Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end

Each new phase in my life seems to always be accompanied by the same sense of anxiety regarding my capacity to adapt. "I've been a college student for so long, I'm not sure I know how to be anything else. "I don't think I can be a normal person after being a missionary." "I've been so warped by law school that I'm fairly certain I can't function as a human being." In a way, it's actually a little comical, because I do always adapt. But still, it remains nerve-wracking to go from one chapter to the next. I have found that the best way to transition is just to close your eyes and jump in, which has definitely been the case with this, the most adult phase of my life to date. Immediately following the bar exam, Scott and I grabbed our backpacks and headed off in search of adventure, European style. Ever since I returned from Spain 4 years ago, I've been looking forward to the day when I would be able to go back. For some reason, this always seemed like a pipe dream to me because traveling abroad is expensive and I'm painfully practical. It doesn't make a whole lot of sense to spend several thousand bucks on a vacation when there are massive loans to be repaid. However, I am fortunate to have a husband who, though every bit as practical as myself, convinced me that this was a new beginning worth celebrating in fine style. So after two years of saving our pennies, we spent two weeks blowing through our savings in Spain, France, and Italy. It was unequivocally the best two weeks ever, and the misery of the bar exam was almost completely erased from my consciousness from the moment I stepped off the plane. We saw the sights, rode the rails, got lost (okay, so we were lost pretty much the whole time), pretended to understand French, slept in the scariest hostel in Barcelona, sampled the local fare, and took the most amazing photos. I debated whether or not to post the detailed version of our travels here, because they are definitely hilarity filled, but so much happened during those two weeks that I haven't even finished writing it all down. The reason for that is the fact that, upon our return to good old Oregon, I immediately began a new job. All throughout my law school experience, essentially the only thing that kept me going was the knowledge that when it was all over, I would be qualified to work in a job that I would surely love. Though I would joke about aspiring to be an ambulance chaser, I have always wanted to be a public interest lawyer. I knew early on that private practice was just not for me. Well, three years later, my idealism has been replaced with debt, and in my desperation to get a job, any job, I find myself starting my legal career working in tort litigation and criminal defense. Gotta start somewhere, right? Even if it's at the opposite end of the spectrum of where I want to be. Over the course of my first month as an almost lawyer (bar exam results are still two weeks away), I have found that the trade offs aren't all that bad. I'm not practicing the type of law that I always thought I would, but I'm getting that all-important "experience" that employers are so insistent that you have. My boss is a stellar mentor and the firm, which is wonderfully laid back, doesn't require that I sacrifice my evenings, weekends and firstborn child to the pursuit of higher billable hours. So far, I'm really enjoying learning the ropes, and maybe, hopefully someday soon, I'll be able to look back on this all and say with a straight face that I'm glad I went to law school. Unfortunately, as long as my entire paychecks are going to pay off student loans, I don't really see that happening in the foreseeable future. The new job also necessitated a change of address, because really, who wants to spend two hours each day commuting on I-5 between Portland and Salem? The answer is no one. With Scott also transferring to Portland, it just didn't make sense to stay in Salem. So we loaded up our lives and moved to Beaverton, which is a suburb of Portland. Moving from our first apartment was a somewhat bittersweet experience. I definitely won't miss the ever-present firetruck sirens wailing as they leave the station (which was right across the street from our complex), the ridiculous neighbors who play their craptastic music at 4:00 in the morning, or the dysfunctional toilet that randomly decides to refill itself every hour on the hour. But at the same time, it was just the tiniest bit sad to move out of our very first place. After all, we did live there for nearly three years and it was filled with all sorts of fun memories. Fortunately, my sadness was short lived, as our new apartment is a definite step up. It's palatial compared to our old place, the neighbors aren't comprised of the dregs of society, and the location can accurately be classified as "legitimately nice." Which is a major improvement from "ghetto fabulous." And now that we're getting settled into this, the latest of many new phases in life, and I have to say, anxiety has been replaced with anticipation. It promises to be a great chapter.