Tragedy

Posted on October 20, 2023 | 2 comments
Pepperdine Graphic

tragedy: a lamentable, dreadful, or fatal event or affair; calamity; disaster.

Painfully, recently, the Pepperdine University campus community has borne witness to tragedy.

Around 8:30pm on Tuesday night, four Pepperdine seniors—Asha, Deslyn, Niamh, and Peyton—were killed when struck by a car on the Pacific Coast Highway in Malibu. Those four precious students were attending a school-sponsored fraternity-sorority mixer and were standing on the roadside when a high-speed vehicle crashed into multiple parked cars, propelling one to fatally strike the young women. It is a tragedy that is simply beyond words. The driver of the vehicle is twenty-two years old and a Malibu resident, and some in the Pepperdine community know him, too. Words do not exist. An unspeakable tragedy.

This, of course, comes on the heels of the savage terrorist attacks in Israel that has impacted the Pepperdine community as well. Los Angeles has the largest Jewish population outside of the nation of Israel, and that is reflected on campus, including here at the law school where I work. In fact, one of our terrific law professors was in Israel celebrating the holiday with his family when the attacks occurred and ended up teaching a class via Zoom from a hotel rooftop in the war zone. He is back among us now, thankfully, but the pain here is personal and palpable. Add to the mix our students and colleagues with personal and family connections to Palestine. Their pain is most personal as well, along with unique fears and concerns, now feeling a double minority in a terrible, terrible time. Another unspeakable tragedy.

It has been and is a time of great sadness here.

Tragedy. We sit in the audience and watch tearfully as the play ends with both Romeo and Juliet lifeless on the floor of the tomb. As the curtain falls, we’re stunned that Medea gets away with murder—or that Oedipus is heartbroken, blind, and begging—or that Hamlet dies in Horatio’s arms. We sit in the audience and weep for Rose and Jack as the Titanic goes down.

We are all too aware of the concept of tragedies. But when we discover ourselves in close, real-life proximity to those enduring unspeakable pain, we instinctively remember the phrase, there but for the grace of God go I, although there is a gnawing thought that our day will come, too, grace of God notwithstanding

Tragedy.

How does anyone even find the courage to face life in the face of such, well, reality? I am no expert. I only have so many birthdays and personal experiences, but what those have produced so far are the following thoughts, for what they are worth:

  • Be kind. Be kind to others, Be kind to yourself. Life is hard enough, and it is too hard for any of us to add any more unkindness to the world.
  • Be grateful. That there is anything good in life is an act of grace, and there are absolutely things that are good in life, and grace exists. Life is too hard to neglect anything beautiful that occurs along the way.
  • Be intentional. Live well. Make your life count for something. Don’t waste your precious moments. Contribute your verse. Awaken to the penetrating question that Mary Oliver poses of what you will do with your wild and precious life. Life is too hard not to make it count.

This community is in a time of great sadness, so surely not now, currently in the throes of grief, but when individuals are able to get up off the mat, whenever that is, and face life again with tragedy all too evident, I pray that we choose to do justice to the memories of those who have been lost. Life is simply too precious to waste.

Niamh, Peyton, Asha, and Deslyn

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Legends at the Bowl

Posted on October 16, 2023 | 3 comments

The show on Saturday was incredible.

Like most Los Angeles landmarks, I first learned of the Hollywood Bowl by watching the Beverly Hillbillies, which come to think of it feels somewhat appropriate on a personal level. In Season 1, Episode 23, originally aired in 1963, a con-man tried to sell Jed Clampett the Hollywood Bowl, Griffith Park, and the freeway between them. I absolutely remember watching that rerun, and that I ended up there watching legends perform seems as unlikely as Jethro Bodine.

Back to Saturday night: Our friends, Mikey and Jenna, bought four tickets for “Brandi Carlile and Friends” and graciously invited us to join them for an evening at “the Bowl.” (Nothing makes me feel so L.A. as saying that I’m going to a concert at “the Bowl.”) Unfortunately, Mikey and Jenna had to cancel their trip but shared the tickets so that we invited Erica and Natalie to join us. What a gift that turned out to be for all four of us.

I confess that I did not know the difference between Brandi Carlile and Belinda Carlisle until a few weeks ago, but Jody had sufficiently introduced me to the musical genius of Brandi Carlile prior to the show—and she absolutely delivered, as anticipated. But what we were not prepared for was the “and friends” portion of the show title. There were amazing performances by artists who may very well be ridiculously famous someday, too, but the crazy surprises started when Wendy & Lisa (of Prince fame) joined the show, much to my wife’s delight.

And then, Annie Lennox. Holy cow, Annie Lennox was incredible. Annie Lennox is pushing seventy but, pardon the pun, hasn’t missed a beat. She hit the stage wearing a tilted fedora and as you can imagine mesmerized the audience with her inimitable voice and trademark scowl, waving her arms like someone attempting to land an airplane in a hurricane. It was phenomenal and more than we bargained for.

But then: Joni Mitchell. My goodness. Joni Mitchell. For a regal end to a joyous evening, the stage set rotated and Joni Mitchell appeared, sitting as a queen on a gilded throne, with Annie Lennox on her right hand and Brandi Carlile on her left. The crowd went berserk.

Joni Mitchell is only ten years ahead of Annie Lennox but suffered a brain aneurysm rupture in 2015 and stayed seated through the musical set, unable to walk without assistance, often stopping to cough as she attempted to sing, but her musical gifts were evident throughout, and it was sweet in all the best definitions of sweet just to hear her voice. My favorite part, however, was watching her right arm instinctively skip back and forth to the beat in a mystical dance with the walking cane that she held in her right hand. It was a sight to see, and it was beautiful.

At the end, when our hearts were flashing danger signs that they just might explode if we didn’t stop, Brandi Carlile suggested that we sing Happy Birthday to Joni Mitchell since we probably won’t be at her house when she turns eighty in a couple of weeks, so sixteen thousand of us enthusiastically sang a song to Joni Mitchell, a song that celebrates the fact that she was born, which felt like the exact right thing to celebrate. What a night.

I am certain that the sixteen thousand of us in attendance will think of that night often as time marches on, but I am already thinking how impressive it is that a gigantic talent like Brandi Carlile chooses to use her prominent status to celebrate the legends that changed the world and inspired her. It doesn’t look like I am going to be a gazillionaire after all, but if that had happened, I can only hope that I would choose the same.

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Hooray for (Mt.) Hollywood

Posted on October 7, 2023 | 3 comments

I am pleased to report that we hiked the Mt. Hollywood Trail this morning (not to be confused with Mt. Lee of the famed HOLLYWOOD sign). To do so, we left Malibu just before sunrise and arrived in the Griffith Observatory parking lot before 8am, well before you have to pay to park there but nowhere nearly before significant numbers of folks arrive to enjoy the spectacular hike, e.g., as we approached the trailhead, a large high school cross country team was stretching in preparation for some serious hill work.

From one perspective it turned out to be an easy hike—wide trails, easy to follow, and just 1.2 miles to the summit—but the 550 feet of constant elevation is anything but simple. Case in point: The many runner passersby did not appear to be whistling show tunes. And although I refuse to complain about SoCal weather, while the weather app said it was 67 degrees, most of the trail was exposed to the sun and it was the hottest 67 degrees imaginable, maybe with our slowly approaching the sun and all.

There were fun, quirky parts of the hike, like the Berlin Forest, complete with a road sign sharing that it is 5,795 miles to Berlin, Germany, one of L.A.’s sister cities, and a rest stop sponsored by Tiffany & Company, but of course, where one can sit and enjoy a nice view of the HOLLYWOOD sign. But the panoramic views along the way were the real stars of the show: looking back down on the Observatory and Park, looking out at Downtown Los Angeles, and on a clear day like today, looking all the way to Catalina Island and the vast Pacific Ocean.

For our purposes, it was simply another nice day to be together, out in nature, seeing something special, and not to be overlooked, enjoying the beautiful human diversity found in this City of Angels. It was a good morning from start to finish.

We stopped at one point on the trail in an area ominously named Dante’s View, partly to see what was there, but mostly to stop going uphill for a minute, and in that brief moment yet another small pack of the young cross country team passed us by, and when they did I overheard one young leader encouraging his teammates by saying, “This is going to make us better.”

Well said, my young friend. Well said. That’s why Jody and I got up early today and drove across Los Angeles—to be better, both individually and together.

This morning, thanks to a young runner that I didn’t even look up to see, I was reminded that courageously pushing ourselves up the hills of life surely isn’t easy, but it makes us better, and the views from the top are absolutely worth the struggle.

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I’m With You

Posted on October 1, 2023 | 3 comments

I moved away from Nashville in early 2021, and this weekend was my first trip back, although a dizzying forty-eight hour round trip crisscrossing the country from L.A. hardly qualifies as a trip back. It was good, though, since I went to officiate a sweet wedding.

I have officiated a lot of weddings. It’s a guess, but maybe forty or fifty? That seems like a lot. I remember interpreting marriage licenses in at least seven separate states, from the redwood forest to the gulf stream waters, from sea to shining sea, et cetera. Beach weddings, church weddings, costume weddings, farm weddings, home weddings, resort weddings, restaurant weddings, and probably more. I have seen and done them all.

Without trying, I now know my way around a wedding. I secretly judge venues and wedding planners and DJs and photographers. I have my opinions on processionals and amplification systems and rehearsals and receptions. I can often predict which wedding guests will be the first on the dance floor (and probably shouldn’t be) and know that at some point in the evening classic Earth, Wind, and Fire will groove, and I will wish that I was cool enough to partake. (“Do you remember / the 21st night of September?”)

I have my job down, which includes a particular approach that personalizes the ceremony with a specific mix of fun and seriousness, and I will tell you my favorite part of the entire parade. At some point, and it varies with the occasion, but you can bet your open bar that at some point in the ceremony the bride or groom (or both) will lose it, emotionally that is. Maybe from the very first, or maybe when I share something personal, or maybe during the vows, but you can count on a moment when someone’s lips start to quiver, and the waterworks well up, and the dam starts to leak, and everyone is done for. I love that part the most.

No, I don’t think I am emotionally sadistic. Instead, I think that I just love seeing love in its pure form: there on a pedestal, looking absolutely fabulous, with family and friends smiling up, where it fully sets in that someone on this planet wants to be with you forever, regardless. That moment. Well, it is a sight to see, and I have the best seat in the house.

You don’t have to get married to experience the transcendent feeling of being loved, but my goodness serving as a wedding officiant provides an awesome opportunity to witness it up close.

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Back (Trouble) to Back (At It)

Posted on September 23, 2023 | Leave a comment
September 23, 2023

Is it fair to say you are a runner if you don’t actually run?

I ran a mile this morning. It has been 262 days since I ran that far, but who’s counting, huh?

On January 4, 2023, while living in Carlinville, Illinois, I went for a run in the early morning darkness. It was a familiar run to the Square, still decorated with festive holiday lights, and I noticed a pain in my left leg different from the typical getting older pains. Instead of making a good decision, I chose to tough it out and finish the three-mile run, but by the time I arrived home I realized that was a mistake.

I did not seek any medical advice, because how silly would that be, right? I chose limping instead. More accurately, I thought “rest” solved everything, so I tried to rest it out. That didn’t work. Eventually, I poorly described how I felt in a casual conversation with my friend, Abby, an athletic trainer, who thought it sort of sounded like IT band trouble. I responded with what seemed smart: a morning stretching routine; working on my core, and doing some cardio on an exercise bike. I truly thought that was going to help. It didn’t.

In mid-April, I secretly flew to L.A. for a job interview and took a redeye home, which led to an uncomfortable night crammed into an airplane seat. Not long afterward, I discovered the worst lower back pain of my life; so painful, in fact, that I actually listened to my wife’s advice to visit a chiropractor, which don’t tell Jody this part, but that was the first good choice I had made in all of this. It turns out that it wasn’t my leg or my IT band at all; instead, I had some spinal issues that desperately needed addressing.

Months later, with the critical help of chiropractors in Illinois and now California, slowly (and with an emphasis on slowly), this morning, I went to Zuma Beach and ran a mile. All to say, I’m happy today. Still a long way to go, like the ancient Lao Tzu quote about a thousand-mile journey starting with an itsy-bitsy step, although I’m not sure Lao Tzu actually said itsy-bitsy, but you get the drift.

Today’s little milestone could have been depressing instead, I guess. My pace was terrible, less Noah Lyles and more Noah shuffling the elephants around the Ark. It actually seems that I am racing faster through my middle-age years than I did at Zuma this morning, and that could be a downer to someone who once did not question whether it was okay to call himself a runner.

But.

I remember a story about the great hall-of-fame baseball catcher, Roy Campanella, after his terrible automobile accident in 1958 that left him paralyzed just before the Dodgers played their first season in Los Angeles. Whoever told the story mentioned seeing a PT nurse toss a little toy ball to Campy and his struggle to catch a ball that a toddler could catch. A hall-of fame catcher struggling to catch a toy. But you know what, Campy kept trying to catch that ball while writing a book that he titled, It’s Good to Be Alive.

So, dadgum it, call me a runner. I am a runner that ran a mile today. And when I did, with plenty of time to think about it, I thought: It’s good to be alive.

January 4, 2023

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Feeling Free

Posted on September 17, 2023 | Leave a comment

I was born on Mexican Independence Day, Mexico’s Fourth of July, but for over half a century now, other than an annual “Happy Mexican Independence Day!” from my good friends, Hung, Corinne, and Kate, I have never combined the two celebrations—until yesterday when Jody and I drove to Downtown Los Angeles to spend the afternoon on Olvera Street.

Olvera Street is special. To share straight from its website, “Olvera Street, known as ‘the birthplace of Los Angeles,’ is a Mexican Marketplace that recreates a romantic ‘Old Los Angeles’ with a block-long narrow, tree-shaded, brick-lined market with old structures, painted stalls, street vendors, cafes, restaurants, and gift shops.” If that sounds lovely, the reality is even better, and it struck me as a terrific place to celebrate my birthday and Mexican Independence Day.

On the sixteenth day of September in 1810, Father Miguel Hidalgo y Costillo spoke to his little parish church in central Mexico and urged them to fight for independence from Spain, which led to his execution a year later and over a decade of fighting, but ultimately, an independent Mexico. And yesterday, 213 years after his initial “Cry of Dolores,” beautiful families gathered together, children danced in festive costumes, and Mexican flags flew proudly in the City of Angels.

It was not our first time to visit Olvera Street, but it was our first since returning for Part Two of our California adventure, and during yesterday’s visit I recalled that familiar and wonderfully unsettling sensation of feeling like a tourist in your own homeland. I have come to relish that feeling.

Now, given my personal appearance, I rarely look around any place and get the feeling that I fit in exactly. On certain dramatic occasions, like wandering through an Indian bazaar high in the Himalayas or briskly walking down a side street in Nairobi, the gawks and smiles of locals showed how apparent this was to everyone, but I feel out of place in all sorts of locations, like the cosmetics aisle of any department store, or to be honest, Bass Pro Shops.

But as I said, in a certain way, I now find that feeling almost intoxicating.

Independence absolutely has a dark side, including the colonizing mindset that views your independent self as God’s gift to unfortunate people not like you, but I felt independent in a good way walking through Olvera Street on Saturday—independent in the sense that I am not contained by familiarity, at least not anymore.

I’m not sure that I’m making sense, so let me try it this way: I felt both humbled and alive on Olvera Street yesterday, humbled and alive with the fascination of this beautifully diverse planet on which we live, and the realization that the differences all around me are better embraced than critiqued, and that in that sense—the sense of the heart—“my” people can be “all” people.

I hope that you enjoyed your Mexican Independence Day, too!

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I’d Like You to Meet Cross Country

Posted on September 9, 2023 | Leave a comment

Given 4,000+ miles of moves back and forth across the country just in the past five years, it stands to reason that I would love a sport called “cross country.” Now I love all sorts of sports, but with all due respect—and you would never know this from watching ESPN or reading the sports page—cross country absolutely crosses the finish line in first place.

I can see that you have a different opinion. That’s okay, your being wrong will in no way prevent us from being friends. Just know that I’m not alone. Writer/speaker/podcaster-extraordinaire, Malcolm Gladwell put it this way: “I won’t belabor the obvious about cross country. It is insanely fun. Races take place during the glory days of fall. The courses are typically in beautiful parts of the country. Cross country meets don’t feel like sporting events; they feel like outdoor festivals—except everyone is fit, as opposed to high. Everyone should be so lucky as to run cross country.”

That’s what I’m talking about.

My introduction to cross country came in the fall of 1985 when Coach Watson came to our high school cafeteria and asked several of us, “Hey, do you want to run cross country?” We said, “Sure,” not knowing what it was, but knowing that we liked Coach Watson and that it sounded like something to do, and with no actual training or meets in advance, we traveled to a town called Arkadelphia and came home with a state runner-up plaque. That’s a pretty cool way to meet a sport.

Sadly, I lost touch with the sport for a couple of decades or so, but another random encounter with a coach, this time “Coach Rad” at Pepperdine, who invited me to be a volunteer chaplain for his men’s and women’s teams, allowed me to fall in love again. I got to hang out with the coolest kids and tag along on early morning runs in spectacular locations, and more importantly, have a front row seat to witness what makes endurance running special, i.e., the human capacity to push through pain and discover a better version of yourself. A few years later, incredibly, while at Blackburn College, I got to be a college cross country coach myself! What fun it was to spend even more time with inspiring young people and watch them grow.

This weekend, I discovered myself back in Malibu, clear a-“cross country” once again, thinking about my favorite sport. On Friday evening, I was on my computer tracking my friends at Blackburn as they competed in Illinois, and on Saturday morning I was in person at Alumni Park to cheer on the Waves. On both occasions, I noticed that I was smiling.

I guess I’m just happy and felt compelled to share my cross country testimony today. You don’t have to be a cross country fan. I promise that I won’t hold it against you. If beauty and camaraderie and courage and fresh air and holistic health and resilience and smiling in general just aren’t your things, I hear that a sedentary lifestyle is pretty popular these days?

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Take a Hike

Posted on September 2, 2023 | 4 comments

My wife and I are proof that opposites attract and can even be happily married forever (twenty-nine years and counting!). Our differences provide some independence, which we count as a strength; however, we battle against being too independent, so we periodically have ideas as to how we might do something together—not something mine or hers, but ours. The latest idea is hiking.

Oh, we have hiked off and on over the years in various parts of these United States, but intentional, regular hiking is a new adventure for us. We plan to target some spectacular part of Southern California once a month, and today was our first.

There’s a joke about camping as rich people pretending to be homeless, which I considered last night as I removed tags from the new hiking apparel we purchased at the super-hip store for outdoors enthusiasts, REI, which I also learned does not technically stand for Really Expensive Items (Recreational Equipment, Incorporated, but who knew?). This morning I slipped on my new forest-green REI hiking pants and my new black Salomon Speedcross 6 trail shoes and off we went to the Santa Ynez Mountains of Santa Barbara.

Because we are just getting started and not in great shape, we chose a “moderate” hike, and I’m sure that in some level of hell the four miles and 800-feet of elevation we encountered could be described as moderate, so I won’t quibble. But we struggled. When it comes to sure-footedness, I, for one, have the clumsy coordination of a baby giraffe. We were passed twice by the same young trail runner going up and down the trail we hoped to conquer once and felt a little intimidated by the parents carrying small children on their backs as well as the two guys carrying their mountain bikes up a switchback. We climbed, slowly, toward our destination, Inspiration Point, and I did discover inspiration on the journey: I felt a strong inspiration to curse. I felt inspired to consider a different activity to do together. I often felt inspired to stop.

But my goodness it turned out to be incredible. Somewhere between a heavy mist and a light rain accompanied us as we hiked our way up into the puffy, saturated clouds, and we reveled in the mesmerizing sound of nature, which included the breathtaking sound of silence. Slowly, deliberately, we climbed, and when we finally reached Inspiration Point, we discovered that we had it all to ourselves, which felt appropriate, since our initial inspiration was to do it for ourselves anyway.

I am embarrassed to say that I rarely touch the actual planet that we live on. My feet touch pavement and concrete, carpet and hardwood flooring, tile and vinyl, laminate and linoleum, but how often do I come into contact with Mother Earth? Not often enough. Not. Often. Enough.

But the best part of a remarkable day? Holding hands when the trail was wide enough. Simple conversations. Making each other laugh. Cheering each other on. Sharing spectacular scenes together. Feeling less alone in this world. Feeling more connected to each other, not to mention the universe.

We’ll be doing this again. And again, and again.

Don’t be offended, but if you asked us for a little marital advice, we’d tell you to take a hike.

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An Emma Lazarus Poem in the Heart of Malibu

Posted on August 27, 2023 | 1 comment

She was disruptive, to say the least. A woman, scowling, mentally unstable, stalked the parking lot like a cornered tiger, roaring words at full volume toward the universe, at least half-threatening, and seemingly half-afraid. We were celebrating the thirtieth anniversary of the Malibu Community Labor Exchange with a big fiesta, complete with delicious food from Kristy’s, a troupe performing traditional Oaxacan dances in festive costumes, and a highly-energetic mariachi band. But, as I mentioned, she was disruptive, to say the least.

Some tried to help, appropriately, and unsuccessfully. At times, her behavior escalated toward a possible physical confrontation, and several of the workers on hand rose and drew near like tender bouncers, ready to assist. Oscar, a friend and protégé of the legendary Cesar Chavez, who for six days a week for thirty years now—that’s something like nine thousand times—has driven to Malibu from South Central Los Angeles to direct the center and handle situations exactly like this one, stood close, observing, listening, caring. At the conclusion of the dance performance, the teenage dancers shared a special dance involving pineapples, which triggered a barrage of the verbal outbursts, but the young dancers kept their composure and performed flawlessly, while occasionally darting an eye to the woman lurking at stage left. But nothing stopped the beauty of the night; and, in fact, the uncomfortable interruptions seemed somehow to complete a full picture of the three decades of the Labor Exchange in Malibu: humanity, in all its complicated forms.

I loved being there alongside workers and supporters, as always, and at night’s end was talking to Oscar who, speaking of the woman, leaned in to share with that trademark magical twinkle in his eye like he is witnessing special things in the universe: “Do you know what she shared with me when she left? She said, kindly, ‘Oscar, thank you for tonight.’”

As she stalked out into the night, alone, she said, Thank you.

I know there are many ways of making sense of the universe, but I happen to be a follower of Jesus. I have often thought of the Malibu Community Labor Exchange as a modern version of the story that Jesus told about the Rich Man and Lazarus, but at the party on Saturday night, the scene was more like the wild story where a man called Legion because of his many demons screamed and screamed at Jesus in a cemetery—or a later version where a follower named Paul had a similar encounter with a woman in Greece. In those stories, the demons got tossed out. I really wish that I could toss out her demons, too.

In the meantime, I am glad to know that there is a place right here in Malibu that is willing to offer patient hospitality to those battling demons who accept an open invitation to the party.

“Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

– By Emma Lazarus, from The New Colossus

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Legal Education

Posted on August 19, 2023 | 6 comments

I answer Student Affairs when asked my profession and Higher Education as my industry. That’s how I see the last dozen years of my life, but the truth is I didn’t realize that Student Affairs was a profession until I joined it. My introduction to this profession came at my very own law school immediately following graduation and bar exam at the unconventional age of forty, but I have had the pleasure and opportunity to engage in such work at two other institutions of higher education since. But now, pun pathetically intended, I have returned to the scene of the crime to work in student affairs in a law school setting,

My law school colleagues use another term of art: Legal Education. That has always cracked me up. We’ll say that we work in legal education, like all the other education forms are illegal education. I enjoy the work. I have enjoyed all three of my professional stops in higher education, but having survived the unique ordeal of law school myself, I feel extra helpful here. So maybe I should just say that my field is Student Affairs with a bit of a specialty in law.

For those unfamiliar, I am not faculty. The academic classroom is the faculty habitat and the centerpiece of higher education, but student affairs professionals are the folks that complement the academic mission of a college/university/professional school by nurturing the formation of mind, body, and spirit in the students outside of the classroom. I love what I get to do.

We just finished “Launch Week” at the Caruso School of Law. It was the tenth annual Launch Week, which was especially fun since I was involved in launching Launch Week a decade ago. As one might hope, others have taken what we started and continued to make it better and better. The original idea was to blow up “new student orientation,” which always sounded sort of optional, and dive into law school on Day One. It was an awesome week. The new students were noticeably engaged and professional, and the upper-division students that volunteered as mentors were outstanding, most returning to pay forward their past experience as brand-new students.

Yesterday, just after the new students’ first real law school classes, we gathered on Pepperdine’s breathtaking Alumni Park overlooking the Pacific Ocean for a barbecue to close out the week. And since I left, the student government added a little friendly competition among the class sections to the festivities, which included a Giant Jenga war, an actual tug-of-war, and finally, a little dodgeball. Law students can be the least bit competitive, and they got into it, but consistent with the DNA of this particular law school, they got into it with laughter and cheering for one another.

I took pictures and was especially proud of a few I snagged from the Jenga throwdown, where it struck me that it might provide a decent metaphor for what is to come. Deep, particular concentration was required of the students as they worked to dismantle and build upon something that seemed pretty sturdy in the first place, and with each passing moment the pressure of falling apart continued to mount. Sounded a little like law school to me. But the students kept delivering, one after the other, while their colleagues and mentors constantly cheered them on.

And then your whole world comes crashing down. Ha! That was a joke! Okay, maybe the metaphor isn’t perfect.

But my profession believes that you can learn some valuable lessons outside of the classroom, too. Even playing Giant Jenga.

Leslie was selected to be the student speaker at her law school graduation in 2015. I have always remembered something that she said: “A lot of people make lawyer jokes, but when your world falls apart, nobody calls a comedian.” This week, 185 impressive humans began their study of law here in Malibu, and it is an honor to be a part of the team that walks alongside them, complementing their formal studies, cheering them on, being there for the challenges that arise, caring for their wellbeing and personal development, and watching them transform into the people that you do call on in your darkest hour. That, my friends, is how I see my work in Student Affairs in Legal Education. What an honor.

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