Crowdsourcing #A2J: Some thoughts on @CrowdDefend & the strategic use of #collcons & the #sharingeconomy

Yesterday, I learned about the launch of CrowdDefend, a new platform combining crowdfunding and impact legislation. This appears to be a desperately needed tool for leveling the playing field, first for socially important litigation and second (perhaps) for private lawsuits in which a monied party uses or threatens to use litigation strategies to bully the other party into submission (by either dropping the case or settling). It is an important companion piece to low-bono, pro-bono, and law school legal clinic solutions.

And it also illustrates the expanding application of the ethics of care at the heart of the outcomes-oriented sharing economy, which strives to use transactions as a means of developing a more equitable, just, sustainable and resilient society. With CrowdDefend, that ethic can be taken to another systemic level, improving social justice outcomes in our case law.

Okay, so maybe that's a bit of an overstatement for a two-day old startup, because CrowdDefend is currently an invite-only crowdfunding platform. BUT it is a perfectly reasonable statement if one takes the long view and CrowdDefend figures out how to last.

Nevertheless, as a legal eaglet and Reinvent Law devotee, I have some concerns, chiefly: what if the campaign owners (the folks who launch a case crowdfunding campaign) are the attorneys of record on the case? Some of my anxiety below is admittedly the pre-emptive nail-biting of a newbie; hopefully, as CrowdDefend evolves and grows, some (if not all) of my concerns will be rendered moot.

• Privilege, Confidentiality and Trial Publicity. Any lawyer who ends up using CrowdDefend as a campaign owner will need to pay extra attention to the attorney/client privilege and confidentiality requirements in Model Rule 1.6 (c): "A lawyer shall make reasonable efforts to prevent the inadvertent or unauthorized disclosure of, or unauthorized access to, information relating to the representation of a client."

• Attorney commentary about the profession. Imprudent discussion of the counsel or judges involved in a case could also land the attorney in hot water, per Model Rule 8.2 (and maybe 3.5 a wee bit).

• Justice or Advertising? While CrowdDefend is focused on the justice needs of clients, I wonder if it might not run the risk of becoming a form of attorney advertising deemed "undignified" by some jurisdictions. There are bound to be some attorneys who will reference their use of CrowdDefend in advertising material about their professional services and the strategies they will pursue to help their clients. The problem may arise (and perhaps should arise) when the attorney has more skill for launching a campaign than for raising funds for his clients' case. And if the attorney is the campaign owner, rather than the client, then the ethics can become especially hairy if the attorney offers levels of "perks" as authorized in the CrowdDefend Terms of Use. Provided the perks don't amount to coupons or gift certificates for the attorney's professional services, then they shouldn't be considered "advertising" under the current Model Rule 7.2, but using CrowdDefend would, nevertheless increase the attorney's professional visibility.

• Fee-Sharing. CrowdDefend charges campaign owners a flat 7% fee on funds generated through the campaigns.  Model Rule 5.4 always surfaces in discussions around law firm capitalization and ownership, and here it has bearing on the actual cases. Does that fee constitute a kind of fee-sharing arrangement since the total amount paid would vary based on the amount of money raised (with the balance going towards covering the attorney's litigation costs)? Or would that 7%fee be considered an incidental expense for the matter?

Presumably the lawyer(s) would have their clients' informed consent prior to using CrowdDefend for their case. But one of the "perks" of donating to a CrowdDefend case, according to CrowdDefend's marketing, is that the donor will receive updates about the crowdfunding campaign and the case.

Certainly, it is possible to provide updates that are largely procedural rather than substantive because attorneys do that all the time, in compliance with Model Rule 3.6. But imprudent management of case information online could have such significant consequences (including the loss of privilege protection) due to the reach of the internet and information caching online.

If ever there were an innovation that lays bear the logic and timeliness of Lucy Jewell's call to develop a participatory legal culture around professional ethics, CrowdDefend is it. Donors and interested parties may well want more insight into the human story of the legal professionals and not just the case parties, but as things stand now in most jurisdictions, if an attorney's analysis of the other counsel or the judiciary is found to denigrate the profession in some way, that attorney risks some degree of professional sanction.

Well, my hands are good and wrung. But I am still convinced that CrowdDefend is a welcome, necessary and potentially transformative resource for access to justice. Despite my totally premature concerns, I look forward to hearing more about how CrowdDefend grows, evolves and improves social justice outcomes in our legal system and our case law.

Single Parenting Through Law School: Some Thoughts on How to Make It "Work" - Part One #MSULawSM

I really should be reading for Secured Transactions....or sleeping. But this Lean In meme hit my feed and it resonated with me enough to give me a second wind.

I am in my last semester of law school, and it actually looks like I will graduate.  This was not a guaranteed outcome, and not for lack of intelligence or an unwillingness to do the work, but because every step of the way has felt like a Tough Mudder slog through the viscous muck of uncertainties and preschool hijinx.

Three years ago, I had absolutely no idea what I was getting myself into. I didn't watch (and still haven't seen) The Paper Chase. I didn't read 1L of a Year. Because I knew that none of those stories would bear much resemblance to mine.

I started law school as a 38 year old, former college administrator and lecturer,  and single parent to a 2 1/2 year old.

When the meme above crossed my feed tonight, I embraced it because it reflects the cornerstone of how I have "done" law school and made the experience work for me and my family.

Because I remember that it was around this time, three years ago, that I began to think in earnest about whether law school (even with a full tuition scholarship) would be part of my life's journey, I thought I'd take a moment and share some thoughts and experiences that may be relevant to other single parents contemplating a comparable journey.

• Put your family first

Law school is weird. It's like high school + professional school + a high stakes Winner-Takes-All poker tournament. It takes up an obscene amount of time and energy (especially during the first year), which I found to be more hectic than working full time. And at first, I really sucked at managing it because I had convinced myself that I would only ever amount to anything by pursuing the same load and as many as possible of the same activities as my classmates. That didn't work for my sanity, my grades or my dear daughter, who really struggled during our first year.

So after I lost my scholarship for a year because I fell short by 0.03 grade points in 1L, I did some serious soul searching. Participating in the ReInvent Law Lab and studying abroad in London (joined by my daughter and mother) convinced me that there was still some work that I want to do both in and with law. But I decided that how I went about my studies would reflect how I plan to live my life. 

I set my priorities and family came first. While I knew I had to work hard to regain my scholarship (which I did), that work would have to be in a manner that respected my primary responsibility to my daughter. Motherhood is not just the hardest job I've ever had; it's also the source of great joy.

Then something strange happened: the more time I allotted for my daughter (including making most Saturdays OUR days), the happier I was, the more efficient I became and my grades significantly improved (I made the Dean's List!).

Granted, this prioritization came at a "loss." I didn't serve on law review or any other journal (which is fine with me because The Bluebook truly is the 7th Circle of Hell). While I did serve as a student attorney in the Urban Ag law clinic for three terms, I did not clerk or otherwise work outside of school (except on my entrepreneurial interests). Moot Court, the Trial Practice Institute and even the Arbitration, Negotiation and Mediation competitions all passed me by. Instead, the bulk of my professional development was through ReInvent Law and the related suite of courses, workshops and events. Instead of taking the shotgun approach to law school, I had to use a much more targeted strategy that forced me to take ownership over the "unique course" I wish to set for myself professionally and personally.

Figuring out the work/life balance cannot wait until after graduation. It must be a fundamental part to one's law school success plan. And that means learning when and how to say "No," and figuring out where you will invest your "Yes."

• Ask for what you need: Institutional Resources 

Law school will train you to "think like a lawyer," but when it comes to being successful as a single parent in law school, you need to master the art of advocating like a lawyer, for yourself and your family. 

Even before you send in the enrollment deposit, figure out which staff and administrators are aware of and sensitive to the challenges student parents (especially single parents) face. At MSU Law we have a wonderful Diversity Coordinator, Mary Ferguson, who has been incredibly supportive for student parents, including providing Finals Childcare for our kiddos. Ask the Admissions people if they know of other current or admitted students who are parents and ask to be put in touch with them. One of my closest friends found me through Admissions, and now both our daughters and we have become dear friends.

Addendum: Don't forget to look beyond the law school's institutional resources to determine if the broader university has resources that can help you succeed as a student parent. MSU has a Family Resource Center that serves as a wonderful compendium of all the university and community resources available to support student parents (the FRC Resource Guide for Students with Children (pdf) is bookmarked on my computer). I joined the student organization, Student Parents on a Mission (SPOM) through which we have enjoyed discounted & free family-friendly events and activities. I have shamelessly taken advantage of the free subscription to Care.com, the five free days of emergency child care, the Finals Childcare provided by The People's Church across the street from the university (and which I learned about from SPOM),  and even the discounted Sick Child in-home care when missing class would have meant running afoul of the ABA attendance requirements (don't get me started on those). And I have applied for and received the Council of Graduate Students' Child Care Grant every semester for which I have applied, which has helped make it possible for me to enroll my daughter in a Montessori school.

Once you are enrolled, your interactions with your professors will be tantamount. My professors (many of whom have children who attend the same school as my daughter) have been understanding when I have had to bring my daughter to class, miss a class or even come in late (True Story: during 1L, my daughter fell asleep in the car on the way to my school & by the time we arrived she was starting to snore. I carried her into class late, laid her on a blanket in the back of the class, and she sawed logs audibly for the duration of class. Yet the professors were very understanding). It is on me to let the professors know my situation in advance, if possible, and ASK them if they mind the accommodation I need, when I need it.

Okay, the second wind is all but gone, so I will sign off here. 

Part Two will come soon(ish) because school reading, four job applications and a coworking business proposal, my daughter's social calendar (a sleepover one night and a birthday party), a day trip to Frankenmuth with another #lawschoolmom and her kids, the next #WritingWeekend story, and oh yeah...classes all need to be done this week. 

Part Two will cover:

1. Ask for what you need: Peer Community
2. Self-Care: Do It.
3. Set your child up for her own success
1. with her own emotions
2. school as co-parent

Single parenting through law school is a humbling exercise in logistics, project management, occasional outsourcing, and LOTS of design thinking. BUT it is also workable if you are true to your family, your values and your dreams (personal, familial and professional).

Mourning Father #WritingWeekend Week 1 inspired by @Buzzfeed #51BeautifulLines

For years, I have been something of a writing coward, despite having completed a degree in creative writing and taught writing. Aside from the occasional writing contest, intermittent blog posts, and the occasional voluminous Facebook note or comment, I have generally kept my poetry and prose to myself. But when I read Buzzfeed's list of the 51 Most Beautiful Lines of Literature, decided to use it as an opportunity to save my writing muscles from atrophy. So, I will take one line each week and will write a story, poem or essay inspired by the line and will post it here. I do not promise brilliance or even consistent quality. I only promise consistent effort. 

Shortly after making this decision, I learned that my father died. We were not close. But I have been a mess anyway. Writing this first essay has helped.

Mourning Father

“At any rate, that is happiness: to be dissolved into something complete and great.”
Willa Cather, My Antonia

I was fine. Whenever anyone asked about him, I’d shrug and say, “I’m past my daddy issues.” Mind you, they had hung on like a motherfucker, well past the time when they should have been laid to rest. But since thirty is the new twenty, and – as the meme accurately states – the first forty years of childhood are the hardest, I forgave myself the tenacity of my longing.

But then I got over it. No. I accepted that I would never know my elusive half-siblings. I dismissed my father with a forced bravado to match the finality with which he had apparently dismissed me. And I found comfort in knowing that the four years I’d been an in-state Blue Devil had not embroiled me in some inadvertent incestuous love affair given the rumored size of my father’s family and my complete unfamiliarity with any of them.

Last week, I was sitting on the couch, giddy with anticipation as I worked on the proposal for the property where I plan to anchor my entrepreneurial dreams. Then I checked Facebook and saw a message from a niece I had met once: “Hey aunt Karen, your dad is in the hospital. It's looking like he's not going to make it. Call my mom.” I blinked a few times in rapid succession. I had never called him “dad.” That’s just not the man I barely knew.

In one three-minute phone call, my resolute and confident embrace of the future was dragged back to the vortex of my past pained confusion. Lung cancer for years? Stage four bone cancer? None of his kids were told? Pulling the respirator today? TODAY?! How the hell do you expect me to get there in time?!

These tears feel like a fraud. An unearned release from a sideways ache that I hadn’t realized was there. Am I mourning the man he was (whom I barely knew) or the man he could have been (whom We never knew)? Or is this grief for the dissolution of the illusion to which I have occasionally clung since I was old enough to care.

Because my father could have been anyone.

Sure, Nick was married to my mom and his name was on my birth certificate, but that could have been a matter of convenience, of marital presumption, of largesse or mere ignorance. No. MY father, the one who gave me my high cheekbones, who had a deep understanding of my therapeutic longing for the Earth, who was the source of my high-fallutin’ “difference.” MY father… he had to be … more. And interested, but thwarted somehow. For a damned good and noble reason, maybe a royal one! Not an absentee, philandering, unstable war vet, but … a…. prince! West African. No! East African… descended of the Pharaohs. Or so I had hoped as a grade schooler, accentuating the almond shape of my eyes, doing my best Cleopatra walk and toying with the idea of learning Arabic (I settled on French).

With each slap, threat or insult from my stepfather, MY father had loomed large in my imagination, reassuring me and eventually empowering me. Because my blood, HIS blood does not cower, it boils over and reminds the tyrant, “I might not be able to do much while you are awake, but you will eventually fall sleep.”

But when I saw the blurred photos through Facetime – my father intubated and unconscious in a hospital bed – I knew my prince would never come, because he did not exist. That flawed, absent, profligate, and dying man was the only father I’d ever had, could ever have, and would never have because he would be gone before the day was through and we would never, ever know each other.

It wasn’t the bounces on My Daddy’s knees that I had craved, nor the sage silence of a fishing jaunt to a creek. In the end, I missed his canned tomatoes. I never got to try them. When we met almost four years ago, we had talked about our mutual love of gardening and preserving the bounty of our harvests. I was partial to jams and jellies. He canned tomatoes. I think. It was one conversation, in segments, over three – maybe four – hours. And then we never discussed canning again.

 We never really discussed anything again. In the four intervening years, I could count the number of conversations we had on one hand. Maybe my questions felt too much like interrogation, while his answers were just too elusive for me. But even in those few conversations, there was something in his voice – gravelly, jovial, North Carolina pine woods drawl – that had tickled a genetic memory and felt like a cornerstone of home. The missing brick was laid in place, and while I may have wished for a different bricklayer, at least it was no longer a missing link.

I did not look in his casket. And it wasn’t just the hazy-headedness from a red-eye cross-country flight. I could not do it. Having only one visual memory of my father, I did not want that replaced by an embalmed corpse. And it wasn’t because I loved the man I had met years ago. I didn’t. How could I? I didn’t know him. I just want to remember him as he chose to be when I met him, and not as some mortician felt he should look, because I’ll take truth over hagiography any day.

And the truth that speaks to me the most is the truth of my sisters.

I have sisters. J I am the eldest of six children. I have met my three sisters and their children. I have not yet met my brothers. In one of the last conversations I had with Nick, he said that his goal was to someday gather all of his children together. And while I was very nervous about meeting one of my siblings whose life choices were more dangerous than anything to which I had ever been exposed or would ever want to expose my daughter, I had wondered what that future introduction would be like. I didn’t expect it to be at his funeral.

Scripture says that the sins of the father will be visited upon the son, but what about the daughters? As I sat in the pew with two of my sisters, a niece and my daughter, I wondered at the different kinds and degree of pain and grief we each had for this man who had failed at least two of us in unique, but total ways.

It’s not that I scoffed at the remembrances of others who spoke of the man who would give you the shirt off his back. It’s just that I realized I didn’t know that man, and I had nothing to say about the man I barely knew, to a gathering of family I didn’t know at all. 

It was the realization that I have five siblings, fourteen aunts and uncles, and over 100 first cousins spanning from two years old to fifty years old that changed my tears. From grief for the father I did not and would not know, to anger over the family I never got to know. The tears that came to my eyes at the funeral were tears of fury. Fury at my father. And fury at my mother. Because knowing my paternal family was my right, which neither of them seemed to have respected. Nick didn’t try hard enough to stay in my life. Mom didn’t try hard enough to make me part of his family’s life.

That may be unfair. It’s probably unfair. But watching my sisters from the corner of my eye, seeing their beauty and poise, and their tears, I felt … cheated. The dissolution of my father-daughter fantasy sucked, but never knowing my sisters (and our brothers, cousins, aunts, uncles and grandparents) felt … feels like theft. You can only ever grow up with someone once (and I grew up as an only child). Now it remains to be seen if we will learn to grow old with each other, probably not as family first, but hopefully as friends, united by but not guided by our variegated memories of Nick aka Nank aka Rottweiler aka Bulldog aka Wild Mule aka Emanuel aka my father.

The Person I Want To Be & The Work I Want To Do #sharingeconomy #SHARE2014 #reinventlaw

I was raised as an only child, which means neither listening nor sharing come naturally to me.

But the life journey I've been on has taught me how to be better at both. And raising a wonderful, strong-willed and shockingly intuitive four year old challenges me to continue to grow in my listening and sharing skills. Professionally, I look forward to developing my new career path (from academic administration and university teaching to law and legal entrepreneurship), with a commitment to hone my listening ear and heart, and develop a deeper understanding of sharing. Doing so will make me a more effective advisor and advocate for the resilient communities with which I hope to work.

Yet, the prospect of foregrounding that commitment is by no means an obvious one because I am in law school and law too often emphasizes centralized authority that regulates the bejeezus out of the innovative zeitgeist at the heart of the sharing economy.

This tension between law and innovation figured prominently in panel discussions and informal conversations I had at the SHARE conference in San Francisco in May. The topics that captured my attention the most were: grassroots legislation reform; homesharing law wins (here and here) and setbacks; the trifecta between regulation, entrenched market interests (especially with ridesharing), and sharing; the tension between dead capital and venture capital in sharing economy platforms; and questions of access, equity and inclusion. There were some people who felt strongly that if the laws didn't work, then simply skirting the law was a valid response. But overwhelmingly there was more of a willingness to work with regulators as co-creators of the sharing economy, which I found to be a more reasonable position.

Regulators are people too. Work with them as if they are part of the #SharingEconomy. How will you build trust with them? #2014SHARE
— Karen FrancisMcWhite (@accidentalhippy) May 14, 2014

But attending SHARE did not only afford me the opportunity (thanks to generous support from Peers.org and SOCAP) to listen to the incredible speakers and others in more informal gatherings, it also presented me with an opportunity to spend several hours with my professional role model, Janelle Orsi, founder of the Sustainable Economies Law Center. Admittedly, I was a little worried that I may have rubbed her the wrong way even before we met. I had contacted her several months before about the prospect of coming to Michigan to run a Legal Tools for the Sharing Economy workshop for the student organization I co-founded, the Resilient Communities Law Society. Mind you, it's not like my follow-ups had been like that paperboy in "Better Off Dead" (well, maybe a little bit). But Ms. Orsi took my enthusiasm in stride, was personable and allowed me to observe intakes at one of the SELC's Legal Cafes.

Essentially SHARE 2014 and connecting with Janelle Orsi reaffirmed my commitment to growing a new career as a legal advocate for the sharing economy and community resilience. I came to law school convinced that I would focus on community-based urban redevelopment and urban agriculture, and rather than pivot after two years of law school, I think I've widened the aperture a bit.

That widening is largely thanks to the incredible learning and professional development experiences I have had through the MSU ReInvent Law Laboratory. ReInvent Law has introduced me to pioneers in legal design, services and reform, and given me opportunities to develop the project I came to law school to build: MiHomestead.com. I unveiled the first iteration at ReInvent Law London last summer and continued to work on it through a subsequent presentation at ReInvent Law NYC, and for a pitch competition.

So when ReInvent Law London 2014 took place last week, I followed the Twitter feed for #reinventlaw as closely as the four-legged menagerie I am pet-sitting allowed. Last year, I had been so nervous in preparation for my talk that I did not adequately do one very important thing: listen to the other talks. This year, I "listened" to the feed and heartily wished I could be at the conference. Hopefully the videos of the talks will be uploaded soon, especially the following:

• Kanan Dhru, Research Foundation for Governance in India, Lawtoons: Law Made Fun through Comics
• Ivan Rasic, LegalTrek, Lean: Can NewLaw Learn from Tech Startups?
• Mårten Janson, Fondia, Legal Departments as a Service
• Siobhan Duncan, Westminster University Law, Affordable Justice - Prepaid Cards & the Legal Services
• Frédéric Pelouze & Alexandra Uhel, Alter Litigation, The Paris Bar Incubator: Towards Innovation in the Legal Market
• Carlo Rossi Chauvenet, legalPAD/We Have the Future, Law is Not Enough

To say that I have found myself in a bit of a quandary as I consider my professional life after I graduate in May would be an understatement.

I continue to work on MiHomestead, but I am well aware of startup statistics (even as I adopt a Lean approach) and am stepping up my research of other avenues for combining my interests in law, the sharing economy, food system reform and community resilience.

Of course I am also aware that the year I finish law school is the year my daughter starts kindergarten, so whatever I do professionally and wherever that journey takes us must be a good parenting decision for my Washington-born, outdoorsy-and-artsy, and London-loving little girl (Sidebar: she has an airplane roller bag that she keeps by the door because "I might need it to fly somewhere" says the child who at four has already been on over two dozen airplanes).

So as I pet/housesit this summer and work on MiHomestead, I have a lot to review, think about, and DO. Because the person I want to be doesn't just sit on her laurels and listen, she's a doer and a sharer vested in building the more resilient society in which I want my child and all children to grow and thrive. She's also a bit of a law geek inspired by legal innovation and determined to roll up her sleeves and join in the grief and the joys of making the law work for resilient communities, rather than against them.

My Official Start of Summer

One would think that my summer would have begun when I completed the last final of my 2L year. Or perhaps it would have begun when my daughter's school year ended in the first week of June. But between those two events and today, I hosted my mom for a week to celebrate my daughter's baptism, was invited to attend the SHARE 2014 conference in San Francisco, helped my family figure out Louisiana intestacy laws for my late uncle's estate, moved my daughter and I out of our apartment into storage and then drove 2400 miles in 4.5 days to housesit for some friends back in Washington for the next 6 weeks.

Just thinking about the last month makes me want to take another soak in the hot tub.

But then I think about my plans for the rest of the summer, and I get pretty psyched. First, I look forward to having some focused time to work on MiHomestead.com (and hopefully, finally, find my tech partner for the development). Second, I look forward to hiking. Real hiking, with significant elevation gain. Michigan has its charms, but I miss mountains.  And the most important part of my summer plans is the Law School Mom penance time with my daughter.

Going to law school as a single parent with a toddler-turned-preschooler has been a deeply humbling experience for me, and not exactly the early childhood experience I had hoped for her. And neither was our Griswold-worthy road trip from Michigan. But I am also humbled by the truly remarkable little person my daughter is becoming. With one more year of law school left, followed by the reinvention of my career, I am shamelessly determined to make the most of my time with Z this summer. While I will still work on MiHomestead every day, the bulk of that work will occur on the days she is with her father, and after bedtime on the days that she is with me.

And I will also blog, twice a week as a means of thinking "out loud" about legal issues, the sharing economy and other randomness (e.g. parenting, Pacific Northwest gushing, and rebooting my health and fitness after that crazy Michigan winter).

But for now...the hot tub beckons...

Shoulding, Rather Than Acting on Love

I've been thinking a lot about love lately. Given that this is the season of Love Actually, and "All I Want for Christmas is You" (versions 1 and 2 - both of which touch my heart), I suppose that's to be expected. But I haven't primarily been thinking about romantic love.

This is also the season of Advent, the period for joyful hope and anticipation of the most selfless love the world has ever known. So, I've been thinking about agape love, in its many translations, and how that love is made manifest today. Here. Now. What should it look like? How should it feel? How should one act, when inspired by agape? How should I?

I first remember learning about agape when I converted to Catholicism seventeen years ago. But as I was a somewhat ...decadent... convert focused on other things, I never really examined what it meant. And in the intervening years, as I eventually grew away from and then closer to my Catholic faith, I've become interested in understanding agape more.

But I think I've been going about it all wrong.

I'm a recovering academic dilettante, so I tend to seek understanding in reading and pondering, which is fine ... as a starting point. But at some point, I need to act on what I have learned. I need to do. After all, practice makes perfect or at least a habit, right? But acting on agape love is just as daunting (scary, even) as acting on eros or even affection. What if I do it wrong? Or worse, what if the feeling isn't mutual? How do I share agape in a manner consistent with Christ's commandment that we love one another? Won't that hurt? Or at least expose me to discomfort or exploitation?

A few months ago, I did something that some suggest is proof that I am being hard on myself, proof that I "get" agape. I donated stem cells through Be the Match.

I was matched to a patient last winter and was supposed to donate in the spring. The extraction was delayed several months, taking place early in the start of my second year of law school. It was not the best timing, for a lot of reasons, and the process was more inconvenient and uncomfortable than I was expecting. But through it all, I would tell anyone who asked - more as a mantra to myself, than as some form of piety to whoever was listening - that it was less inconvenient than leukemia. But when I would say it, or think it, I wasn't thinking about the patient who would receive my stem cells. I was thinking about a friend, more than twenty years ago, who I visited in the hospital just days after she aborted her and her husband's second child (their first was still just a toddler) so that she could undergo aggressive chemotherapy in her fight against leukemia. It was a fight she lost, and from the day I first learned about stem cell transplantation, I wondered: if this technology had been available then, would my friend and her child be here now?

The patient, my patient, became a vessel for my long buried grief and retroactive heroics. Donating my stem cells was not really about Her. It was about hopefully sparing another family and another group of friends the loss that my friend's family, my family and our community suffered. It was about me saving "a" life, because I couldn't save her life years ago. It was, I think, a profoundly selfish "gift."

And it didn't work.

Today, as I was suiting up in the gym for a little morning workout, I received The Call. Unlike the previous call, a few weeks after the transplant, this was not good news. The patient, my patient, has died.

And I am genuinely sad for this woman I never met, never spoke to, never even wrote, because I had assumed that there would be time enough for that...someday. Time and again I was offered the opportunity by Be The Match to send her a card (through them in deference to our respective privacy). Time and again, I'd put it off. Certainly, law school and single parenting and working and trying to take care of myself (body, mind and soul) kept me busy. But it was one card I could have sent. Should have sent. Because in that one card, my "gift" would have truly been directed towards Her. She would have ceased to be a cipher for my attenuated grief. She would have become someone I took time to care about and acknowledge in Her own right.

Though I would often pray for Her and her family, I never reached out. I never told Her. I never shared with Her a desire for her healing and recovery. I made a deposit of stem cells, was reimbursed for my expenses, and proceeded to live my life as normal. And in my normal life, I live and love primarily in my head (with a strong exception made for my daughter, who may well someday move to a different country to avoid my helicopter tendencies).

As I sat in the sauna, I read some of Leo Buscaglia's Born for Love, and was broadsided by the passage entitled, "Love is not a private affair," at the bottom of which there was a quote by Norman Vincent Peale: "If you think you have given enough, think again. There is always more to give and someone to give it to."

It confronted me and shamed me. And it sent me on a course of thought and pondering that compelled me to both write this post and begin drafting a letter to Her family. This post is NOT about me. I am an only child, a Libra and a former drama geek, so I am very comfortable with being the center of attention. But the focus of this post, is agape and the reminder that like all love, it doesn't just happen and it can't just exist in our heads. To make it manifest requires that we do agape, for the right reasons, which is to say...for no reason at all. We do agape Just Because...like a card, sent to a stranger, with the hope that She is well.

Transitions

I had such noble aspirations for this blog when I set it up: chronicle the journey of a late-thirty-something single mother's journey through law school and personal/professional reinvention.

But then, there was a snafu with the ex and some legal wrangling last summer, before I could move with our daughter (for whom I have always been and continue to be the primary caregiver).

And being somewhat crunchy (and occasionally naive), I tried to commute to my daughter's school and mine exclusively by bus and bike for our first three months in Michigan. Not surprisingly, spending upwards of three hours a day commuting ate into my study time and I did not do nearly as well in my first semester of law school as I had hoped.

Eventually, I found my stride (and a decent 2000 Toyota Sienna minivan), revamped my approach to studying and realized: 1) the first year of law school really is as demanding as "they" say; 2) my daughter is a resilient child, but she still had a challenging time with the transition (at least initially) and needed me to be more fully present with her when we were together; and 3) there would be no time for blogging (even most of my Facebook and Twitter action were shares of other people's finds and insights).

So, as transitions go, my change from being The Boss of a university program to being a student (one of over 300 in my class), has been an exercise in humility and time management reform. But through it all, my experience of being a mother to a toddler-turned-preschooler has been my anchor and my inspiration, and - with her increasing verbosity - my accountability check. There's nothing quite like being chastised by a three year old who is using your own words and tone accurately, to reign you in (it's mostly when I drive, because Michigan drivers are ... "special").

Now it is summer, and I have survived the first year of law school (or at least I mostly have; we shall see if I totally have when the grades appear). I don't expect the rest of the journey to be easy (though I have enjoyed the downtime between the end of classes and the start of my urban agriculture practicum). But I do expect to be better situated to make time for journaling/blogging about this journey, and my myriad methods of starting over, building anew and making a stable home for my family.