a little temporary self-indulgence

I have this masochistic streak in my personality, which compels me to seek out friend-less situations. This reasoning led me to choose my undergrad and, to a lesser extent, my post-college job. Without question, both choices ended up fitting me perfectly, but friend-less situations come at a short-term personal cost: self-doubt.

Each new environment I find myself in requires a mandatory adjustment period, akin to my first semester of high school. At 14, Mr. Corso's aged [read: barely 30] wisdom pulled me out of my funk. For every subsequent period, though, only I could do the pulling myself.

This, of course, is the most socially healthy way to go. Starting at a new school again, though, reminds me how relentless my inner mole is. I've met cool people in my classes, but I am definitely still in this period of semi-isolation, which puts me at odds with myself throughout the week.

On one hand, I've been through enough of these transitions to know that I always manage to make strong, long-lasting friendships despite major personal faux pas. Case in point: Teresa became [and still is!] my friend after first encountering me (1) wearing brand-new old-man sweatpants (2) and big eyeglasses (3) while running laps for crew. If I can make a friend in this intense dork situation, I'm more than socially adept.

On the other hand, law school administrators and professors keep giving the "the-friends-you-make-now-will-determine-the-REST-of-your-legal-career" talk , which injects an unnatural element of social darwinism in every encounter. It also doesn't help that my campus is tiny, and I experience acute fish bowl syndrome with each casual meeting. But still. Do I need to think that the next person who asks me for my notes in Civ Pro might be the partner looking at my resume in ten years? NO.

I try to disregard these pressures and keep some perspective on the purpose of being social. But mild paranoia kicks in when I start asking myself, "Should I be making more of an effort to go out with people?" [maybe], "Am I doomed to quiet weekends under my parents' roof?" [hopefully not], or "Are people not going to like me if I don't drink?" [who cares!].

I have to remind myself of how my true friendships with people like MT and Dave and even Gary didn't start until well after we "met" each other. And then I force myself to calm down and not feel so much pressure to change what I already am. After six years of being more than content with my mole-ly tendencies, why should a few growing pains force me to overhaul myself?

If you know what I'm talking about, you might enjoy this cartoon. [Disclaimer: I have no qualms about mental health or about anti-depressant medication in general. But c'mon, Zoloft uses a cartoon head to hawk its product, and for this reason, my family and I will never stop making fun of it.]