Oh, this day. I jolted out of bed to an alarm that came much sooner after I’d set it than what is fair. My work calendar stretched out before me looked like a violent act. There would be no space, so writing must happen at home, I knew.
But then the clock revealed that I was too late. I had to go. The thirty-fourth floor inside the concrete slab awaited me, and not patiently.
As a child, I often watched Sally Jessy Raphael, or more accurately, her giant red glasses. I could never get enough of what Sally had to say. She had that knowing look, augmented by those red-framed practically-binoculars on her face. She was a woman who took no guff and had the frames to prove it.
One day, Sally featured stay-at-home moms on her show. One guest said most days she had so much to do that she couldn’t get to the bathroom until the end of the day. Sally lowered her glasses, shot the woman an incredulous look, and commenced her “no way is that true!” interrogation.
Since starting my own law firm in 2017, I’ve thought about the woman on Sally’s show and deeply understood her—not often, but also not infrequently. These days, she’s on my mind a lot. Too many people need me, and so much of that need is the infancy stage. I’m developing them. I’m tending to them. They are growing. But they still need me every second, and it’s a little bit rough.
You might say it is both heaven and hell. I want to build this team, this place, this firm. I want to create an environment for people to come to, where we all work together, where we laugh and support each other and work out our misunderstandings.
But first, I want to sleep. When does that happen? I’ve known since childhood that going to the bathroom was out of the question. But Sally’s guest didn’t say anything about sleep.