls.

The second is to the world. Yes, the world.

You might wonder how I learned of these transgressions. Or you might not care much. It doesn’t matter whether you care or not because I will tell you. I wrote a post yesterday, a love letter to my Ex-Profession. I was proud of this post. I am proud of it. A big legal website linked to my post which was both thrilling and terrifying. Thrilling because I like and respect the site’s editor and because the site has oodles of visitors. Terrifying because some of those visitors, especially the ones who decide to leave comments, are not very nice. Whether this vitriol is evidence of the perils of anonymity or deep-rooted disillusionment within the confines of the legal world, I’m not entirely sure or qualified to say. But, anyway, once that link went live, I bit my lip, willed my skin to spontaneously thicken, and waited for the jabs to come.

And come, they did. Not as many as I feared. But a couple. And this, friends, is where I learned of two very terrible things I have unwittingly done. Things for which I will now apologize. I will post here the exact quotes of the two comments I received (on the aforementioned legal blog) so you can appreciate the full flavor.

Comment #1: The “Ivy League Insecurities” article was written by some chick named “Aiden.” On the site she explains she has two girls with boy’s names. Child abuse is a cycle. How sad.”

Apology to My Girls: I am so sorry for giving you names that are traditionally considered to be male names. Yes, I love these names. Husband loves these names. In fact, we think they are beautiful and whimsical and suit each of you perfectly, but I didn’t realize that in shrouding you with these more masculine monikers, I was in some way perpetuating a cycle of abuse, a cycle of which I was myself unaware. Perhaps I should have been more honest with myself about all this. I should have taken stock of just how much I have suffered over the past thirty years by having the name Aidan (with an “a,” dear commenter). And I should have wanted to protect you at all costs from the misery and mockery I have endured and given you decidedly feminine names. I hope you girls find it in your kind hearts to forgive us.

Comment #2: Anyone read that Ivy League Insecurities article? It was pathetic- what really struck me was all the sappy supporting comments which were made. People wonder why the economy is so bad- it’s because too many Americans (regardless of their academic background or lack thereof) are lazy, self-entitled and have their heads in the clouds.

Apology to the World: I am so sorry that by stepping off that high-wattage corporate track, a track on which I could have and perhaps should have persevered and excelled, I helped break our national and international economy. I never knew that choosing to follow my dream of being a writer was tantamount to sticking my self-entitled head in those proverbial and naughty clouds. I never knew that taking care of two young girls and writing books and penning a blog post everyday was the portrait of laziness. Silly me. Oh, and those “sappy supporting comments”? Upon second glance, yes, they were pathetic and saccharine and not at all thoughtful or honest. The fact that there are people out there who believe that it is good to pursue passions and chase dreams and that it is okay to have “what if” moments from time to time is nothing short of sad.

Phew. Now I feel much better.

Okay, I have officially run out of sarcasm. We all know that sarcasm and self-deprecation thinly veil deeper, more meaningful and murky feelings. Truth be told, the above comments didn’t devastate me. I read them and I chuckled. But their acidic essence stuck with me. They affected me enough that I have now framed an entire blog post around them when I should be writing about how Toddler scarfed Jelly Bellys for breakfast and Baby ran macaroni through what hair she has and gelled it into tiny little horns.

Why did these comments affect me? Because I am human? Because I am sensitive? Because I am worried there is a kernel of truth in each one? Because these two little comments represent what’s to come when this blog grows and the book debuts? Because part of me thinks I should have named my girls Jennifer and Jessica? Because part of me thinks that I am being weak and lazy and self-entitled by playing with words at Starbucks rather than plugging away in a corporate institution somewhere in the morass of Midtown? I don’t know.

What I do know is that I love my post about leaving the law. I love my girls and their wonderful names and the stories that make up our days. I love doing this. Thinking. Digesting. Creating. Writing. I love all of your comments because they make me think and want to write more.

I will not apologize for loving these things. You can’t make me. Neither can those meanies at Above the Law. So there.

______________________________

What are your thoughts on this? (The sappier the better.)

Dear Mr. BigLaw,

How are you these days? We haven’t seen each other or spoken in a while, but I do hear about you from time to time. From friends and newspapers. Despite the recession and everything else, it sounds like you are surviving.

I know this letter is foolish. It will likely be lost in a big pile of paper on your polished marble desk. It is likely that you do not even remember me. That I was just one of the fungible young girls who flitted through your golden revolving door, a girl who never quite got your attention.

Truth be told, I think of you sometimes. In particular, about that day I left you. It was a Friday in late January and I really didn’t give you much warning. No, in many ways I blindsided you, spewing that cliched excuse-upon-exit: it’s not you, it’s me. But I assure you this was true. Not that you care.

You were plenty good to me. You shrouded me with things: money and benefits and contacts. I basked in the glow of your impersonal warmth. But, in time, in a short time, I realized that in your corporate company, I felt stifled and sluggish and even a bit sad. I decided that I didn’t want to spend many years in a relationship that was good and secure, but far less than thrilling.

It didn’t take long to find your replacement. Writing. And he’s a dodgy fellow, not always easy to live with, but he inspires me each and every day. He has taught me what love is. What laughter is. What learning is. Our romance is not stuffed with Town Cars and four-star lunches, but with words and ideas and most importantly, questions.

But sometimes, in this new relationship, I feel moments of loneliness. And, in these quiet moments, I long for our conference room banter and catered buffets.  For more predictable things. For pinstripes and power and prestige. For the brainstorming and business trips we used to enjoy. Or pretend to. And sometimes I miss being able to say that I am with you because I know that some people, too many people, were so impressed with that.

Maybe we didn’t have enough closure. Maybe I ran away too quickly because I could. Because I didn’t need you to support me. Maybe I fled fast because I was a bit scared. That I was being hasty. That I was making a profound mistake. Or maybe I escaped with little explanation because I knew even then the power you had over me. I knew that after everything, after all those years of courting and commitment, it wouldn’t be easy to quit you. And it wasn’t.

I sometimes wonder who replaced me. Is she good and honest? Does she work hard? Too hard? Does she treat you well? Does she treat herself well? Will she stick with you through thick and thin? Will she wait out the tough times and see if you will ask her to commit? And, someday, if you ask her that very important question, if you ask her to be your partner, will she say I do?

Sometimes I wonder what things would be like if I never left. Would we still be together? Or would I have found another reason to walk away? Or would you, faced with the grim reality of a rabid recession, have let me go? If I had stayed and you had let me, would we be happy? Or, would things be the same as they were back then when I put on a good face with my good suit and we floated through long days together, graceful pretenders?

This is tough to admit, but sometimes, late at night, I lie in bed and think of you and wonder whether you would take me back. If I begged and pleaded and tried harder this time? But then I wake up in the morning and I’m relieved and pleased with the way things are. I am exactly where I should be. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t miss you sometimes and think about you and talk about our time together. Even though our relationship was relatively brief, a mere blip on that resume radar, for me it was very real. In some small, but significant way, you made me who I am.

So, try as I might, I will not forget you. The things you showed me about myself and life and the enigma of happiness. About real risk and real reward.

Maybe we will meet again one day. Or maybe we won’t. Only time will tell.

Insecurely yours,
Aidan

Last week, something very exciting happened. Fellow blogger Danielle-Lee of A Little Left of Lost gave me a blog award. The Honest Scrap Award. Per my research, this award is given for “honesty and sincerity in blogging” and here at ILI I strive every day to be honest and sincere (and scrappy) and this isn’t always easy because I am quite skilled in the arts of being dishonest and insincere and unscrappy, so, frankly, I’m quite proud. Beyond my surging pride and swelling ego, however, I am simply energized and humbled and touched and stoked and all of the other words I could spout to make this sentence even longer. Danielle-Lee is a wonderful woman. Her blog is a tapestry of wisdom and wit and she picked me! Thank you!

Per the “rules,” I am now supposed to share ten honest things about myself (some of which you might already know) and then I am supposed to tap seven other bloggers whom I think display honesty and sincerity (and scrappiness) in their online words. So, here goes:

1. I never read a blog before I started my blog.
2. I’m scared of thunder and lightning.
3. I used to lock Sister C in the bathroom and make her sing songs to her crushes.
4. In middle school, during orchestra practice, I stuffed a ball of ice in the bell of a mean boy’s saxophone. When he played it, the ice flew out and hit the conductor.
5. I met Husband in a bar called Prohibition.
6. I secretly (okay not-so-secretly) dream of being on Oprah.
7. When I get sad, I picture a tiny Barack Obama in a Baby Bjorn and begin to laugh. (Try this with anyone whom you deeply respect!)
8. My godfather is George W.’s first cousin.
9. I have tons of family in Kansas.
10. At one point, I owned well over a hundred pairs of jeans.

Okay, now for my seven nominees for the Honest Scrap Award. I am going to continue with the trend of tapping folks who are either rookies like I am, or whose blogs are more boutiques than big businesses. Each blog has a unique flavor, style, and substance. But each writer is talented and, yes, brimming with honesty and sincerity.

(1) Lindsey of A Design So Vast

(2) Yelena of Did I Really Move to Greenwich?

(3) Allison of life: unqualified

(4) Sarah & Jen of Momalom

(5) Anne & Elizabeth of Life in Pencil

(6) Kat of Unfettered Youth

(7) Kari of Persistent Cookie.

______________________

Danielle-Lee – Thanks again for this amazing award and the opportunity to pass it along to the aforementioned scrappy souls!

There comes the strangest moment in your life,
when everything you thought before breaks free–
what you relied upon, as ground-rule and as rite
looks upside-down from how it used to be.

These are NOT my words. They belong to another woman. A living and breathing and talented poet.

Okay. This right here is prime evidence of my neuroses and my inability to take a break. Why, you ask? At 6:43pm this evening, I posted this wonderful poem, the first stanza of which is quoted above. I indicated very clearly that the poem was not my work, but that of poet Kate Light. And I even included a hot link to Kate’s website.

I did this because: (1) I love the poem; (2) I am tired; (3) I love the poem. The poem is about the beauty and strangeness of change. About that moment when the world suddenly seems upside down, when the brain starts shedding cells and evolving, when questions abound. Truth be told, I don’t know exactly what the poem is about, but I love it anyway. Actually, I think I love it because of its concurrent clarity and opaqueness. The point is that I love the poem and I was feeling lazy and wanted to go to the gym and relax instead of producing a blog post. So I did.

And doing so made me feel good. Great, even. Why? Because I felt changed. Old school Aidan would have tortured herself over a soliloquy of a Sunday night post, but new school Aidan was about balance and limits and self-love. How perfect that I had posted a poem about change and doing so made me feel changed! Awesome.

Not so fast. A few hours later, back from the gym (I lasted twenty-seven minutes and stopped for ice cream on the way home – go me), I was suddenly super concerned about the law of fair use (a law with which I am reasonably well-acquainted because of legal permissions I had to procure for LIFE AFTER YES). All of a sudden, I was awash in guilt that I had burned 237 calories and eaten 1064 posted Kate Light’s entire poem on my site. Paranoid that I had done something wrong. Immoral. Borderline evil.

And no. No one would have known. No one would have cared. No one would have come after me. But, hey, I’m a writer and a lawyer and I should respect copyright laws and intellectual property fences even if I have a less than perfect sense of what those laws are and where those fences stand.

So, pathetically honorably, like a good girl, I removed the poem from my site and left that lonely stanza up top. And then I typed these words you are reading now which sadly commingle on your bright screen, confirming something you probably already know: I like to worry. For me, it is a hobby. I look for things to worry about. And I find them. They are everywhere. Waiting to burrow into my consciousness and make me spin.

Ah, change. Is it possible? Will I always choose to angst over nothing? To trade in life’s periods for question marks?

Who knows. What I do know is that you should read this poem now if you haven’t already done so. And then you should write me a comment about how, yes, change is not only beautiful and strange, but is possible. And then you should tell me that it is plain cute and utterly human that I worry so much and fetch ice cream on the way back from the gym.

Wow. This was almost the first day without a post. Every single day since April 10 of this year, I have published a blog post. I say this: (1) to brag; (2) to remind you of just how crazy I am.

And I almost didn’t post today. Not because I had some earth-shattering epiphany about taking a break or keeping weekends to myself. No. Because I had such a good day. An amazing day. In contrast to yesterday which was a bit emotionally layered, today was pure and nothing but sweet. I almost forgot to blog.

That for me is amazing.

But I didn’t forget. Here I am. Dare I say, happy. No, not purely happy in a paridigmatic Platonic way, but happy in a this-was-a-glittering-gem-of-a-day way. I know. You are probably like: What happened to our endearingly insecure professor. Where did she go?

I assure you it’s me. Don’t worry. Tomorrow is Sunday and I’ll be back to my sulking.

Today there was a philosophical fire in my own living room. It was so hot, it was white. All I can say is that this woman is gold and she sat in that big, winged arm chair in my living room where the toys are usually piled high, speaking in simple sentences about her life, and how she got from There to Here, and scattering inspirations over a diverse group of eager apprentices. Women (and one great man) who are following different and obscure and fascinating career paths. Women (and one great man) whom I look forward to getting to know more down the line. This woman made everything seem soothingly simple. I love her for this. And then I had the pure joy of sharing guacamole with her at a neighborhood haunt.

And, on top of that, I met this chick. She and I have struck up a friendship online. A deepish one. Hey, I even wrote her a public birthday card. And each of us has been wary about calling the other a true friend because our encounter has been of the virtual breed. But today I met her. In person. We sat on opposite sides of the room, rookies with rough and regal ideas incubating, many books inside us waiting to be born, nodding our heads. And then, after the two of us shared the aforementioned glorious guac with Lady Danielle, we had a drink at one of my favorite spots. An old school face-to-face encounter. And we realized what we’ve known implicitly all along: we are good friends.

And now. Now, I sit here. Waiting for Husband to return from his well-deserved run. Husband who graciously spent a straight nine hours with our baby girls so I could have my day. He is a good man. Better than a good man. And he is my man. And apres run and shower, we will go on a date in the neighborhood.

For those of you who were worried that I was a bit rough around the edges yesterday, thank you for your concern and understanding.

But today is new day. A different day. A divine one.