by Lisa Allen (L’18)
Published by Ms. JD blog
I am the improbable 1L, a 54-year-old chemistry teacher, who, on a whim, took the LSAT, contemplating a complete change from the life I had. Unlike the clever kids who fill my classes, I am not here because of a life-long desire to become a lawyer. Rather, I am here to be a law student: becoming a lawyer will be an interesting, possibly irrelevant outcome. While my classmates are striving toward a goal, I have realized mine. As it happens, being a brand new law student really is as much fun as I had hoped it might be. Law school is the ultimate brain game, pushing me to think in new ways, to read more, think more, and write more than ever before.
Not only did I leave my career, but I also relocated and left my geographic comfort zone. I moved from New England, where mere eye contact is considered a bit forward, to The South. Here, strangers hold doors, comment to me on the glacial air conditioning, and tell me they like my glasses—although I’m fairly sure they mean they have noticed my glasses and don’t know what to think of them. It would appear that, in the South, there is an expectation that total strangers will speak to each other, even when neither is mentally ill. It’s refreshing, I guess, or it will be when I get used to it.
In orientation, a gentleman whose topic was “Developing your elevator conversation” gave a lecture. Ha! You clearly are mistaken if you think I’m going to talk to somebody in an elevator! Nevertheless, three days before starting law school, there I was, contemplating how to summarize my professional goals in ten seconds. I didn’t know a tort from a flan, and I needed to generate a statement that could land me the right connection IF I decided to start talking to strangers about my career goals, and IF it seemed that a ten second summary wasn’t just nine seconds too long. Still, I played along. I came up with a few seconds worth of description that felt authentic.
Imagine my surprise, two weeks later, when the exact words from my “elevator conversation” showed up in an email. An email blast went out to the whole law school about a conference, and all students were invited to apply. I would not have recognized this as so precisely in line with my goals had I not just composed my elevator conversation. Despite an obscenely full schedule, I applied.
No, my application wasn’t accepted. Enough 3L’s had applied that my 1L letter hit the reject bin. What that letter did, however, is bring me to the attention of a faculty member who teaches upper level courses in an area I find interesting. She shared information about her previous practice, and suggested that we meet. Her practice sounds just like my elevator conversation. Less than a month into my 1L year, I may have found a mentor who can help me turn an interest into my next career.
So, Mr. Elevator Conversation, I owe you an apology. As it turns out, I didn’t even need to give that speech to anybody but myself. Just stating these as my goals has had the surprising effect of giving me goals. While I am completely delighted now to just be a 1L, law school is turning me into a lawyer. Let me hold the door for you and tell you about it.
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