blind insight

New York state of mind.

I'm heading to New York tomorrow morning for a short getaway. I anticipate a frosty but fun weekend, including quality time with my grandmother and get-togethers with a few great friends whom I don't see nearly often enough.

But most exciting, the real premise for my trip is to join a motley horde of deaf and hard-of-hearing lawyers that will be descending en masse upon the Big Apple starting later tonight. I can't wait to finally meet "in the flesh" these folks who have become, over the course of many months of near-daily discussion, my dear friends and an important part of my support system.

Trip report to follow early next week!

You're my inspiration.

Steve and I had dinner (and a hot game of canasta) last night with my parents. On the drive home, somehow we started talking about the whole hearing- and vision-loss thing. He asked me whether I ever think about what it would be like to go in for surgery and come out able to see everything -- clearly, peripherally, even at night. I do think about this, but mostly in abstract terms. I have days and moments when I wonder what it might be like to move through the world smoothly and effortlessly, instead of being constantly on guard lest I add further to the roadmap of scars on my shins and knees. I occasionally feel sorry for myself and dream about what it would be like to see the whole rock when I'm climbing, or to be able to ski really fast again. But most of the time, I don't think too much about what I've lost, and worry more about dealing with (and making the most of) what's left to me.

I also told Steve that I feel like I've been dwelling on these issues lately, and that I don't want to feel like I'm using my disabilities as a crutch or an excuse. Last Sunday, for example, I skied like total garbage. It would be easy for me to whine (as I did that day) that it was snowing really hard and I couldn't see anything. But the truth of the matter is that no one could see a damn thing, and I just wasn't skiing well. I doubt I'd have done any better if my eyes were normal -- I have a long way to go before I'm linking tele turns consistently, especially on bumps and funky snow.

Along the same lines, I feel like an impostor whenever someone says that they're impressed or inspired by my athletic pursuits. There's nothing impressive about my athleticism, other than perhaps my consistency in dragging my butt to the gym at a godawful hour most mornings. I'm a middle-of-the-pack triathlete at best, and don't excel at any of the three disciplines. I'm a decent climber, but I'll probably never do much trad leading. I'm a solid skier, but no one's going to watch me from the chairlift and wish they could ski like me. Plus, I can't throw a frisbee to save my life, and I completely suck at any sport involving a small, moving projectile (which is likely to hit me in the face before I can see it, let alone catch/kick/hit it).

I suppose that my dedication to active pursuits comes in part from the sense of control it gives me. It's satisfying to feel some mastery over my physical being, when my vision loss, in particular, seems so utterly beyond my control. But I strongly doubt that I would be any better at sports if my eyes and ears worked perfectly. I mean, no one in my family has any great athletic talent, other than my brother, who has natural athletic ability that he's mostly let go to waste.

There are people out there who have achieved true athletic greatness inspite of (or, better yet, regardless of) a physical disability. People like Erik Weihenmeyer, Marla Runyan, Jim Abbott, and Wilma Rudolph, to name a notable few. They are inspiring. I'm just out there breathing hard and sweating.

Quiz show.

I'm not terribly busy this week and am recovering from post-filing exhaustion. So when a friend sent me this link to some sort of "personality test," I figured it would offer a nice afternoon diversion.

Upon clicking the link, I discovered that the test is aimed at sussing out my "personal attraction" factor, and is run by uber-cyber-yenta service Match.com. I'm certainly not out on the dating market, but in the interests of time wasting, I took the test anyway.

As it turns out, only 3% of all women (at least among the "over 10,000 women" who've taken the test) have personalities very similar to mine, and another 12% are somewhat similar. In other words, Match says my personality sets me apart from 85% of the internet-test-taking population. I admit to being rather pleased by this discovery, since I'd hate to learn that despite spending thirty-some-odd years cultivating my own array of quirks and neuroses, I'm just like all those other chicks.

Unfortunately, the test also reveals that only 2% of the male population is very attracted to my unique combination of personality traits. I can't remember if there are more boys than girls in my age cohort of singletons these days, but that's not a particularly reassuring statistic. Then again, Match says that 34% of men are "attracted" to my personality, and only 7% are completely turned off by my style.

I don't intend to lose any sleep over these results, nor do I plan to take any steps to make my personality more attractive to the 57% of the male population that apparently is "indifferent" to my traits. But I admit to taking a wee bit of solace in the fact that I'm not looking these days!

Unfaithful.

Last week, my women's discussion group talked about spirituality. As is our practice, the topic was selected by the evening's hostess, who had just returned from a trip to Peru led by a shaman and was trying to hold on to the intense spirituality she felt during her journey. For most of the evening, I listened quietly to the rest of the group discussing the efforts they have made to find a spiritual community or to bring spirituality into their lives. I enjoyed hearing about everyone's experiences, but felt disconnected from the discussion and had little to contribute myself.

Eventually, though, the group pushed me to speak. Reluctantly, I explained that I do not seek out spirituality on any kind of conscious or deliberate level. I added that I feel most "spiritual" when I am doing something active outside in a beautiful place. At those moments, I feel connected to all the elements, and most alive within myself. Rock climbing, in particular, produces a feeling of one-ness with my mind, my body, and the world around me.

But, as I also told the group, despite my rather un-spiritual nature, I do feel deeply connected to Judaism. The Hebrew portions of the religious service, particularly the singing and chanting, give me a powerful sense of connection to my people and my roots. Yet the English readings leave me cold, and fail to spark any sense of faith or spirituality in my heart. That is, the ancient Hebrew, which I can read but for the most part cannot understand, is like a gossamer thread linking me inseverably to all who have uttered these words over the last five or six millennia. In English, whether translated from the Hebrew or added in the modern era, the words drop like lead on my ears and heart, full of paeans to God's awesome power and generous protection.

Mostly this is because I don't really believe in God. Or more accurately, because the concept of "God" gives me no comfort or guidance. Instead, I believe above all that we each are responsible for our decisions and actions, that things don't "happen for a reason," but rather simply happen for reasons we may or may not understand, and we are left to react and respond to those happenings as best we can.

At the group meeting, some of the women suggested that I reconceptualize God, or try to perceive God in all that surrounds me. But while I revel in the beauty of nature and the unpredictability of the elements, and while I never cease to be enthralled by the ever-shifting majesty of the Colorado sky, I don't associate these wonders with divine workmanship. These phenomena exist, they are perhaps beyond my understanding, and I am fortunate to perceive and experience them. Attributing them to "God" neither alters my perception nor heightens my experience.

I suppose there is something essential missing in me, preventing me from experiencing religious reverence and feeling the powerful force of a divine spirit. Probably, I would be a better person if I could experience a spiritual awakening from yoga, rather than simply enjoying the benefits of strength and flexibility that yoga brings to my corporeal self. Perhaps I would feel a greater fulfillment in life if I could open my heart and mind to religious guidance, whether from rabbi, shaman, guru, or some other spiritual leader.

But the idea that God -- whatever he, she, or it may be -- is watching over me offers no solace. Maybe I resist the notion of God because so much evil has been perpetrated in this world in God's name. Maybe I reject prayerful religiosity because I see so much hypocrisy shrouded in prayer. I do believe deeply in tradition, family, and culture, and I recognize many phenomena in life that I cannot explain through logic or science. And I support wholeheartedly those who adhere to any doctrine or faith that guides them to treat others with respect and kindness, to help those who are less fortunate, and to pursue peace and goodwill among all people.

Crime and punishment.

Over the weekend, while Steve and I and another friend were sipping cocoa in the car after some backcountry skiing, the conversation turned political. At one point, our friend asked me a few questions about John Ashcroft, and I was surprised and concerned once again to realize how little most non-lawyers in America understand about the role -- and power -- of the Attorney General. This friend is very well-educated, and quite knowledgeable about many issues. Yet he had no idea that the Attorney General is a member of the Cabinet and the country's chief legal officer. He was completely unaware of Ashcroft's role in many post-9/11 assaults on our civil liberties (though he was aware of and angry about the incursions themselves).

Inevitably, the conversation led to my pet-peeve topic of federal sentencing. The guys were appropriately dismayed to learn that in recent months, Congress has stripped federal judges of almost all of the scant discretion they retained in sentencing federal offenders. They were suitably appalled upon hearing of Ashcroft's recent policy requiring Assistant United States Attorneys to pursue the most severe potentially-provable charges against all accused offenders, and to plead out cases only if the plea agreement includes the offense that results in the longest possible sentence, particularly where a mandatory minimum sentence is available.

Steve asked me why Ashcroft and company believe that imposing lengthy prison terms on small-time drug dealers is politically expedient? Why Congress and the President believe that being "tough on crime" means wasting enormous resources on turning into career criminals those who might well be rehabilitated? But I don't know the answer; the logic escapes me.

I do know the results. A generation of children is growing up without fathers (and in many cases, mothers). Thousands of individuals are rotting away in prisons who could, through drug counseling, job training, mentoring, and other guidance, become contributing members of our economy and society. An army of federal prosecutors are earning comfortable salaries and launching political careers by pushing cases through the system by rote, rarely exercising independent judgment or using creative legal reasoning. And millions of taxpayer dollars are being spent on this so-called war on crime, while the government continues to short-change education, health care, vocational training, and other programs that might actually reduce criminality.

I wish I had the answer to Steve's question, but I don't. In this excellent editorial, Stuart Taylor suggests that Bush and Ashcroft are pandering to voters' collective punitive instincts. Yet I choose to believe that things might be different if more Americans understood the impact that excessive prosecutions and harsh sentences work on their communities and their pocketbooks. And I continue to believe that a change in administration will bring a turn-around to some, if not all, of the Bush/Ashcroft regime's wasteful and damaging policies.

Changing of the Guard.

Today was my boss's last day in the office, after 25 years as the Federal Public Defender here in Colorado. I've just returned home from his retirement party, which was bittersweet and wholly satisfying. The evening included a video that was so marvelously creative and funny that I nearly wet my pants from laughter. Highlights included two prominent criminal defense lawyers in drag doing a musical tribute to the Boss, Boulder street people ruminating as to what kind of fruit or vegetable the Boss might be, and a "news flash" segment about the Fall of the Boss, complete with scenes of a jubilant populace dancing in the street and toppling statues of the Boss, while CNN-like update text scrolled at the bottom of the screen. And of course, the usual in-joke silliness that makes my office such a truly fantastic place to work.

After some roasting and toasting, the big guy stepped up to say a few words. He then proceeded to speak for over an hour, but if I hadn't looked at my watch, I would never have believed it was more than fifteen minutes. He's a captivating orator, and though he started with the cliche "this isn't about me, it's about you," what followed was anything but cliched. Instead, he traced the beginnings of the Federal Defender office here, the circumstances that gave this office credibility right from the start, and the superb lawyers who built the reputation on which my colleagues and I stand today.

He reminded us that he and the other members of the office in the early 80s (a few of whom are still defenders, and many others who were in attendance tonight) had to go up against an impossibly tough and talented bunch of Assistant U.S. Attorneys. He reminded us that back in those days, being a public defender meant no prestige, few resources, and lousy pay. He reminded us, too, that 40 years ago, the Supreme Court had only just recognized the right of an indigent defendant to free counsel. And that 35 years ago, there were almost no federal defender offices and few states had public defender systems. Yet today, roughly 90% of the federal judicial districts have an FPD office, and most states have established competent defender systems. The Boss cautioned us that our work is far from done, and that we can never relent in our fight to protect the rights of those who are most at risk to forfeit them.

He then traced the evolution of policy and personnel that brought us to what he called "the Modern Era" of the office. In this era, a young lawyer with a sterling pedigree (like, say, me) gratefully walks away from a hefty salary and a schmancy law firm to become a federal public defender. The state's top criminal defense attorneys react to being offered a federal defender job by sighing, "Thank God." And hundreds of applicants vie for each open position in our office, willing to leave lucrative private law practices for the privilege of joining us.

In some ways, the Boss's words were foreshadowed earlier in the day, when the Chief District Judge swore in the New Boss (a longtime trial lawyer in our office and an all-around wonderful guy). The Chief Judge spoke of the legacy the Boss is leaving us, and expressed his certainty that we will carry on that legacy under our new leadership.

As I listened to the Boss's eloquent words, I found myself reflecting on just how lucky I am to have a job that I love, doing work that I believe in passionately, with people I adore and respect. I am exceptionally fortunate to have landed where I am today. And so tonight, I say a silent thanks to the men and women who paved the way for me by building the federal defender office into the premier criminal defense team in town. I stand on their shoulders, and I cherish their legacy.

Briefly.

Whew. The brief is a wrap. I'm recovering from the adrenaline and sleep deprivation of the last several days, and digging out from under the piles that have accumulated in my office. By tomorrow, I might even have something interesting (or at least coherent) to say.

It's Greek to me.

I'm still madly banging away at my brief, but it's finally taking shape. Despite being in the office until nearly 9:00 last night, I'm feeling motivated and productive rather than exhausted and stressed (I suppose the latter sentiments will hit me tomorrow).

More important, I took a little break this morning and finalized the travel plans that Lily and I have been percolating for a few weeks. (There's my priorities for you -- I've got a stack of inmate correspondence to respond to, I didn't eat dinner last night, and I had a hurried conversation with my sweetie this morning, but I always have time for travel planning!) We leave in early September for Greece, where we'll spend eight days sea kayaking in the Northern Dodecanese Islands! I'm so, so, so excited to have a trip in the works, and to travel again with Lil, who's one of my all-time favorite travel companions (and people in general).

More to follow on this adventure, of course, since it's still a full eight months out. But here are the details from our travel operator -- I think it sounds absolutely incredible!

The Miami Herald gets it (mostly) right.

This editorial in today's Miami Herald calls "unjust" the indefinite detention of Mariel Cubans such as my client and the petitioner in Benitez v. Wallis. Among the Herald's points is that releasing these detainees is no "reward." Rather, it is their right; they have served the sentences for their criminal convictions, and are being held only because of geopolitical wranglings far beyond their control.

But the Herald oversimplifies the issue in one respect, when it says that "the Justice Department interpreted the 2001 [Supreme] Court [Zadvydas v. Davis] ruling to exclude all those who entered the country illegally and, thus, technically aren't here." In fact, Justice appears to be arguing that only those who, like the Mariels, are considered not to have "entered" at all are exempt from the Supreme Court's limitation on indefinite detention. Under the government's approach, even those who have entered illegally would be entitled to release after six months if they cannot be deported, while the Mariels, who left Cuba as pawns in Castro's political game and were processed into the United States upon their arrival (by being granted conditional "parole"), must languish in prisons. As the Herald points out, they are here, and it is "unjust to keep them imprisoned indefinitely."

Weekend round-up.

After spending 8 hours in the office on Saturday, I was pretty darn happy to have the rest of a three-day weekend ahead of me (thank you, Dr. King). After I finally left work, Steve and I joined his roommate and the roommate's girlfriend for dirt-cheap pizza and beers at our new favorite hole-in-the-wall in Golden, then stayed up late playing a heated girls-against-boys game of spades. Of course we kicked the boys' butts, though they claim it was the result of too many beers on their part.

Sunday brought us the first lazy, relaxing weekend morning we've had in weeks. We decided to forego skiing and instead slept late, made waffles for everyone with Steve's new waffle iron, played some more spades (the boys did somewhat better, but we broke for the afternoon dead even), and then hit the rock climbing gym for the first time since early December. I climbed surprisingly well, and even managed to make the first couple of moves on a 5.12- route that was more balance-oriented than burly.

After a nice dinner, we returned to the card table to resume the spades match. Despite some setbacks, the girls had a comfortable lead when Steve's roommate left for his hockey game. Steve and I settled into the couch and watched Brotherhood of the Wolf on DVD. What a phenomenal movie -- beautiful photography, great acting, and an engrossing and disturbing story. Plus, I love the opportunity to listen to French!

Today, we did ski, and had an awesome day at A-Basin with my friends Dawn and Jeff. The snow was marginal, but the slopes were practically empty and the sun was shining, so it was a great day for me to really push myself. This was my first day on alpine skis after a month of tele, and I was pleasantly surprised that I remembered how to ski steeps and bumps.

Now I'm home, showered, slightly rested, and about to head out to my women's discussion group this evening. Our talks are always satisfying and interesting, and I love spending time with this group of diverse, talented, and fun women. While most of what we discuss must remain within our circle, I'm hoping that tonight's gathering will provide me with food for thought and fuel for this forum.

Then again, I have to finish my brief tomorrow, so perhaps it's better if I don't have any huge ideas bouncing around in my head, crying out to be transformed into something bloggable.