Lately I’ve been considering the idea of creating an advertisement for law school. It would be structured much like the drug ads in the United States, and would sound something like this:

Do you have an insatiable appetite for specialized knowledge that most people would find profoundly boring?

*Side effects include increased anxiety, rapid heart rate, excessive sweating, stomach aches, constant second guessing, plummeting self-confidence, eroding sense of self and general malaise.

It’s been a rough week. Although my exam results came as no huge surprise, I found myself feeling completely miserable by mid-week. The root of my unhappiness lies in the realization that law school is the one place where the amount of work one puts in does not appear to pay off. By last term’s end, I was feeling quite content and, dare I say, confident, that my efforts would pay off. But I was wrong. It turns out that exam writing is less about being caught up in readings and knowing every rule from every case; exam writing is about thinking, and it turns out that I am somewhat deficient in that area.

All last semester, I was told how important it is to be able to provide a stellar analysis of the material we’ve learned when writing exams. At first, I thought this was obvious, and believed it was a skill that would develop naturally. Now, I am beginning to think a fine analysis is more of a talent than skill, and some of us might never catch on. This reminds of a long time ago, when I taught dance classes to young kids. Many had a natural understanding of rhythm, something vital to dance, but there was always one or two that had none. And you know what? It is impossible to teach rhythm to someone. Either you have it, or you don’t. I am sensing that exam writing skills are similar.

But we always think we will be the exception, don’t we? I certainly did. How else would we go on if we didn’t believe we could be the one that might just prove them all wrong.

Performing mediocrely has opened up opportunities for interesting conversations between Jeff and I. My position all along has been, “I don’t care about grades! I am here for the experience.” That is still mostly true, and I feel that last semester’s gains in terms of knowledge and overall experience were A plus, but I am also starting to learn a lot more about my dark side than I care to admit. Jeff pointed out something quite insightful when he said, “I think you are conflicted. On one hand, you don’t want to care about grades, because you feel that they don’t adequately show what you’ve learned, or what you’re capable of; on the other hand, you are a lot more competitive than you are willing to admit, and those two points of view are at odds and are causing you a lot of internal conflict.”

Bam!

I’ve always purported to be completely devoid of a competitive gene, but I realize that is like saying Monica wasn’t competitive on “Friends.” And guess what? It’s difficult having something like this pointed out, considering that I’ve fooled myself into believing it wasn’t true for so long. Worst of all, it’s flat out true, and I really don’t want it to be.

What is the solution, then? More fun, less intensity. Working harder to avoid comparing myself to other students. Smiling more, grimacing less. Enjoying classmates outside of class. Working smarter, not harder. Recalling my pre-law self and working to revive her. You know, not much at all!

The other day, I was telling a friend at school about how excited I was to receive the new Tori Amos CD in the mail, which Jeff very thoughtfully ordered for me. When he handed it to me, I was overcome with joy, and I kissed it. My friend, ever so insightful, responded with, “Isn’t it interesting when we are reminded of our old selves that existed before law school? Back when we were actually happy?” I was really taken back by her comment; first of all, because it was very accurate, and also because it was very sad.

Is this what we’ve all become? Shells of our former interesting, passionate selves? What will become of us by year three?

Mercifully, a temporary antidote is on the horizon. We are going to Edmonton this weekend, and do I ever need a good dose of home. I badly need to slip back into my former self: the one who laughed a lot and awoke each morning without the feeling of having an anvil on her chest; the one who spent time with friends and went out in the evenings. The self that loved participating in everything, with anyone who was up for it. The one who held dance parties and did drunken cartwheels.

Where did she go? And when will she come back?