All We Have to Give is Ourselves

Once again, I attended my favorite conference of the year – the Association of Family and Conciliation Courts Conference. This year was the organization’s 50^th birthday, and it was amazing to see and learn how far family law has come in the past 50 years. Even when I think about all the work we still have to do, it is sobering and awe-inspiring to realize exactly how far we have come as a “system.” 

As longtime readers may remember, this is the conference where I first taught yoga after my yoga teacher training finished. I was scheduled to teach again this year, but my back made that impossible this year. But as hard as it was for me not to teach, I felt great that someone else took up the reins, and the tradition continued. While I know yoga is taking the country, and professional settings, by storm, it was extra special to see that this particular community, the one to which I am so grateful and owe so much, loves the idea enough to continue the tradition even when I am not involved. I just hope that next year I get to teach again!

But this conference, and a discussion I had following it with a friend, really got me thinking about how we offer ourselves to our communities, our jobs, and our “systems.” It fits nicely with the theme of the last post - Facing Our Powerlessness. These conferences are always inspiring. They remind me why it is I do the work I do, why I choose to be a lawyer. But there is an underlying notion that we can never do enough. I work in family and juvenile law, and the truth is that divorce, custody fights (I don’t like that word), and child welfare are always going to be difficult for families. The truth is that we may never be able, as professionals, to do enough to make these systems completely non-traumatic.

And some of the systems are more broken than others. Sometimes I wonder if the legal system does more harm than good. Deep down, I am pretty sure it does not, but I wonder. But it is in those moments of concern for the children and families that I realize the most important lesson – I may work for the rest of my career to make the systems better. I may attend conferences, learn new techniques, and perhaps one day even create new programs. But at the end of the day, I cannot offer the perfect system for every child and family. None of us can.

But that is where the yoga becomes the most important. And no, I do not mean asana, though that has its place as well. I mean the internal yoga, the compassion we learn each time we stop and take a breath. Yoga has its benefits in terms of stress reduction. Some people use yoga as exercise. But the greatest gift we get from yoga is relearning how to engage with ourselves and others.

Yoga teaches us to be truly present. One of the common themes of conferences is that we must remind ourselves as professionals that even though we see case after case every single day, for the individuals we serve, this is their only interaction with the court system. While stories may sound familiar to us, to the people telling those stories, they are unique and personal. And how we respond to that is how we help these children and families.

And if I have learned anything from the yoga teaching situation at the conference, it is that we never know where our influence will end. Even when the system is not perfect, every piece of research I have seen is that people feel there has been due process if they have had the time to tell their story – if they feel heard. Through yoga, we learn to listen to our bodies, begin to quiet our minds, and feel some sense of calm in the face of storms. Translating that to listening to the people we serve, regardless of the situations in which we find ourselves – even the grocery store – means we are serving people in the best way we can.

Changing systems that need work is a great goal. It is work that must be done. But in the meantime, when the waters are rough, and the end is not clear, we always have ourselves to give. And for that, yoga is the perfect opportunity to learn to offer ourselves.

How does yoga help you in your daily interactions off the mat?

Namaste.

© Rebecca Stahl 2013, all rights reserved.

The post, All We Have to Give is Ourselves, first appeared on Is Yoga Legal.

When Crises Leads to Trauma

The word lawyer has a lot of connotations in the non-legal community. Our reputation is created by daytime television ads, television drama, famous trials, and stand-up comedians. There is, however, on aspect of lawyering that seems to have evaded notice by the general populace. The legal profession, as a whole, is unhappy. This is not true of all lawyers, and it is not even necessarily true of the majority of lawyers. But there is something about lawyering that leads to a higher rate of depression and substance abuse than the general populace. 


But why?


I started thinking about this again because a friend of mine posted a really depressing article about lawyer depression on facebook. It is called, “Broken hearted idealists,” and it is written by a Kentucky Supreme Court Justice. It is absolutely worth reading, and here is the link. The article starts with a friend of the author’s committing suicide, the fourth of his friends in “recent years.”

His thesis is simple. Many lawyers go to law school to change the world, but it is not as easy as we had hoped. Instead, lawyers deal with crises, one after another. I have written about this before numerous times, but I think he explains it well.

Lawyers—most of them—are heroic. You go home at night with your problems. They go home with the problems of many. And then they deal with their own personal problems— sick children, an alcoholic spouse, or a parent who is deep in Alzheimer’s—layered over by the demands of clients and judges and other lawyers.

But worst of all for practicing lawyers is the sinking feeling which settles upon them that in all the struggles, in the thick of battle, it all amounts to nothing. The growing suspicion that all that they do makes no difference. . . . But they lose purpose. They lose hope.

The article is full of the statistics about depression and substance abuse in the lawyer population, but unfortunately, the author provides no solutions. This article ends dark and sad for those of us in this profession.

I will admit it; I went to law school to change a system I think is slowly changing for the better but needs to move at a much more rapid pace. I went to law school specifically to give children a voice. A real voice. And after six months, I often go home at night wondering whether I have done anything worthwhile. Nearly all my clients are in some form of acute crisis, or else they would not need a lawyer. 

What most people call burnout from dealing with clients in crisis day after day has another name – Second hand trauma or vicarious trauma. This concept has graced this blog before, but it needs some more discussion. It needs some more depth. Why here? Why in a blog?

Yoga is one of the best ways to overcome trauma, whether first hand or second hand. The universe has been sharing a lot of yoga blogs about trauma with me recently. Here is a link to a series on Trauma Sensitive Yoga, and here is another link to an interview by someone who teaches trauma yoga therapy (with links to other articles on teaching yoga to people with PTSD). In addition, a Tucsonan (I have to give Tucson a shout-out once in awhile) has written a book called, Yoga for Depression and teaches her techniques around the world. This is but the smallest introduction to a topic that is bursting at the seams.

Lying in savasana one night during my yoga teacher training, I was extremely relaxed and thought, “lawyers need this,” and this blog was born. But as it has grown over the past 2.5 years, something has changed. Yoga for lawyers is not just about learning to relax. It is not just about learning to sit at a desk. There is little that is easy about being a lawyer. We interact with people in crisis all day long. And we need an outlet.

Most of the lawyers I know really do want to be doing great work. They really do want to be helping people in crisis. They really do care about the people they serve. But it is difficult to face their crises every day without some balance, and unfortunately for many lawyers that means mind-altering substances. 

But it does not have to mean that. So with that, I am announcing a new series on this blog called, “Overcoming Crisis Mode.” Several older posts probably qualify, but going forward there will be new ideas from around the world of Vicarious Trauma experts and Yogis alike. I am tired of reading articles about the depressed legal profession and the suicides it is causing (the article here is not, by any means, the first I have read). Not all lawyers are depressed. Not all lawyers abuse substances. And most lawyers enjoy the work they do. 

Together, we can learn to give to our clients and take care of ourselves all at the same time.

How do you notice your clients’ crises becoming yours? Do you tend to get pulled into the darker areas of your being? Has yoga helped before?

Namaste!

© Rebecca Stahl 2012, all rights reserved.

When Crisis Leads to Trauma is part of the Series, “Overcoming Crisis Mode,” in which we discuss the second-hand trauma associated with being a lawyer and specific ways to overcome it. 

Coming Home to Yoga and the Law

I have been back in the United States exactly six months today. That is more than half as long as I was in New Zealand. This past week, however, was the first time I truly felt like I was back at home. It was, once again, where law and yoga mixed for me. It was the annual Association of Family and Conciliation Courts conference. This conference has always been my inspiration in law, but two years ago it became the first place I taught yoga after my teacher training had ended. Teaching yoga there this year was a coming home of sorts - a reminder of why yoga and law are so interconnected in my world.

I have written often about the power of conferences. I cannot say it enough. I love them. I love the energy, the community, the learning, the discussion, and the connections. This year, I talked to people from the United States, Canada, South Africa, Australia, Israel, and New Zealand, and there were people from many other countries with whom I simply failed to engage (there were 1300 people at the conference). I learned about topics as diverse as attachment theory and mediation guidelines. I presented a workshop about my thesis. And I taught yoga.

About the only thing I did not do was sleep . . . but more on that in another post.

Two years ago when I taught yoga at this same conference, I had to teach one day in a suit. I was meeting a judge for breakfast immediately following yoga, and it was the day I was presenting, so I had to look nice. The point I made to everyone there was that yoga can be done anywhere. At the time, that was my symbol of the interconnectedness of yoga and the law in my life. This year, I did not have to be in a suit, but we were on the bottom floor, in the back corner, on the other side of the hotel from the rest of the conference. The first part of the practice was staying calm finding the room, but the rest of the practice was a reminder to me. This year, the interconnectedness was about coming home to who I am, and honestly, the reason this blog exists at all. 

Once we all gathered together, we had a family. We practiced together and then shared the conference.  For me, that is the entire point. Each morning, we set an intention. I offered one for the class each day, and I hope each person set their own as well. The final day’s intention was to open our hearts and take all we had learned over the past few days back to our own communities. It was about taking the home we had created at the conference to the homes in which we live each and every day.

For me, the intentions did not end in the yoga class. They permeated the entire conference. They continue to permeate my reentry into lawyering. For me, this is why I practice yoga in the morning. I have gone to evening classes, and I enjoy them, but rarely, if ever, do I practice on my own in the evenings. The mornings are an opportunity to set an intention for the day and for our lives. They are about coming home to ourselves before setting out for the day.

This conference was a reminder of all of that, a reminder of the power created when yoga and law intersect. Together, they can inspire each other, and together they can help each be reinvented. The inspiration and the rejuvenation of a conference, complete with yoga, cannot be beat.

Yoga at a conference is the moment when, for me, life makes the most sense. I got my legal professional start through AFCC, and I love the organization and the people involved in it. As I mentioned above, it is also the first place I taught yoga. These two aspects of who I am began with AFCC, and coming back to them this year helped me understand that once again. The people in AFCC are friends and colleagues, and their presence and brilliance inspire me daily. This is a moment of gratitude to the people who made this past week possible. Not only were their ideas amazing, but teaching yoga is something I have missed doing. It was great to be back and great to share it. I was reminded how important it is to me.

Thank you for the homecoming AFCC. Until next time . . . 

Where do you go when you need rejuvenation? Does your profession rejuvenate you? How do you incorporate yoga into that process? Is there something missing from your life you know would help bring you home?

Namaste!

© Rebecca Stahl 2012, all rights reserved.

Forging A Path

Two paths diverged in a wood, and I –

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

--The Road Not Taken, by Robert Frost

The Road Not Taken is one of my favorite poems of all time, and it has graced this blog before. Ironically, as I have mentioned before, my life has always felt like a predetermined path. It always just felt as though the next step was laid out before me, and I followed it. The next thing I knew, I was a practicing lawyer doing work I find interesting and exhilarating, while learning to integrate all the yoga teachings I have learned over the years.

This week marks my first week away from work since January, when I went to a conference on child maltreatment. This week, I am attending my favorite conference of the year; the conference two years ago changed my life in innumerable ways. But before the conference, I am visiting a friend in Bloomington, Indiana. It has been a surprisingly lovely little town, full of good food, trees, and a great friend.

It is also home to the Tibetan Mongolian Buddhist Cultural Center. Their website says that on the first Sunday of every month, they have an Introduction to Tibetan Buddhism session. It sounded interesting, so we decided to head over there. When we arrived, however, no one had any clue what we were talking about. But the grounds were beautiful, and there is a wee walking path, so we decided to take a walk in the woods.

As much as I would like to discuss trees, this post is actually not about trees in any way. It is about paths.

Walking through the woods at the Cultural Center, I started to think about the fact that we were on a set path. It was well marked, with little yellow, plastic flags, and even some yellow spray paint on some trees. I started ruminating on what it means to be on a life path versus a path in the woods. I found it slightly ironic that I was on such a well-marked path at a Buddhist retreat center.

Although people talk about being on a Buddhist path or a meditation path or a yoga path, there are no little plastic flags along the way. There are teachers, and there are people who have traveled before, but each path is unique to the individual on it. No two paths will look the same, and there is no specific goal at the end.

Being a lawyer, or any professional, is much the same. It used to be true that you would get out of law school, start working in a law firm, and stay there the rest of your life. On a similar vein, when my step-dad quit working for General Motors in Flint, Michigan, people thought he was crazy; just a few years later, the plant closed, and everyone who thought they had a job for life was out of work. Today, the average lawyer changes jobs five times over the course of a career, and that means many are changing several more times. Being a lawyer is about building and learning along the way, about finding the best way to serve the most clients. Just like the Buddhist path, there are teachers and mentors to guide our decisions, but at the end of the day, the path is our own. It is unique to each and every one of us.

A lack of set path is exciting. It means we each can wander and branch out in our own individual ways and find the work that inspires us to be our best. It can also be terrifying. There are all sorts of "what if?" moments, and we never know for sure if we are going to enjoy the next stage. It can be just as scary as being lost in the woods. 

But "the one less traveled by” is not "the one no one can help you understand." It is not a path upon which you can ask for no guidance; it is simply the one unique to you. As I walked off the path at the Cultural Center, I noticed we ended up right back where we started. I sort of chuckled to myself, thinking, “We know exactly where we will end up on the predetermined path, and we will not get very far." This can be great for getting back to your car to go home. It may not work so well as a life path. On that one, I plan to forge the new road ahead. 

And that, my friends, is what this week’s conference is about. But more on that when it starts. What about you? Where do you diverge from the set path?

Namaste!

© Rebecca Stahl 2012, all rights reserved.

The Honeymoon vs. The Learning Curve

Yoga starts with a honeymoon phase. It seems that people who really start yoga (as opposed to those who go for one class and decide it is not for them) simply fall in love with the practice. It begins to define their being. There was a great article about that honeymoon phase, and the end of the honeymoon phase, over on Yoga Dork last week.

The author notes, quite correctly in my experience, that there will be days we just do not feel like doing the practice. There will be times we need to take a break, sometimes because the practice has lost something and sometimes because we ignore the practice so much we hurt ourselves. But her point is that like any relationship, there comes a point when the magic feels like it is gone. But it is the initial bliss that sets the stage for the continuing relationship in the future.

The legal profession, from the day we set foot in law school, is sort of the opposite of the honeymoon phase of a yoga practice. From that very first day, we talk about the steep learning curve, about learning to “think like a lawyer” (which, as someone pointed out to me recently, is grammatically incorrect). But those first few weeks and months in law school are nothing compared to the first few weeks and months in practice.

I have now been practicing for almost five months. I have been studying how to be a lawyer for children for the past 5-7 years. I taught kids English in France, and I was a camp counselor for years. My dad is a child custody evaluator, and discussions about family law and juvenile law issues were the topic of many a dinner-table conversations. In other words, I had quite a solid foundation for this work. And yet . . . The learning curve is steeper than anything I have ever before experienced.

And at times, it feels overwhelming . . . overwhelming on the grandest scale.

Interestingly, the cure for both the end of the honeymoon phase and the overwhelming nature of a steep learning curve can be the same – returning to the passion of what brought you there in the first place. This can be extremely difficult when we are stuck in a rut. It can seem pointless when the honeymoon phase has ended. The greatness that was the beginning of the practice might be nothing but a distant memory, a memory you can barely rely on as truth anymore. The exhilaration that brought you to a legal practice (or any profession) that now seems so maddeningly overwhelming can feel like nothing more than pipe dreams of a distant age.

But the good news is that neither of those is the truth. Those belief structures are the rut and the overwhelm speaking for our true understanding. The joy and exhilaration of a practice are always there. They are sometimes more difficult to find than at other times, but they always exist.

Sometimes we just have to look from a new perspective. And what I have learned this weekend is that the new perspective can be that place of rut / overwhelm. The difficulty of the path, wherever that path began, is what deepens the passion that brought us there in the first place. The honeymoon phase, while perhaps exciting, is not the fullest and most complete part of a relationship. The overwhelm of the steep learning curve eventually goes away and first year law students and associates eventually become mentors.

In the moment of the rut and overwhelm, hearing that is difficult. Deep down, we all know it, but stepping on the mat, or into a courtroom, can be difficult in those moments. But the new perspective on the passion and inspiration that began the path and the practice can be our strength to step back in the game.

What I find most interesting about this dynamic is that regardless of how the practice begins – either a honeymoon or a steep and difficult learning curve, the bump in the road is the same. But the bump is just a bump. It is not a brick wall. And that is a lesson both yoga and the law have taught me, and continue to teach me when I’m willing to listen.

How have you seen this play out in your life?

Namaste!

© Rebecca Stahl 2012, all rights reserved.

Theory and Practice

I’m a practicing lawyer. Somehow, this statement still sometimes takes me by surprise. Until yesterday, however, I could not really put into words why it has felt so strange. And then it hit me . . . while doing yoga, of course. For years, I have been preparing to be a lawyer. For all those years, I have been studying the work I do now. And now, all of a sudden, I am actually doing it.

Interestingly, I have stopped doing as much yoga. It is easy to blame that on a lack of time. I work a lot. And when I am not working, I am catching up on reading, or I am making dinner, or I am sleeping. But lack of time is not really the answer. I get up early enough every day to do at least a short practice, and very often I just do not do it. 

But why? What is it about doing that is, all of a sudden, so difficult?

It is no secret that I am an academic at heart. I loved law school, went to NZ to learn more, and eventually want to work in policy or teach. Even in yoga, I greatly miss teaching. All of my mentors, however, have told me that I cannot do the policy and teaching until I actually practice law. I agree. So here I am. I enjoy the work. After all, it is what I went to law school to do. But it is definitely outside of my comfort zone. I was a student, a teacher, or doing academic-like research and writing for 25 years (preschool excluded). Being in my head, away from the practice itself, is my comfort zone.

But what does any of this have to do with yoga?

The times I have had the most solid yoga practice were the times I was studying for the bar exam, working at the Court of Appeals, and while writing a thesis. Those were the times in my life I was most living in my head as part of my day job. Yoga was the counterbalance to that world. It was my “doing” in a life of “theory” and learning. Yoga Teacher Training was a time where yoga was both. I studied the doing and the theory of yoga together. I read everything I could find about yoga, and I had a daily practice as well. It was during those 9 months that my yoga practice felt the most complete. It is also when I started writing this blog. Yoga, like law, has both sides. You can study all day long, but there is a practical side, what we usually see in studios and yoga classes.

In yoga classes, from asana to meditation, yoga is about being present, watching the monkey mind, but not getting caught up in it. Being a practicing lawyer, by contrast, is all about getting caught in that monkey mind. On that level, therefore, yoga and law balance one another. At a different level, however, they are both a balance between theory and practice. They are both a practice, and it is the doing of the practice that makes the theory worthwhile. They both require doing in order to test the theory we all espouse. 

There is a major tension (call it a chasm) between those who practice law and those who write about how to practice law from the comforts of their academic offices. Law schools are being pushed to change their teaching methods to become more practical. They are being ridiculed for failing to teach students how to actually be a lawyer rather than just think like a lawyer. I get that argument, but I still get excited about presentations on being a lawyer and books on how to practice yoga.

And this is where the yoga lesson hit me. Yoga teaches us about balance. That means a lot more than learning to stand on one foot. For the legal profession, and I am pretty sure most professions, that also means finding a balance between theory and practice. I think we all have a lot to learn from one another. In that time of balance between theory and practice in my yoga life, I thought the chasm I would have to overcome would be the one between yoga and law. Funny how now, I find myself out of my comfort zone in both for the exact same reason. Perhaps it is time to turn back to that lesson of balance -- the balance between theory and practice and finally bridge the chasm that has defined so much of the world for years.

Where do you find yourself on this spectrum of theory and practice? Do you see it in your profession? Do you see it in your yoga? What do you do about it? Honestly, I am looking for ideas, so thoughts and comments are greatly welcome.

Namaste!

© Rebecca Stahl 2012, all rights reserved.

Back to basics . . . Again

"In the beginner’s mind there are many possibilities, in the expert’s mind there are few.” – Suzuki Roshi from, Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind

I found the above quote in an article about Steve Jobs’s connection to Buddhism. The point of that quote in the article was to illuminate how Steve Job's genius manifested. He never let what was already in existence deter him from finding something better. The article, of course, also discusses how a student of Buddhism treated his employees as Steve Jobs did, but that is not the point of this post.

As I have mentioned before, there is something special about the beginner’s mind. When we let go of the need to know everything and open our eyes to all the possibilities, what previously seemed impossible becomes possible. If we think we know everything, then there is no opportunity to learn more, and our world-view becomes limiting.

The last post discussed what the Easter/Passover season means, and along with those themes, it is spring -- the perfect opportunity to start anew. It is a time to let go of any of our preconceived notions about the world and see the possibilities that exist. To me, this is the interesting piece about where the Passover story ends. It ends with the escape from Egypt. It does not go on to talk about the 40 years wandering the desert.

But those 40 years are where the learning takes place. Those 40 years are the beginner’s mind and an absolute expanse of possibility. The Middle East desert is nothing if not an expanse of possibility. It is one of the most beautiful places I have ever been . . . and I lived in New Zealand for 10 months.

A view of the desert from the top of Masada at Sunrise.

 It is very easy for all of us to think we have the answers. It is easy for us to think we are experts, especially about our own lives. Being sure is safer than questioning and being open to possibilities. Choice can be paralyzing (link to a TED talk on the paradox of choice). But it also holds the key to that which we may never have deemed possible.

Yoga helps us remember that each moment is a chance to learn something new. There is always a new muscle to discover, a new technique to learn, or a new posture to practice. And it is called a practice for a reason. People have a meditation practice; they do not master meditation. Similarly, doctors and lawyers have practices. On some level, they understand that if they believe too strongly in their “expertise,” they will miss the full story.

I find that the most exciting part of being a lawyer. Every day is different, even if from the outside it looks like I am doing the same thing. It is easy to generalize and lump cases together, but the truth is that every individual client is just that . . . an individual. Their story is a clean slate, and I know nothing about it before walking through the door to meet them. Sometimes that is literally true, and while frustrating at times, in many ways it allows me to be completely open to possibilities. How can I be an expert on a person I know nothing about?

Thus, there is a story beyond the excitement and freedom of breaking free of slavery. To me, the story suggests something bigger. We are slaves to our “expertise.” It is when we let our minds be blank slates like the sun rising over the expansive desert that the greatest possibilities for our lives emerge. It is easy to lose track of that sense of emptiness in the modern world, and yoga provides the tools to bring us back. Meditation and asana are about calming the mind and coming back to the present moment, the moment when anything is possible.

Are you ready to break free and be open to the possibilities that await?

Namaste!

© Rebecca Stahl 2012, all rights reserved.

A Future for Others

Today is my 30^th birthday.

Generally speaking, I give no thought to birthdays. I have nothing against them, nor do I particularly care about having a special day. They are, however, a good time to stop and reflect about where we are in life, a time we have to reflect personally rather than big changes we share with others, e.g., graduations, new jobs, etc. Additionally, there are several reasons why this birthday stands out for me. 

First, I am one of the few people I know who is excited to turn 30. I think I was ready to be 30 when I was about 10, so I finally feel my age. It is also happening as I begin a new job and the first one that could be a career if I wanted it to be. It is also a decade birthday, in which we tend to think back on the past decade and reflect. 

My first thought upon reflection was, “what happened to a decade?!?!?!” After getting over the initial shock of realizing that it was ten years ago, not ten weeks ago, that I was living in a dorm at the University of Michigan, I have had some time to really think about what I have done this past decade and what I hope to do over the next one.

Briefly, my twenties went as follows: college, during which I studied abroad in France; teaching English in France; law school; learning to do yoga; working at the Pima County Superior Court; working at the Arizona Court of Appeals; becoming a yoga teacher; and getting an LLM in New Zealand. Of course there are other things, but those are the big highlights. I am struck by two things based upon that list: 1) I have been incredibly blessed, and 2) I have been fairly focused on myself.

Our society has a negative view of focusing too much on yourself. People who focus only on themselves can be seen as selfish and egotistical. One of the most difficult lessons, therefore, for me to learn from yoga was that we must take care of ourselves before we can be of service to others. We must feel secure in our own skins before trying to exist in this world, and we need to fill our own reserves, or we will have nothing left to offer others. As someone once said to me, "the heart pumps blood to itself first."

It was a difficult lesson to learn, but there is no question that I have spent a decade doing just that. All my travels, combined with the yoga, have taught me so much about who I am, what I value, and how I want to move forward. At times I felt too selfish, but deep down I knew I was preparing for something bigger and better. Interestingly, I ended up just where everyone seemed to think I would end up, but now I know I have done it on purpose rather than because someone said I should.

But what does this mean for the next ten years? It means that it is time to turn my focus to the external. This does not mean I plan to stop meditating, practicing, or even traveling; in fact those remain necessary for this next step. But it also means that it is time to use those reserves and all that information for the world. To be totally honest, I am a bit embarrassed by the list of my twenties. I feel like I could have done so much more for other people. But I also know that I can sit with people who have had to call the police on their own children or with drug addicts who have neglected their own children and feel sympathy and compassion without feeling like I have to run for my life. Some days are, of course, easier than others, but hopefully my ten years of selfish can lead to a decade of paying it forward.

And so I make this pledge in public. We all know that the best way to fulfill a promise is to ensure you are held accountable, and the best way to do that is to make it public.

Thirty seems so young and so quick, but also like a turning point. I have been incredibly blessed and have learned many lessons along the way. I know that going forward there will be days I choose myself over others, but I pledge to do it consciously and do it in order to ensure that I can be at my best when others need me. Perhaps this is one of the best ways yoga and the law intersect. It is through yoga that we strengthen our reserves to be of service to our clients and the world. 

Thank you all for sharing this journey with me, for supporting me, and for holding me accountable. I hope this blog can be a piece of my living for others. I hope it provides you with some insights and ideas about yourselves and the world in which we live, and most especially about how to take the time for yourself to be at your best at all times. Many thanks, and hopefully many more celebrations together.

Namaste!

© Rebecca Stahl 2012, all rights reserved.

Getting Away

We have all heard the phrase “stop and smell the roses.” But who actually does it? How often do we stop and notice as the world changes around us? How often do we notice the minutiae of the world?

I was raised Jewish, so this time of year has always been a time of reflection for me. While I do not follow most Jewish traditions (it was my rabbi, after all, who first recommended the book, That’s Funny, You Don’t Look Buddhist, about a Jewish woman who became a Buddhist), I do take the lessons of the New Year and Yom Kippur seriously. If for no other reason, they are a time to reflect.

Last year, I made a mistake. I scheduled my first-ever “Stress Management for Lawyers” seminar on Yom Kippur. A little mishap on my Google Calendar, and my own ignorance, were to blame, but I felt awful about it, not to mention the irony of working and teaching about stress management on a day that is supposed to be devoid of all work. Ooops.

So this year I decided I was going to get away for Yom Kippur. I am usually unable to fast from food for physical reasons, but there is little doubt of my most intense addiction. It is, of course, attachment to the internet. While I struggle with how much of the news to read and know, I also incessantly check my email on my phone and pop up facebook whenever I can. I even tweet, though that comes and goes.

But sometimes the universe works out right. I finished the entire rough draft of my thesis last week, and I knew I could get away for a few days. It just happened to be over Yom Kippur as well. So, I decided to head to Queenstown, the “adventure capital of the world!” My only adventure tourism was paragliding, but I got away from work, and Saturday, Yom Kippur, I stayed off the internet for more than 24 hours. Getting away from everything proved to be exactly what I needed.

It felt great. Absolutely wonderful, in fact.

Spring here in New Zealand apparently means still wearing a winter coat, but the trees and plants know it is spring, and they show it in all their glory. And for the first time in years, I took the time to pay attention. I do not mean just the flowers appearing, though the tulips and daffodils have been amazing. I mean watching the buds on trees turning into leaves, and the emerging pine cones. I mean literally stopping to smell the air as the flowers bring forth all their glorious scents.

But there was more than stopping and staring at flowers and leaves. There were hours of hiking and just sitting and looking at beautiful scenery. Early in the morning, I sat on the beach and watched the sun rise shedding its light on the Remarkables, the mountains looming over lake Wakatipu. At some point my shoulders dropped away from my ears. My breath began to slow and deepen. And my mind began to focus. 

There is no other way to say it, getting away did some good.

I was worried about turning off the internet. I was worried about being out of communication for a full day. I was worried about the massive amount of information to which I would return. And then I sat by a tree, staring out over a lake toward the Remarkables. All those concerns slipped away. The beauty of the mountain released me from my grip on myself. The "forced" fast gave me the perspective once again. Of course, I knew before being in Queenstown how much I love trees and mountains, but I had been striving so hard to live in two days at a time because New Zealand is a day ahead of the United States that I had forgotten how to live in the present. Mountains do not let you forget. Spring does not let you forget. 

The greatest lesson I want to learn from yoga, and in turn share with others, is how to use the tools in everyday life. I want to learn to sit at a desk breathing as well as I did on that mountain. I know it is possible. But I also know that modern life, especially a lawyer’s life, means cities. It means being indoors, carrying sweaters in summer because the air conditioning is too cold, and going days, weeks, and perhaps months without noticing the world’s changing patterns. Thus, sometimes we need to refill our coffers and remind ourselves what it means to truly stop, breathe, and reflect.

Then we can get back to work, the choice many of us make, using the tools to hold onto that essence for just a little bit longer. On this vacation, I found my breath again, not just my breath, but a deep, solid breath. But more than that, I remembered to stop and look at how amazing this world is and reflect on the beauty from which we so often hide behind our computer screens. It was through this fast that I was truly filled with the wonder of the world. 

Do you remember to get away? What do you learn from it?

Namaste!

© Rebecca Stahl 2011, all rights reserved. 

Styles and Practice Areas and Soapboxes!

When I started this blog, I was looking to see if there are ways that yoga and the legal profession overlap. It has, of course, grown into looking at the intersection of yoga and modern life, in all its varieties. One area I have missed, and where yoga and the law can teach us so much, is in our choice of what type we do; there is something for everyone, and we each have our own paths. Yoga has different styles while the legal profession has practice areas, and our choice of these is a great look at our paths in life.

I think the most common question I get asked when I tell people both that I practice and teach yoga is, “do you do that hot yoga, what’s it called?” The answer, my friends, is Bikram (there are other types of hot yoga, but that is usually where the question originates), and no, I do not. The reasons are plentiful, but most of them do not matter to this post (but if we have met in person, and you have asked me this question, you have seen me on my soap box). The easiest, and most PC answer, is that Bikram is not for me. It is simply not my path.

The types of yoga are plentiful, and I could write a book on all of them, as many people already have. Instead, here is a brief overview: Yoga can reference anything from ancient Hindu tradition / religion to modern asana-based mega classes. Asana practices can range from restorative, where you use lots of props, do not get off the floor, and hold poses for 3-5 minutes to Ashtanga, where there are set series, and you work with a teacher and do not move into learning the next posture until you have “mastered” the one you are currently doing. Some styles of yoga are strict about anatomy, e.g., Iyengar and Anusara, and some focus on the internal awareness, e.g., Anusara again. Then, of course, there is the rest of yoga, the yamas, the niyamas, pranayama (breath), and all forms of meditation. See what I mean? Books! And yet, so many people, including those who do yoga, think that yoga is limited to a few different types.

But of course, lawyers are no different. I cannot tell you how many times someone has asked me for help in areas of law with which I have no, and I mean no, experience. Tax law? Torts? New Zealand tenant’s rights? I am dreading the day someone asks me about criminal law, but at least with that, I have friends who work for the Public Defender and the County Attorney. People assume that because I can put esquire after my name, I must know everything there is to know about all law, everywhere. Any doctors have this problem? Accountants? You get the idea; we often think that one word can define someone when in reality that one word opens up a huge can of . . . possibility!

Once clearing up the fact that I do not have the answer to every type of legal question on the planet, I then must answer the dreaded question – well what kind of law do you practice? The answer, my friends, is family law. The other answer is juvenile dependency law, also known as welfare. In other words, I do that “emotional” law.

If I had 5 cents for every time someone reacted to my choice of profession with, “but how do you do that? It must be so difficult,” or “I could never do that kind of law!”, I would be able to pay off my loans. In other words, people assume all sorts of things about me based upon my choice of profession, and then within the profession, based upon my choice of field.

I used to be a percussionist, and I would joke that I could tell you someone’s personality based upon their gender and their instrument. But maybe that is not so crazy; different paths in music exist just like different paths in everything, and certain types work for some and not others. We choose particular paths because they work for us. Thus, my reaction to Bikram is just that, a guttural reaction; it is not a tempered response because it is so against my needs from yoga. But I know people who love it. For me, sometimes I need a restorative class, and sometimes I need a flow class. I happen to love family law and working with children. To others, that work is insane.

Law and yoga, therefore, offer something for everyone. They are great teachers by showing us that we all have our own paths in life, and someone needs to fill all of them. The Dalai Lama is the first person to say that not everyone could, or even should, follow his path. We all must find our own. And if it is not glaringly obvious by now, of course that means external to the law and yoga as well. That is why this blog is about so much more than just yoga and law, but they have informed my life in such wonderful ways, and I think they are great examples of the rest of life.

The law, yoga, and life are not one-size-fits-all. They are huge paths, full of opportunities to be rearranged and created into our own unique circumstances. So, I might think Bikram is crazy, but that’s because it does not work for me. You might think that family law is crazy, but that is because it does not work for you. That is not okay . . . It is wonderful, and it is what makes the world such a wonderful and interesting place.

We can choose to judge others for their choices, or we can be grateful that they are doing the work instead of us, allowing space for us to do our own work. That, my friends, is my new soap box!

And look, I found one in a small town in New Zealand. Who would have thought?

What is your path?

Namaste!

© 2011 Rebecca Stahl, all rights reserved

“But I like my job”

There are a lot of blog posts around that focus on ex-lawyers turned . . . whatever; there are even many blogs (e.g., here, here, and here) dedicated to the theme. This is not one of those blogs. While I personally believe that anyone who hates a job should leave that job, regardless of debt, etc., this blog is not about doing something instead of law. I think those people are awesome, and incredibly inspirational, but here I have tried to focus on bringing sanity to the legal profession and to life in general. If I have learned one thing in the last 11 years - during which I moved from California to Michigan to France (twice) to Arizona and then to New Zealand - it is that we cannot run away from ourselves. We can only learn to live each day in a way that works for us.

Although I have clerked for two judges and now I am getting my LLM, and have, therefore, never practiced law except in a law school clinic or as a contract attorney, I actually consider myself a lawyer – more and more every day. Like many lawyers, I have felt the need to apologize for my profession, sheepishly look at the floor when I tell people I am a lawyer, and it just gets worse when I tell people I do family law. It is usually at that moment I want to crawl into a cave. I am always quick to say, “I really want to work with children, and I also teach yoga.” So, on top of living to expect and prepare for disasters, we must often defend our choice of profession. I can understand why so many people want to leave, and for them it is probably the correct decision. But what do you do if you want to stay?

We have many options, but I want to discuss two. First, we can get angry and defensive. This is, after all, what our legal training would expect of us. We are trained to be adversarial . . . at least to an extent. We can continue to do our work because it is what we have chosen to do and apologize for ourselves and our profession when we interact with non-lawyers. How many times have you heard, “you are the only lawyer I have ever met that I liked?” Yes, it is easy to get defensive and angry with how people see the profession. Yes, it is easy to react.

But what if we, instead, chose to respond? What if we took a step back and prepared an answer to this situation? What if we answered it intentionally? Just yesterday I was talking to a friend about what makes yoga different, what I have learned more than anything from it; I have learned to act intentionally. Thus, if we intentionally choose to remain lawyers amidst the loud and growing anti-lawyer discussion from both inside and outside the profession, we can intentionally decide how to explain that decision.

Instead of looking sheepish, we can say, “I am a lawyer.” What I have found is that some people will actually think it is wonderful. But the others will remain, the ones who cannot believe that you, a seemingly kind person, are a lawyer. To them, we can intentionally explain what it is we do. We help people in their disasters. We navigate systems that they cannot navigate alone. My thesis research had me looking at what it is lawyers do, how we define law, and what sort of roles lawyers should have. What I have found is that when we really start examining our work, people are proud of this profession.

As with yoga, when we get intentional, we can be in control. We need not be controlled by the reaction people have to the legal profession. We need not feel that we have to explain to those who have left the profession why we choose to stay. All we need to do is be intentional and honest. And yes, it is even okay if you enjoy your work as a lawyer and want to tell the world why that it.

If you have chosen to leave law, why did you choose to leave? If you have chosen to stay, what keeps you in? There is no shame in either approach. And if you are not a lawyer, and never were, the choice to be intentional about what we do is important. As Confucius said, "If you love what you do, you will never work a day in your life." 

© 2011 Rebecca Stahl, all rights reserved