Hold Onto Your Briefs--I'm Outta Here

I decided four years ago, at age 51,  that I had had enough--enough pressure, enough late nights, enough marketing. After 26 years as an associate, then partner, then counsel at an 80-attorney law firm in central New Jersey, I was on the path to checking out. It was most advantageous from a financial standpoint to stick it out for another 4 years and on my 55th birthday, October 25, 2010, I said goodbye and never looked back. Well, I did look back, but  just to to imprint in my memory where I had spent the last 30 years and do a little victory dance that I was about to start my new life. I didn't hate my job; I enjoyed my reputation as a respected lawyer, found the work interesting enough and made some good friends along the way. I danced at associates' weddings, (including with Tim Robbins who was a relative of the groom's relative), comforted partners after their parents passed away (I saw more corpses in coffins than any Jewish girl should have to see in a lifetime) and celebrated Administrative Assistants Day with my Administrative Assistant (who used to be my secretary until she underwent a title change if not a change in pay grade). 

I am very fortunate; I could afford to say goodbye.  I don't take this luxury for granted. It still makes my husband nervous once a month as we're about to pay the bills; he undergoes a close equivalent to PMS with no blood or cramping. After I tell him that a happier Joanie is a happier family, he sees my logic and I don't have to discuss this again until the virtual bloating begins the next month. Our boys, who are 22 and 18, like having their mother around more even though one is away at college and the other is on self-imposed bedroom lockdown.

I was known at work and at home for my eleemosynary activities. I started a volunteer  tutoring program for inner city middle schoolers in 2000 which still operates today, ran food drives, taught ESL to a Mexican immigrant and served on the board of New Brunswick Tomorrow, a charity dedicated to the betterment of life for New Brunswick, NJ residents.  As I bid my colleagues farewell, I announced that my retirement would be full of charitable activities: an expansion of my ESL volunteer practice, continuation of my board membership at NBT and reading for the blind in honor of my beloved mother-in-law who suffers from macular degeneration and, ironically, read for the blind for 20 years (before her affliction, of course).  I made good on most of these goals since my retirement; I've taken on an additional ESL student from China and continue to assist in the good works of NBT as a board member and new member of the Governance Committee. Not so much on the reading for the blind yet, but the day is young. Charity is a good thing, but it wasn't going to be the whole cherry pie for me.

So, in November, pinching myself with glee that I didn't have to take another deposition, (most of my practice was dedicated to defending clients in asbestos litigation) I was tooling around on the Internet and looked at the website for The Stress Factory to see who was performing. The Stress Factory is a New Brunswick-based comedy club with first rate talent, and,  it turns out, has a comedy school on Tuesday nights taught by the headliner Joe Matarese. I've always loved comedy and have been told that I'm funny. I signed up for the five-week course.

I can't hold back on the back story, though. My mother, who is very proud of me and loves me like every mother should love a daughter, told me something a week before I happened upon the Stress Factory website. She took my hand, held me close and quietly said to me, "Joanie, I see great things ahead for you in your retirement."  What a beautiful sentiment, and coming from my mother, who doesn't have a phony bony, it went straight to my heart.

The day after I signed up for the Stress Factory class,  I called my mother to tell her the good news. "Mom, remember you said that you saw great things ahead for me? I think I found it. I signed up for a comedy class at the Stress Factory. I want to be a stand-up comedian." Dead silence. "That's strange," replied Mom, who is not known for her verbal brevity. Sensing her severe disappointment, I asked, "Mom, what did you have in mind when you said you saw great things ahead for me?" She said, "I saw you teaching English on the college level." Dead silence (this time it was mine).

Law school was a default decision. I knew I didn't want to be a social worker, but that was about it. I have 6 cousins on my mother's and father's sides of the family. They are, to a person, lawyers and doctors. I hate math so I went to law school. My professional success was a great source of pride for my parents maybe only exceeded by my brother's graduation from medical school (he must have felt the cousinal pressure as well--is that a word?)   I do not say this to be critical of my parents. They are Jewish and can't help themselves.

Needless to say, I took the road less traveled this time and started class. I'll tell you more about it next time. Just a little tidbit, though. My mother, out of pride, guilt or both, gave me a dedicated gift--my comedy school tuition.