Priorities

I met with Bill Phillips this morning. He squeezed my side and frowned, “AC, what has becomes of you?”

We had a long discussion about ice cream, casebooks, Nilla wafers and the like and then he laid it down for me.

“AC,” he said, “in life, you must define priorities. What I see right now is you struggling. I see that you are torn between studying, relaxing, trying to make new friends, planning your career, and working on your abs. I know it may appear to you now that all of these things are important—that all of these things will be necessary for you to lead a full life—but AC, it doesn’t have to be that way. You must let some things go, and pour your attention into only those things that matter most.”

“I want you to think,” he said. “What are the five most important, specific accomplishments you need to make, within the next 12 weeks, for you to be pleased with the progress of your body and life.”

“Wow, Bill, that’s a really good question,” I said, and started to think it over. “I guess I’d like to give an honest effort in school, make a good friend or two, keep in touch with my fami—“

“No, AC. I can see your confusion, but you need to focus. Look in the window there. Look.” He turned me to face the store window near the café where we were having our nonfat lattes. “Now again, what accomplishments do you need to make?”

I looked at my reflection in the window. I started to cry as the cloud lifted and I began to see clearly again. He is such an incredible teacher.

“My God, Bill. I need to reduce my bodyfat by 12%, increase my biceps by 2 inches, reduce my waist to 25”, hit my high points every day, and go from a size 10 to a size 6.”

He nodded slowly, choking back his tears. “Yes,” he whispered.

We talked for another hour or so about cottage cheese and if you can really combine it with yogurt before he told me he needed to go meet with Bush, who is apparently also having a hard time remembering his priorities. As we were parting he gave me a hug and told me that he believed in me. “Remember,” he said, “when your mind drifts from your goals to something about school, or your upcoming exams, think about this:

“It is exam day. All the students are filing into their seats, heads filled with legal jargon, sweating with fear, and then you enter–140 pounds of 98.6-degree steel. The exam timer starts, and you begin to do pushups. 5, 10, 45, 125 minutes pass and you are still there, pumping out push-ups like fire out of Hell. Your fellow students become distracted. ‘How can she be so strong,’ they wonder. ‘And is she wearing a size 6.’ They cannot focus. They are amazed. In the last few minutes you write your exam: ‘I JUST DID 2,625 PUSHUPS.’ The professor is astonished, and before you know it you, you are standing in front of hundreds—valedictorian of you class—and telling them how you did it. ‘6 small meals a day,’ you’ll say. ‘And the 20-minute aerobic solution.’”

You keep it.

Okay. You win. I have to go have a snack.

I play for keeps.

I’m watching you, Chinese LLM students. And I’m waiting.

I chose your table intentionally, knowing that sitting with you would present a challenge above all others. I wanted to test my will.

It has been 3 hours and 35 minutes and you have not budged. You, in the beige jacket–I like your style. You put your head down about an hour ago to take a nap. After around 10 minutes you popped your head up; without even taking a moment to look around, you began typing. I like that. Shows focus. Your friend in the black t-shirt doesn’t have determination like that. He got up to get a book, once.

It’s clear from the pencil box in front of you, the water bottles and orange juice, that you have been here for a while and do not plan on leaving soon. But you will not beat me. I will not rest until I have won.

Dear Ms. TheFactoryDepot,

You suck.

Sincerely,
Amateur Content

Have you ever heard of ramping up?

Do you remember your bleary days of infancy—cooing and giggling, hiccupping your smiles and dozing off in your tiny crib? You cried when you felt hungry, couldn’t muster the strength to focus you eyes, and wiggled violently just to flip over. But, slowly, gradually, you were able to smile without convulsing, gaze at objects at all distances, and form syllables and words. Over time, you were able to communicate things like “cookie” and “doggie hot”. You were growing.

Similarly, I am now in law school. I cry and squirm, wiggle and laugh, and sleep in my tiny bed. I don’t understand the words that are used around me, and I never sleep through the night. I stretch out my arms—helpless—to the residence life team when I need food or medical care. Mutely, innocently, I hold out my blocks to the others, hoping upon hope that they don’t hit me or throw something at me. …But I know, in time, these things will change. I will learn words and then sentences and I will yawn into a new world. It just takes time. It is gradual.

But you. What were you—born with a silver hornbook in your mouth? As I was blearily trying to focus my eyes on the professor, you were already reaching your hands in the air, smiling broadly, flipping over. We both read the same assignment, so why were you able to answer such haphazard questions as “what are the facts of this case” and “what is the rule” while I was left to think—“did we read a case?”

I don’t understand you. Like the first time I saw a possum, I find you strange and a little bit scary. Who are you? Are you like me? When I learn your language, will we be friends? Why is your laptop so dirty? I trust these questions will all be answered one day, but in the meantime I can only turn to you, look you squarely in the face, and cry.

Dear Amazon.com, Inc,

You have always been a reliable and efficient friend. You send emails all the time about what you are sending and when it will arrive. You respond promptly to my requests—even doing so with a smile. Your friendship has indeed been valuable to me, and I even thought about opening a line of credit with you.

But Amazon, I am concerned about the company you are keeping. Because of the trust I have in you, I was not afraid earlier this week– nay last week—to place an order with your comrade BestSource OfficeSupplies for a printer. But, 4 days later, Mr. OfficeSupplies canceled my order without so much as a gift certificate for my troubles.

Well, I thought, we all have a bad-egg friend. I have Lisa, you have BestSource. So I went to another of your friends, this time in slightly more pressing need. I asked Ms. TheFactoryDepot to please send me a printer—at this point I did not care which one—and asked her if there were any that would ship within 24 hours. “Yes,” she said, “I will send you the HP Deskjet 2360. Do not worry, for I am reliable.”

Amazon, since my initial interaction with Ms. TheFactoryDepot five days ago, I have neither received a printer, nor gotten word that one is on the way. It is true that at the time I didn’t realize how many of my esteemed and respectable professors would have 20-page online syllabi, or how many would send me “hand-outs” that more aptly should be named “print-outs,” or even that printing at the library would cost me 10 cents for each page, but isn’t a strength of friendship the reliability of sticking to your word, even if you do not believe failing to do so will have negative consequences?

As I said, Amazon, I appreciate your trustworthiness, but as your friend… I urge you to take care in choosing your associates. After all, ‘Tell me what company thou keepst, and I’ll tell thee what thou art.’

Sincerely, and with kind regards,
Amateur Content