I mouthed the words "Andrew Smith, on behalf of the People." Inside I had no idea if the first part of that was really true.
I use to be good at this sort of thing. But I also used to be able to stay up past seven o'clock on a work night, and now that prospect is hit or miss. And I used to be able to start speaking a sentence without concern of whether a stabbing nerve pain would let me finish it. Today, maybe, for all I knew, who I used to be was gone.
It was my third oral argument before a panel of the California Court of Appeal in the last two months. I took this job in order to get to do these again, and hopefully even get to the Supreme Court someday. But between a heavy dose of arguments, a never-ending caseload of briefs to pump out, and a ridiculously long commute, lately I've been exhausted and fraying at the seams.
Oh, and I have this thing called multiple sclerosis.
I forget about it sometimes, but then it reminds me.
I didn't want to embarrass myself in front of the court and a whole courtroom full of folks watching--a captive audience resulting from my being first on the docket. More importantly, I didn't want a guilty person to go free because I pulled a Joe Biden and started rambling incoherently.
I used to do my oral arguments from a rough outline, where I wrote out the first two sentence to get myself started and then just used a few talking points from there, darting back and forth between those and the judges' questions. I don't trust myself to do that anymore, so I write out my entire planned delivery ahead of time.
That has usually gone ok. But this time I didn't get to practice my delivery much, because I collapsed in my bed from MS fatigue when it was still daylight outside the night before.
Please don't mistake this column for a lament of what MS is taking from me. It isn't about the early nights, the days where I can't find the word I'm looking for and end up repeating myself, or those times when I can't find the word I'm looking for and end up repeating myself.
I actually don't think my problems are all that unique. Maybe (hopefully) you don't have an incurable autoimmune disease, but you might look around and wonder every now and then much you have left in the tank.
It's been one of those seasons for me. And for Joe Biden too, I suppose. But he's not really my point.
My point is that lately I've been sitting (with my record player on per Uncle Joe's advice), wondering how much longer I can do this. I'm not a nearly 80-year-old man running for President (against a toddler), but some days I don't feel like I have my fastball any more.
For everyone, life gets harder in some ways every year from about age 26. You get new sets of bills and responsibilities, new sets of medical drama, more sick loved ones, and less natural energy. You start to get an increased urgency to fulfill whatever dreams you had back when you had time to look at the clouds.
When things start going sideways, at what point do you stop pursing your wildest, most unrealistic, dreams and just hold tighter to what you have? Or at least narrow down your list of dreams to just the one or two that are most important?
As I often do when I have important life questions, I look to one of my favorite bands. (I really do need to pull out that record player.)
It seems like a sad song, but it's really not.
Reality will break your heart
Survival will not be the hardest part
It's keeping all your hopes alive
When all the rest of you has died.
So let it break your heart.
Hold on to hope if you've got it
Don't let it go for nobody
They say that dreaming is free
I wouldn't care what it cost me.
-Paramore
That song is called "26," appropriately enough.
I've come to terms with the idea the fact that I'm never going to argue in front of the U.S. Supreme Court, which was my dream in my mid-twenties. I just don't have the health and energy to do what it takes to get there.
I'm ok with that. The end of this dream doesn't mean it's the end of dreaming.
Instead of trudging through life being sad about what is not to be, I just needed to come up with a better goal. Maybe if your long-held dream isn't working out, it isn't the right one for you either.
We can impact the world in more than one way.
There's a book inside of me. There are ways I can help. The crime victims I protect care more about sleeping through the night in peace than what courts are on my resume. I can still help them. I can continue my meager attempts through this blog to provide hope, or commiseration, for someone fighting against their body, their moods, or just life in general.
There's something more out there. Enough to keep hope alive, even if one dream has died. And even even if it broke your heart.
I'm going to hold on to the hope of what's still possible instead of looking back at what didn't work out the way I'd hoped.
And in the meantime, I can at least assure that my argument last went well. I woke up refreshed and my adrenaline carried me through. I mostly felt like my old self again. When it was over, I didn't feel like I had lied when I introduced myself.
I even think when the opinion is released, I'm going to win.
I hope so.
