There is a legal concept that lawyers hope to never use: the 90-Day Rule. Under Washington law, if you have a claim that is about to expire due to the running of the statute of limitations, you can extend the limitations period for an additional ninety days. However, you must file your lawsuit before the limitations period expires, and you must serve the defendant with the lawsuit within ninety days thereafter. But if you are not able to serve the defendant, the limitations period expires, and your claim is no longer valid.
The 90-Day Rule has an added meaning for me. When I was a young lawyer and mother, it was agonizing but also exciting to return to work after each of my maternity leaves. I would thrust my baby into the arms of a wonderful and loving caregiver and then burst into tears as I scurried back to my car to drive to work. It was an excruciating process but after two or three months, the new normal of leaving my child with someone else and going to work felt right. Hence, I termed it the 90-Day Rule for working mothers of young children.
What I learned from the complicated, bittersweet transition from stay-at-home mom to full-time lawyer was multi-fold: that I would survive the painful transformation; that my child would thrive in daycare; and, most importantly, that it takes time for something new and different to feel right.
Every unfamiliar occasion in my life reminds me of that going-back-to-work uncertainty. I was always torn when I dropped off a child at college, changed jobs, sold a house, or when an adult child separated from his partner. Serving on boards and executive committees was unsettling; I felt unseen and unacknowledged for a long time. I always felt awkward during new social gatherings: from book clubs to female friend groups, to running groups and volunteer work, feeling included and accepted was a process, not a moment. Being on the perimeter of amiable acceptance is always with me during new ventures or engagements until I mysteriously cross that boundary and begin to feel at home.
Momentous change is a cosmic shift, as if Atlas is shrugging his shoulders to reposition the weight of the world. For a while, stability is shattered, commotion drowning out every soft and familiar tune of my daily life. My retirement will be like that. My peaceful and happy daily drive to the office, thoughts of what work is most pressing, what current events co-workers will chit chat about in the hallway, the energy shifts that occur in a vibrant workplace – all will disappear into that inexplicable vacuum of what has become the past.
By the time this blog post goes out, I will be on sabbatical from my law practice until the end of the year. At year’s end, I will retire. I know I will be stunned, excited, grateful, and teary eyed on my last day. I will be sad to leave my law firm – my work family – and having unstructured days will make me feel out of sorts.
And then I will remind myself that change takes time and trying to speed it up or minimize its impact diminishes the power and the beauty of what came before.