CASS DA RE
<Editor-in-Chief>
Some of you might be too young (or too old) to remember the 2003 angsty-pop single by Michelle Branch, titled “Are you happy now?”
Without any external provocation and without any internal rationalization, I find the sorrowful sounds of this particular singer-songwriter slowly seeping into my fanciful trip down memory lane. There’s something about fall that is uniquely sobering, it may be the changing colours of the leaves, in their last vain attempt to be remembered for something beautiful that acts as a natural reminder of my own unavoidable mortality. It may be the tantalizing tease of the early wisps of the winter chill that slowly nip at any exposed skin by mid-October, that force me to consider that soon the year itself will come to an anti-climatic end under what was once a blanket of snow, but now, thanks to global warming, a much less romantic hardened cast of frost, fog, and cold mud. Either way, fall signals a time to prepare oneself for an inevitable ending; then again, that may just be me. I may have been a squirrel in a previous life, hot-wired to collect acorns of whimsical notions before the drudgery of exams, and before the end of (social) life as we know it befalls us.
Nevertheless, with Michelle Branch as the interior soundtrack to my thoughts, I find myself in my last year of law school, and the question that continues to echo in my mind is: are you happy now? For those of you unacquainted with my journalistic past, I have been Osgoode’s self-acclaimed Happiness Guru. I have been writing this feature piece since my first year at Osgoode, addressing issues about health, happiness, and general well-being in a response to the hardship of law school. Despite the many cotton-candy-sweet columns I have penned, make no mistake about it kids, law school is hard. You are not, never were, and never will be alone in that sentiment.
First year is undoubtedly the most trying: everything is new and confusing, some people seem like they already know it all, you feel like you know nothing, there are a ton of Latin words and acronyms constantly being thrown around without any context, and everyone keeps talking about this “Denning” character – apparently he’s into cricket. When I was in first year, all the second years said, “It gets easier”, “It’s so much better in second year”, and “Just wait, next year you’ll be happier.” The honest truth of the matter was that in second year, the workload was still challenging. Though I did like the classes better because I chose them on my own accord, and I was incrementally happier, it wasn’t the puppies and rainbows that I had been led to believe would lie at the end of the yellow brick road. But there were these wise and sage third years who said, “It gets easier”, “It’s so much better in third year”, and “Just wait, next year you’ll be happier.” Enter this year, and here I am, at the top of the proverbial totem pole, pecking order, pyramid, food chain, or whatever hierarchal structure you would like to envision: the last year of law school. Full of remorse and utter disillusion, I must report that I didn’t find the pot of easy and happy-go-lucky gold at the end of my rainbow.
Law school was not the happiest time of my life, despite the constant reassurances from anyone senior in age or academic level that it would be. For that, I can only blame myself. I spent far too long waiting for law school to change, waiting for law school to get easier, and waiting for law school to get better. Upon further reflection, I realize that law school doesn’t change, and it likely never will. In the words of e. e. cummings, “here is the deepest secret nobody knows (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)”. “It” doesn’t get easier and “It” doesn’t get better, and no amount of time in law school will make you happier.
What changes is you: your ability, your awareness, your experience, and your understanding. You make your life easier by committing to more sound choices and you, through this difficult process, get better at overcoming its inherent hurdles. Maybe if we, and everyone else who espouses advice, stop focusing on the institution in which we are in, but rather turn the lens inwardly and made the locus of our attention ourselves, we will actually have a fighting chance of being happier during our time here.
The take away is this: it is easy to project our expectations of happiness, success, and well-being on to others and on to institutions. It is easier still to project our faults, our failings, and blame on the same. Without trivializing the institutional, social, economic, and organizational barriers that different individuals face, and without taking a purely individualistic approach, I only wish to recognize that happiness in law school has very little to do with law school and very much to do with the law student. As law students, we have a responsibility, dare I say duty, to other law students to be honest about our experiences, to give useful advice, and to share both our tribulations and triumphs. This may be my last vain attempt to be remembered for something meaningful – call me amber and maple leaf red. But this is my call to action in the autumn of my academic career. Hopefully, at the end of your three years here, you can answer Michelle Branch with a resounding yes, without the angsty-pop soundtrack in the background.