“We have this language of the omens, the language of the signs. It is an alphabet that is directed to us.” –Paulo Coelho
The Alchemist, Paulo Coelho’s classic fable, tells the story of a young Andalusian shepherd named Santiago. After having a particularly vivid recurring dream, Santiago visits a gypsy woman to have the dream interpreted. When the gypsy insists that the shepherd travel to Egypt to find his treasure, he is dubious. But then a wise old man approaches Santiago, instructing him to follow his dream and interpret the omens around him. The next day, Santiago sells all of his sheep and embarks on a journey across Africa.
Settling in at NYU last week to attend the law school’s orientation, I couldn’t help but think of Santiago. Everywhere I went there were omens. It began on Tuesday when a magnitude 5.8 earthquake rocked the East Coast. Standing in my ten-by-eleven D’Agostino cell, I held onto my desk for dear life as I waited for the sudden vertigo to pass. I must be losing it, I thought to myself. I’ve been in the city for less than 24 hours and I’m already having a breakdown. Eventually I regained my balance, and a few minutes later 546 Facebook status updates reassured me that mine was not the only world to shake. I tried to brush the episode off, but a few hours later, just seconds after having my student ID photo snapped a fire alarm blared loudly. The fire department evacuated Vanderbilt Hall, forcing me to wait across the street for a half-hour before receiving my ID. It was a minor inconvenience, but experiencing the largest East Coast earthquake since 1944 a day before the start of orientation? Not a good omen.
Thankfully, the rest of the day passed without incident. When I visited the NYU Bookstore on Wednesday, a dazed expression swept over my face as I stared up at the stacks upon stacks of tomes and casebooks, many of them authored by my new professors. Once again I suddenly felt dizzy, but this time shifting tectonic plates were not to blame. Accepting the reality that I am now a law student, I slowly scoured the shelves for my books. I left the store nearly $800 poorer, but I do have some nice light reading (and a new coffee mug!) to show for it.
Envisioning two hours of awkward forced bonding, I was wary of the section mixer on Wednesday night. In retrospect, I should have gone prepared with some really creative answers to the requisite Four Questions: Where are you from? Where did you do your undergrad? Where are you living? And, what kind of law do you want to study? Luckily I met a bunch of interesting people and enjoyed the event, even partaking in a few real life conversations.
On Thursday morning the omens struck again. After my alarm disrupted my slumber at the ungodly hour of 8:00 a.m., I dragged myself into the bathroom. I twisted the shower knob and began to brush my teeth as I waited for the water to heat up. Spitting out my toothpaste, I stuck my hand beneath the showerhead. Still cold. It’s early, I thought. Maybe it will take a few minutes. But a few minutes passed with no signs of heat. If anything, the water felt icier each time I tested it. Not wanting to hog the bathroom from my roommate, and unwilling to meet my colleagues in my present state, I gritted my teeth and hopped in. Despite frantically washing and scrubbing as quickly as humanly possible, the shower was still my most brutal in recent memory. The message was loud and clear: Your life is miserable now. Get used to it.
By Friday the hot water had returned, but a dark cloud hung over the day’s events as the school and city made preparations for Hurricane Irene. NYU’s advisory emails began pouring in before the first drop of rain, instructing us to (among other things) keep our Venetian blinds closed. Indeed, things seemed dire. On Saturday morning my roommate went so far as to evacuate the premises in search of drier lands. After fighting through crowds at the grocery and liquor stores, I hunkered down in my apartment, took one last look at civilization, shut the blinds and waited.
Despite temporarily converting the concrete jungle into a ghost town, the storm certainly did not live up to the hype. From what I gathered none of the NYU Law community was greatly affected, and on Monday our events proceeded as scheduled. A tornado really would have capped off my first week in the city quite nicely, but I think we were all pleased to avoid any more natural disasters.
With the conclusion of orientation, my colleagues and I now embark on a three-year exploration of the law. Like Santiago, we all hope this journey leads to some great treasure, whether monetarily or otherwise rewarding. Although the omens this week were not always so bright, Irene’s mild outcome leaves me hopeful that our collective anxiety of what lies ahead is ultimately unfounded. But if law school really does become as horrible as some of us fear, just remember that we could always take another cue from Santiago: sell our sheep and flee to Africa.
The Alchemist, Paulo Coelho’s classic fable, tells the story of a young Andalusian shepherd named Santiago. After having a particularly vivid recurring dream, Santiago visits a gypsy woman to have the dream interpreted. When the gypsy insists that the shepherd travel to Egypt to find his treasure, he is dubious. But then a wise old man approaches Santiago, instructing him to follow his dream and interpret the omens around him. The next day, Santiago sells all of his sheep and embarks on a journey across Africa.
Settling in at NYU last week to attend the law school’s orientation, I couldn’t help but think of Santiago. Everywhere I went there were omens. It began on Tuesday when a magnitude 5.8 earthquake rocked the East Coast. Standing in my ten-by-eleven D’Agostino cell, I held onto my desk for dear life as I waited for the sudden vertigo to pass. I must be losing it, I thought to myself. I’ve been in the city for less than 24 hours and I’m already having a breakdown. Eventually I regained my balance, and a few minutes later 546 Facebook status updates reassured me that mine was not the only world to shake. I tried to brush the episode off, but a few hours later, just seconds after having my student ID photo snapped a fire alarm blared loudly. The fire department evacuated Vanderbilt Hall, forcing me to wait across the street for a half-hour before receiving my ID. It was a minor inconvenience, but experiencing the largest East Coast earthquake since 1944 a day before the start of orientation? Not a good omen.
Thankfully, the rest of the day passed without incident. When I visited the NYU Bookstore on Wednesday, a dazed expression swept over my face as I stared up at the stacks upon stacks of tomes and casebooks, many of them authored by my new professors. Once again I suddenly felt dizzy, but this time shifting tectonic plates were not to blame. Accepting the reality that I am now a law student, I slowly scoured the shelves for my books. I left the store nearly $800 poorer, but I do have some nice light reading (and a new coffee mug!) to show for it.Envisioning two hours of awkward forced bonding, I was wary of the section mixer on Wednesday night. In retrospect, I should have gone prepared with some really creative answers to the requisite Four Questions: Where are you from? Where did you do your undergrad? Where are you living? And, what kind of law do you want to study? Luckily I met a bunch of interesting people and enjoyed the event, even partaking in a few real life conversations.
On Thursday morning the omens struck again. After my alarm disrupted my slumber at the ungodly hour of 8:00 a.m., I dragged myself into the bathroom. I twisted the shower knob and began to brush my teeth as I waited for the water to heat up. Spitting out my toothpaste, I stuck my hand beneath the showerhead. Still cold. It’s early, I thought. Maybe it will take a few minutes. But a few minutes passed with no signs of heat. If anything, the water felt icier each time I tested it. Not wanting to hog the bathroom from my roommate, and unwilling to meet my colleagues in my present state, I gritted my teeth and hopped in. Despite frantically washing and scrubbing as quickly as humanly possible, the shower was still my most brutal in recent memory. The message was loud and clear: Your life is miserable now. Get used to it.
The day quickly improved, thanks in large part to the free coffee that NYU so graciously provided us throughout the morning. In the afternoon I met my 30-student Lawyering section, a remarkable group that includes a Ph.D. holder, a certified yoga instructor, and an ordained rabbi. We had a fairly heated debate about a hypothetical situation involving Angelina Jolie, a moped, and a statue of an army tank. I guess you had to be there. At our “brown bag” lunch, I was pleasantly surprised to receive a gluten-free alternative to the provided sandwiches, and got to explain to everyone how I’m special and get special treatment from the school and all of that. It’s just one of the perks of being a celiac.
By Friday the hot water had returned, but a dark cloud hung over the day’s events as the school and city made preparations for Hurricane Irene. NYU’s advisory emails began pouring in before the first drop of rain, instructing us to (among other things) keep our Venetian blinds closed. Indeed, things seemed dire. On Saturday morning my roommate went so far as to evacuate the premises in search of drier lands. After fighting through crowds at the grocery and liquor stores, I hunkered down in my apartment, took one last look at civilization, shut the blinds and waited.With the conclusion of orientation, my colleagues and I now embark on a three-year exploration of the law. Like Santiago, we all hope this journey leads to some great treasure, whether monetarily or otherwise rewarding. Although the omens this week were not always so bright, Irene’s mild outcome leaves me hopeful that our collective anxiety of what lies ahead is ultimately unfounded. But if law school really does become as horrible as some of us fear, just remember that we could always take another cue from Santiago: sell our sheep and flee to Africa.
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