When people ask me a legal question, I always end up saying the same kinds of things, whether a problem is civil or criminal, already a legal case or one that may come about. It seems that I'm either highly unoriginal or I see the same core themes at the heart of navigating any legal issue that might arise.
Either way, here it is, my one-size-fits-all legal advice:
1. Keep your mouth shut
Except to ask questions. And then listen closely to answers, and carefully consider any information before sharing anything with anyone. Only give information when you've fully considered what you will say and how it will work for and against you. And only speak if it's true; lies will come back to bite you in the ass.
Besides the ways what you say can work against you, talking too much will fill your head with too much conflicting garbage. Too much talking about the situation can make you fuzzy and unclear because 1) you'll keep your own mind on the hamster wheel of replaying it again and again, and 2) you'll solicit other people's opinions, advice, memories. It will very likely confuse you, so limit your venting and advice-seeking.
2. Do not expect the justice system to give you a fair result
Civil - Even if a situation is unfair or you can get everyone you know to agree it was wrong, it may not be against the law and/or you may not be able to prove it with evidence that's allowed in court. Don't assume because what happened was wrong that going to court will get you what you think is fair.
Criminal - Our criminal justice system is hurting, really hurting. Mass incarceration is a reality and it's sad, and as much as we all want to believe only guilty and dangerous people are behind bars, it isn't true. Take any criminal case very seriously and ALWAYS remember point 1.
3. Do not hand over your life and your case to your lawyer
When getting a lawyer, don't assume that the ones you pay the most money
will be the best. The pricey lawyer might be great, but they might not
be. Ask for recommendations, keep your options open, and building a
relationship with whatever lawyer you get is key.
Your lawyer is there to advise you and I suggest you listen closely to that advice, but cooperate and stay involved. Read your paperwork; you may not understand it all, but you will understand some. Fact sections in briefs and filings will be easier to read. See the story that each side is telling, and let your lawyer know if things aren't right. Know deadlines and court dates, show up and be in touch with your lawyer ahead of these dates.
This is your life, and your lawyer has lots more cases than just yours. No one knows the stakes as well as you, so don't hand over all your power. Stay involved.
4. Do not expect a legal case to address your emotional turmoil
Although the legal system is designed to address unfairness and injustice, don't expect that all the anger, sadness, pain, and mistrust you feel as a result of being screwed over will magically disappear if you win a case. Even if you win, the pain will still be there. Think of a divorce, one spouse out for blood because of all that happened; even if that spouse wins, gets everything sought and more, the wounds will still be there, maybe more so because the hope that they would be gone upon winning is no longer there. Work within yourself, with a therapist, with other healing professionals to deal with the emotional turmoil, and don't expect or even want the legal system to heal that pain for you.
Most likely, a journey through the legal system will just create more emotional things to work through, and keep this in mind if you have a choice about starting, continuing, or ending your legal battle.
5. End any legal battle as quickly as possible
My biggest and most often used piece of advice is to end any legal battle as quickly as possible. If you can avoid going to court, do. If you can settle, do. Litigation is emotionally-draining, time-consuming, and expensive; if you have a choice about it, be sure it's worth it.
Disclaimer:
I'm sure some lawyers would strongly disagree with my overall perspective against litigation, so take this advice knowing that I greatly value peace of mind, more than money, being right, or saving face.
Sunday, July 5, 2015
Am I Part of the Cure, or Am I Part of the Disease?
Years ago, these lyrics from a Cold Play song stopped me.
I was driving alone when the song came on the radio. As I heard it and let those lyrics seep in, I immediately knew my answer, and it devastated me.
It wasn't that I was some ugly and violent part of society's disease. I wasn't trying to hurt anyone. But in a split second, I saw that being part of the disease could be much more passive. I was well-meaning cog in so many wheels of dysfunction. My job felt like dysfunction, my relationships were dysfunction, the growing separation between my insides and my outside: total dysfunction. Even though I so desperately wanted to be part of the cure, I stopped being able to fool myself into believing that I actually was.
In the decade or so since, my life has changed drastically, and for the better.
Then this past week, I was driving along and that same Cold Play song came on the radio. And those same lyrics poked at me, drawing out the answer for this point in my life.
And all I got was silence, blankness, neutrality. I had this sense that I'm neither disease or cure. I could feel a sense that blindly cooperating with dysfunction was no longer my MO, but at the same time, I didn't feel any great sense of myself as part of the cure.
And that really opened a question for me: What does being part of the cure even mean?
Obvious examples came to mind: Malala, Maggie Doyne, Greg Mortenson. People whose lives presented them with a choice, and the choice they made became an unfolding of goodness and love, a path of inspiration for others. People who seem to be living a sense of Dharma in the highest degree are the ones that come so quickly to mind when I think of what being the cure means.
But what would being part of the cure look like in my ordinary little life? I can't see one of those big decisive moments when I could have chosen some path of healing or service. And even those special moments when I did have a crossroads and chose fully with my heart, they were quiet moments, powerful in a way that was just significant to me, maybe a couple of other people. Can I really consider that being part of the cure?
Way back when those lyrics first rocked me out of my comfort zone, I had a fantasy that writing would be my way to be part of the cure. I could write positive waves into the world around me; I could inspire, or enlighten, or just add something unique and good into the mix of things.
But, as the years have passed, I've noticed the goodness I feel in writing gets pinched or corrupted if I think at all about what it would mean to anyone else. When I'm writing for any sort-of result or reaction, the whole process becomes a mess of egoic dysfunction, no sense of cure-making at all.
And I keep feeling a crazy little secret hiding in all of this: the attempt at cure-making is no cure at all. The rhythms of my life seem to show this one over and over. "Don't try so hard, just be... just Be."
But is this enough? When I look around and see so many things that break my heart, is it enough to just be, to just live my beautiful and blessed life, to enjoy it and love as best I can?
For now, this seems my only choice, and no denying that it's a great choice. And even so, I feel a sense that the question isn't over, that it might never be over.
I was driving alone when the song came on the radio. As I heard it and let those lyrics seep in, I immediately knew my answer, and it devastated me.
It wasn't that I was some ugly and violent part of society's disease. I wasn't trying to hurt anyone. But in a split second, I saw that being part of the disease could be much more passive. I was well-meaning cog in so many wheels of dysfunction. My job felt like dysfunction, my relationships were dysfunction, the growing separation between my insides and my outside: total dysfunction. Even though I so desperately wanted to be part of the cure, I stopped being able to fool myself into believing that I actually was.
In the decade or so since, my life has changed drastically, and for the better.
Then this past week, I was driving along and that same Cold Play song came on the radio. And those same lyrics poked at me, drawing out the answer for this point in my life.
And all I got was silence, blankness, neutrality. I had this sense that I'm neither disease or cure. I could feel a sense that blindly cooperating with dysfunction was no longer my MO, but at the same time, I didn't feel any great sense of myself as part of the cure.
And that really opened a question for me: What does being part of the cure even mean?
Obvious examples came to mind: Malala, Maggie Doyne, Greg Mortenson. People whose lives presented them with a choice, and the choice they made became an unfolding of goodness and love, a path of inspiration for others. People who seem to be living a sense of Dharma in the highest degree are the ones that come so quickly to mind when I think of what being the cure means.
But what would being part of the cure look like in my ordinary little life? I can't see one of those big decisive moments when I could have chosen some path of healing or service. And even those special moments when I did have a crossroads and chose fully with my heart, they were quiet moments, powerful in a way that was just significant to me, maybe a couple of other people. Can I really consider that being part of the cure?
Way back when those lyrics first rocked me out of my comfort zone, I had a fantasy that writing would be my way to be part of the cure. I could write positive waves into the world around me; I could inspire, or enlighten, or just add something unique and good into the mix of things.
But, as the years have passed, I've noticed the goodness I feel in writing gets pinched or corrupted if I think at all about what it would mean to anyone else. When I'm writing for any sort-of result or reaction, the whole process becomes a mess of egoic dysfunction, no sense of cure-making at all.
And I keep feeling a crazy little secret hiding in all of this: the attempt at cure-making is no cure at all. The rhythms of my life seem to show this one over and over. "Don't try so hard, just be... just Be."
But is this enough? When I look around and see so many things that break my heart, is it enough to just be, to just live my beautiful and blessed life, to enjoy it and love as best I can?
For now, this seems my only choice, and no denying that it's a great choice. And even so, I feel a sense that the question isn't over, that it might never be over.
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