Marymoor Park, Washington

When I gave my notice at the law firm I heard through the grapevine about an email that was circulating. One lawyer, who was discontent with his personality, his life, and his career (almost all attorneys come this way), had written: “So Erika had a choice, pick up dog shit or continue to pick up ours. She always made good decisions.” I think of this comment today as dogs tumble out of the van, wrestling and running with each other. I follow them, plastic bags at the ready.

Law firms are peculiar, tumultuous places. Maybe it is the nature of the work that creates the intensity and the frantic pace, or perhaps it is the type of person who decides to be a lawyer that adds to the churning atmosphere. Important work gets done, but you would be hard-pressed to find someone who was enjoying herself. The high heels, hierarchy, and hyperactivity quickly dissipated from my life when I unleashed myself from the firm.

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