“Annoying” and Other Words That Have No Use Past 7th Grade

“Annoying” and Other Words That Have No Use Beyond 7th Grade

It was July 2019. I’d just landed in Montana for the very first time. As soon as the plane’s wheels hit the Missoula tarmac, seatbelt clicks and notification dings from cellphones coming off Airplane Mode rang throughout the cabin.

Everyone, including my husband, shot out of their seats as if standing up would somehow get us off the plane faster. I remained seated. I was excited about the upcoming adventure, but anxious about being away from work. Seven days in Glacier National Park, the Crown of the Continent. Seven days of assignments & emails piling up in my Inbox while I had no cell signal, and even if I did, I couldn’t do any form of meaningful work. I was supposed to be on vacation. But…are we ever really on vacation as attorneys? This is a concept I’d ponder over the course of the next week in Glacier.

At the time, I was the low guy on the law firm totem pole, an associate attorney at a billable hours factory with well-respected offices in multiple locations throughout south and central Florida. The elusive 60k annual salary-plus-bonus gig that’s supposed to make you feel successful and prestigious. Isn’t that the dream we’re sold in law school? It was for me.

I had just taken my phone off of Airplane Mode to let our parents know we’d landed safely when it came through. The high-handed, condescending email from a managing partner that would cast an ugly black storm cloud of doubt and guilt over what was supposed to be forty miles of wildlife-rich hiking trails in the northwest corner of Big Sky Country. 

The email essentially read that I was in hot water for not completing an assignment before I departed, and the managing partner who wrote it was upset that he had to learn about the uncompleted assignment from a paralegal instead of from myself. He laced the word “annoying” throughout his written assault, and his chosen term has never left my mind in the five years since. [To be clear, the assignment was not due until after I returned from vacation].

“Annoying.” What a word coming from a seasoned legal professional and self-proclaimed practitioner of transcendental meditation. The literal height of hypocrisy and situational irony. I was instantly transported back to the 7th grade school bus when the student in the seat behind me was kicking my seat. The student kicking my seat was “annoying.” This word has no real place after middle school, nor does it have any place in the halls of a law office or among the holders of juris doctorate degrees.

Nevertheless, the tone and verbiage struck my then subordinate comprehension like a .38 bullet to the temple and lodged itself there. Cold dread shot down from my brain throughout my entire body, settling into the pit of my stomach, tying a knot there, and accelerating my heart rate on the way down. My mouth went dry, and I must have gone pale because my husband asked if I was okay. He asked what was wrong. I told him.

“Ignore it. He’s just being a jerk. Don’t let this ruin your trip.” Easier said than done, that was. The words sunk their teeth in and remained lodged in my throat. I spent the next week walking among the most surreal beauty I had ever seen, and yet I didn’t see it at all. 

Our hikes lead us past the bluest lakes in the continental United States. Past fields of bear grass dancing in the breezes of a warm Montana summer. Past mini waterfalls of late-season snowfall dripping down the high peaks of the Park. Meanwhile, all I could think about was the ambush of work awaiting me in Florida, and the impending vitriol from managing partners wanting to maximize their underlings’ billable hours and punish those who fell short. I’ve never felt so sick in my life, in body and mind. This inner turmoil painted sharp juxtaposition to the unparalleled beauty surrounding me. My inner knowing cried out in desperation and rebellion. “Why do you subject yourself to this? Why must you go back and be less, be inadequate, be subservient?”

I knew on the eight-mile Grinnell Glacier hike that I had to leave the practice of law altogether. My mental and physical health depended on it. I had to get out from underneath the thumb of money-addicted managing partners that viewed their associates as replaceable workhorses. Cattle even. Eat one. Hire another. The perpetual cycle of big law.

Unfortunately, quitting the practice of law would cost me my marriage. It would cost me more than that, although I didn’t know it at the time. My worth, in the perception of my husband then, was tied to my status and title. Nevertheless, I wouldn’t trade it. Whenever a friend or family member asks, “Do you think you’ll go back,” my answer is invariably “No. Absolutely not.” I continue to keep my law license in good standing, but it’s a formality. My law degree hangs in the guest bathroom right above the toilet. Where it belongs.

I’ve tasted freedom. I’ve tasted what it’s like to ride the entrepreneurial rollercoaster. What it’s like to dictate your own schedule, choose how you’re going to spend your incredibly limited hours on this Earth. I’ll never go back. I’ll never subject myself to someone else’s time clock again. I have too much respect for myself now. It cost me a marriage and more. But freedom is priceless. Answering to no one is priceless. Modern-day slavery disguises itself in the form of a W-2.

So, I want to thank the managing partner who wrote me that scathing email in July 2019. Unbeknownst to him, his ill-timed managerial insistence set me on a course of relentless self-dependence that ultimately led me to where I am today. Without his scathing words, and without the fear they struck, I might not be the woman I am today. Self-sufficient. Self-governing. Self-reliant. I’ve had much opportunity to think through this over the past five years and wasn’t sure I’d ever have the opportunity for closure. And yet there it was in 2024. An open door in the form of a property inquiry. I was selling my five acres of buildable land in Franklin, and he was interested. Time and timing are amusing concepts.

Initially, I thanked him for his inquiry and provided him the listing information along with my realtor’s contact info. But he wanted more. More photos. Topo maps. Lot line info. All information that was included in the listing that I had already sent. I was transported back to the law firm in 2019 when what I did was never enough. So I took the opportunity to send this story to him.

The addendum read: I’d rather sit on this land, never sell it, and suffer total financial ruin instead of selling it to someone who has robbed me of peace. I’d rather the property sell at deep discount to someone who will let nature reclaim it before they build even a shack on it. North Carolina is my home. Franklin is my peace. It has been my peace since I was a fourteen-year old girl and I will no longer jeopardize that peace. Money be damned.

Author’s note: The land sold for asking price shortly thereafter, and I was able to purchase the home I live in today. This blog post was drafted in view of the wraparound deck of my home, with the french doors open and a gentle breeze caressing the windchimes that hang next to the popular bird feeder.