Getting (dis)Oriented — part 1

Sunday, August 13th. I can’t sleep. Every time I blink the seconds blur past me in the form of another hour. Nerves keep me awake. How can orientation already be tomorrow? Wishing for slumber only pushes it further away. The last time I remember checking my phone it was 2AM, and not even four hours later I’ve beaten my alarm clock to breakfast.

I’m getting ready for school but my mind is scattered. Juggling the preparation of breakfast with the application of makeup, there are close calls where brush and spatula are almost confused. As an undergrad, I remember the BART delays that left me sprinting to Berkeley. I was late to my own graduation. Now, I’m running through the rooms of my apartment, eager to be on time for once, but incapable of remembering why I entered said room until I leave it.

This goes on all morning.

I’m a student again. They call me a 1L, which refers both to the first year of law school as well as to first year students. Thus far this experience has consisted of surviving orientation, an Intro to Law and Legal Reasoning exam, the first day of classes, and buying a dictionary thick enough to support a small building.

Mostly I just don’t know what to expect. I’ve heard the 1L horror stories. Even in orientation the Dean of Admissions emphasized the stress and struggle to come.

“There will be times when you’ll feel like you don’t know why you’re here,” said the Dean, “It’s going to be tough, it’s going to be difficult. It’ll happen.”

Upperclassmen add on that we’ll hate reading and mumble, “Good luck, I’ll pray for you.”

While most schools cover orientation in a day, ours lasts from Monday to Friday. It includes daily homework assignments and culminates in our first exam. Perhaps an indicator of the intensity to follow?

Running through the tips and the tricks I’ve collected about surviving 1L, my first walk to campus feels surreal.

It’s sunny, but the warmth I feel is exuding from inside. Leaving the parking lot I cross a bridge that curves through a looming forest of vibrant green trees and matching grass. They have summer here. Bunny rabbits (seriously) frolic alongside me before scampering across the pavement. It’s like life is saying right this way.

At this point, I’m on the verge of breaking out into dramatic Disney song and dance. The birds are chirping a whimsical melody when I realize I’m reaching for the door of the law school. My fingers graze the metallic handle and I’m surprised by a tingling that runs up my arm and through my chest. As I grasp the door of the future, I’m flooded by the journey of my past.

I see myself six years ago, just starting college and excited for my first “real” job. I’m coaching toddlers at Gymtowne Gymnastics, followed by late evenings of hot chocolate over homework at a 24-hour Starbucks.

I’m thinking back to the uncertainty I felt about how taking time off would impact my ability to return to school, and then the gratitude when it led to the most adventurous years of my life so far.

I’m hearing my family toast the “old, new year” yet again as we wait for midnight in Tahoe, eager to pop champagne in the snow. While they sit at the table, I’m on the couch, finger hovering over the submit button for my final law school application.

*Click*

Now I see my reflection facing me in the door of my next step, trying to anticipate the trek ahead while imagining myself on the other side of it.