Unlike X and Q, I'm not working particularly hard to conceal Alan's real identity in choosing his pseudonym. But at least it's still not googleable, so that's something. Alan is actually how he introduced himself to me, but it's not his real name.
Alan has been one of my best friends since he stopped me one day to ask if there was a way to do a joint J.D. / M.D., and I thought he was crazy.
Truth is, it wasn't that instantaneously. I mean, I did think he was crazy, but it took him like another 2-3 weeks to convince me to play poker with his 1L friends. I was an uber cool 3L by that point (nerdy high schoolers make really cool law students), I had a lot of amazing friends that remain dear to me, and I just didn't need more. I didn't need to answer 1000 questions about each professor they had, or advise them how to outline and revise, or ... well, all the other things that 1Ls obsess over that 3Ls find boring.
After the second or third time I blew him off, he called me out for thinking I was too cool. And like other people who pretend to be humble, I hated being called out on my arrogance. So I agreed to play poker.
I have mad skills at poker.
Okay, it's actually just that I have a vagina, which people think is a handicap for poker. Like the math of knowing three of a kind beat a pair is too hard for our pretty little brains. So I won. I don't remember how much but it was nice. I wanted to play again, but none of my friends played poker. Liar's Dice, yes, but poker, sadly ... I had to keep hanging out with 1Ls for that.
A few days later, I had looked at his class's picture poster (it's actually what it sounds like, a poster of people's pictures so you can learn each other's names; we hung a copy at the library). I realized that his name was not Alan. I wasn't exactly sure how to pronounce his name, though, and I felt... awful.
Want to know how to f... fudge... with a Western human rights activist's brain? Make them think they have Anglicized your culturally significant / identifiable name.
Two years of people being unable to pronounce my name in Japan had made me extra sensitive on this, and here I was thinking I'd just changed someone's entire identity to suit my linguistic palate.
The next time I saw Alan was at a bar. I avoided using his name. I sat next to two of his friends from high school who referred to him by his real name. I 'fessed up. "Okay, can you teach me how to say his name? I really feel awful but I thought it was Alan."
When he came back to our table ten minutes later, he faced a right ol' piss-taking. And that is how we actually became friends.
A few years later, the law firm had beaten me down. I had gained close to 50 pounds in a year of sitting at my desk, miserably eating all my feelings. We met up for coffee and when I made a comment about my weight, he said he didn't think I looked any different. The weird thing is, he actually meant it - and it came off as a compliment. He just saw me for who I was.
A few years after that, he picked me up at the airport when my grandmother died. I had called home the night before, standing on a windy train platform shouting into the phone asking who would come and get me. No one knew. Everyone had somewhere else they were supposed to be. Except Alan. He was right on time, grabbed my super huge suitcase and drove me home. Later, he would drive himself the 5+ hour round trip to attend my grandmother's funeral so I didn't have to go through it alone.
In most of my life's biggest moments over the past 8 years, he has held my hand either physically or metaphorically. He is one of my biggest cheerleaders and greatest supports. When I start to doubt myself, a twenty minute phone call - or Facebook chat - is enough to remind me of why I'm here. Like last night...
My 36th birthday is arriving shortly and I am dreading it. Let's be honest, my 8 year old self would be very disappointed in my 36 year old self. No house. No dog. No husband. And no 8 year old daughter. What the hell am I doing with my life???
Now, 8 year old self would be very pleased that I was a lawyer, but why didn't that make me more money? Why didn't I live closer to home? And where the hell is my puppy?
36 year old Tara has some serious issues when she thinks of what 8 year old Tara had planned. And last night, 8 year old Tara was winning the debate about the appropriateness of my life decisions.
Until Alan popped up to wish me a happy birthday. Unleash pathetic, wallowing, ungrateful rant that is definitely not the appropriate response to birthday greetings.
Within two minutes, though, I got to laugh. Not sympathetic or polite chuckles, but literally laughing out loud, sitting on my bed, feeling happier than I've felt since... well, since I said goodbye to my nephew.
He does that. Regularly.
Alan has the same birthday as VL. Apparently, I have a thing for men born on 14 January. They leave an impact. So happy belated birthday, Alan. My life is undeniably better because you're in it. And not just because you can quote West Wing* all day long. I love you.
*And those other shows I won't publicly out for you. :)
Alan has been one of my best friends since he stopped me one day to ask if there was a way to do a joint J.D. / M.D., and I thought he was crazy.
Truth is, it wasn't that instantaneously. I mean, I did think he was crazy, but it took him like another 2-3 weeks to convince me to play poker with his 1L friends. I was an uber cool 3L by that point (nerdy high schoolers make really cool law students), I had a lot of amazing friends that remain dear to me, and I just didn't need more. I didn't need to answer 1000 questions about each professor they had, or advise them how to outline and revise, or ... well, all the other things that 1Ls obsess over that 3Ls find boring.
After the second or third time I blew him off, he called me out for thinking I was too cool. And like other people who pretend to be humble, I hated being called out on my arrogance. So I agreed to play poker.
I have mad skills at poker.
Okay, it's actually just that I have a vagina, which people think is a handicap for poker. Like the math of knowing three of a kind beat a pair is too hard for our pretty little brains. So I won. I don't remember how much but it was nice. I wanted to play again, but none of my friends played poker. Liar's Dice, yes, but poker, sadly ... I had to keep hanging out with 1Ls for that.
A few days later, I had looked at his class's picture poster (it's actually what it sounds like, a poster of people's pictures so you can learn each other's names; we hung a copy at the library). I realized that his name was not Alan. I wasn't exactly sure how to pronounce his name, though, and I felt... awful.
Want to know how to f... fudge... with a Western human rights activist's brain? Make them think they have Anglicized your culturally significant / identifiable name.
Two years of people being unable to pronounce my name in Japan had made me extra sensitive on this, and here I was thinking I'd just changed someone's entire identity to suit my linguistic palate.
The next time I saw Alan was at a bar. I avoided using his name. I sat next to two of his friends from high school who referred to him by his real name. I 'fessed up. "Okay, can you teach me how to say his name? I really feel awful but I thought it was Alan."
When he came back to our table ten minutes later, he faced a right ol' piss-taking. And that is how we actually became friends.
A few years later, the law firm had beaten me down. I had gained close to 50 pounds in a year of sitting at my desk, miserably eating all my feelings. We met up for coffee and when I made a comment about my weight, he said he didn't think I looked any different. The weird thing is, he actually meant it - and it came off as a compliment. He just saw me for who I was.
A few years after that, he picked me up at the airport when my grandmother died. I had called home the night before, standing on a windy train platform shouting into the phone asking who would come and get me. No one knew. Everyone had somewhere else they were supposed to be. Except Alan. He was right on time, grabbed my super huge suitcase and drove me home. Later, he would drive himself the 5+ hour round trip to attend my grandmother's funeral so I didn't have to go through it alone.
In most of my life's biggest moments over the past 8 years, he has held my hand either physically or metaphorically. He is one of my biggest cheerleaders and greatest supports. When I start to doubt myself, a twenty minute phone call - or Facebook chat - is enough to remind me of why I'm here. Like last night...
My 36th birthday is arriving shortly and I am dreading it. Let's be honest, my 8 year old self would be very disappointed in my 36 year old self. No house. No dog. No husband. And no 8 year old daughter. What the hell am I doing with my life???
Now, 8 year old self would be very pleased that I was a lawyer, but why didn't that make me more money? Why didn't I live closer to home? And where the hell is my puppy?
36 year old Tara has some serious issues when she thinks of what 8 year old Tara had planned. And last night, 8 year old Tara was winning the debate about the appropriateness of my life decisions.
Until Alan popped up to wish me a happy birthday. Unleash pathetic, wallowing, ungrateful rant that is definitely not the appropriate response to birthday greetings.
Within two minutes, though, I got to laugh. Not sympathetic or polite chuckles, but literally laughing out loud, sitting on my bed, feeling happier than I've felt since... well, since I said goodbye to my nephew.
He does that. Regularly.
Alan has the same birthday as VL. Apparently, I have a thing for men born on 14 January. They leave an impact. So happy belated birthday, Alan. My life is undeniably better because you're in it. And not just because you can quote West Wing* all day long. I love you.
*And those other shows I won't publicly out for you. :)
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