"But wait," you're thinking. "Emily's traveled all over the world. What gives?"
True, I've flown across the Atlantic more times than I can count on one hand, but to me, those flights don't count as "flights" because I can drink the free min bottles of red wine, sleep, and most importantly, not feel the roller-coaster drops also known as "rough air," or "turbulence" to the kind flight attendants who have to put up with me. Those big planes don't really count as planes-- those things are like tanks and once you're cruising, those in-flight movies take care of the jitters. Well, the movies and the merlot. But I digress.
I just got back from New York City, where two other law students and I traveled to a moot court competition. We had to fly of course, and I think I bonded better with my teammates in the first 4 hours of the trip than in the remaining 4 days. We flew through a snowstorm, and at one point the Greek lady in front of me offered to sit with me and hold my hand. Instead of being totally mortified though, my friend and teammate tried his best to explain turbulence to me-- that if the engines hit air pockets, they lose traction, and the plane drops a bit. He kept motioning to me across the aisle (I had my earbuds in to muffle my own crying and with the hopes that Taylor Swift would drown out the shaking and bumping... ask the Greek lady how well THAT idea worked) an "up-up-up" motion with his hand. He told me later he was trying to sign that as long as the plane was pointed up, it was okay and we were fine.
I still don't get how turbulence works and I don't know if my friend's explanation is even right or not; I know he was just trying to help. Science never was my strongest subject. I simply don't understand how the plane doesn't fall out of the sky (or a hole doesn't get ripped in the ceiling.... but I digress once more). I do know about going through rough patches though, and so I guess what my teammate was trying to say makes sense: As long as you keep your head up, you're going to be okay, and everything eventually will be fine.
This semester, a case I had become involved in was resolved (at least for the time being; appeals can take years), and to put it as delicately as I can, the case was not resolved in the defense's favor. It was this case that turned my world completely on its head, and taught me the difference between heart and passion. After this case, I realized that even though I never doubted the passion I had for the field of criminal defense, I wasn't sure if I had the heart-- the grit, the determination-- it would take to be successful in it.
It has been almost two months since the case ended and things get better every day. I have gone from crying at the drop of a hat or when the news does a recap of the case to being able to actually discuss it like a semi-intelligent human being on occasion. Usually, though, I just get sad again, and the big "why" question creeps right back onto center stage. I haven't figured out the answer yet and I don't think I ever will, but I have learned more about myself in the process than I ever knew possible.
One of my friends and trial team teammates talked to me right after the case ended, and when I told him I was doubting being able to emotionally handle being in this field, he said something I don't think I will ever forget: "If you stop now, without even starting, without trying, you'll regret it. I know you." He was right then and he's right now. He was right, just like my other teammate was on the plane: Just because my world dropped momentarily doesn't mean everything's crashing to the ground.
I got my very first blister during my training run tonight. I didn't even feel it until I had crossed the 6-mile mark of the 6.12-mile run, but then I felt this huge bump right in the middle of my left foot. As I type this, I'm propped up with ice packs wrapped strategically in all my typically-sore spots, but there's not much I can do about this monstrosity on my foot. It's about 3 inches long and an inch wide and... well, maybe more details aren't necessary. (If I was a "real" running-blogger, I'd post pictures of this bad boy but I like you all entirely too much to do that. Plus, I want to attract readers, not scare them away.)
This blister hurts a lot, but in a way I feel like I'm an official runner now. I've yet to cross into double-digits on my runs, but I've had ankle issues, knee issues, hip issues, and have learned to love the aforementioned ice packs and ibuprofen. All I needed was a war wound-- a real war wound-- and I feel like I'm really in the battle. In a twisted way, I'm proud of this blister because I earned it. You simply can't get blisters like this by sitting on the couch.
In my running group, the coaches take a lot of time teaching us how to run up hills. This is because The Flying Pig is known to be one of the hardest marathons in the country due to Cincinnati's famous hills. Tonight, we had a hill run, which basically means the coaches tortured us. But, tonight was definitely an improvement over when I first was subjected to hill training back in October. I will never forget my first hill session, when I could barely walk up some of the insane hills we ran tonight. Tonight I almost (almost) thought they were bearable.
Our coaches teach us that, in order to run up hills successfully and efficiently, we've got to get our form down pat. We're taught to stand up straight, relax our shoulders, keep our head up, breathe, and keep our eyes forward. We're taught to shorten our stride, use our arms, and take it quite literally one step at a time.
Nights like tonight are evidence of just how right our coaches-- and my friends-- have been.
I've learned it's true. If I keep my head up and my eyes on the goal ahead of me, everything will be okay. Every now and then the world might drop, or rub me entirely the wrong way, but I have figured out that you don't get banged up by just sitting around. Turbulent flights mean I must have had great travels, and a nasty blisters only means I had a long run (or that I need new socks I suppose...). It's all about perspective, and it only took almost 3 years for me to understand just how powerful it can be.
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