When the Music Stops

It's Saturday morning, early, and I'm having coffee at, of course, Portland Brew.  Trying, really trying to recharge my batteries after a draining week at work.

I mediated a high asset case for four days, finishing late Friday, tantalizingly close to a deal.  Six lawyers, one paralegal, two financial experts, and two parties in separate conference rooms for four days.  It was a complex case, in many ways, and it was an emotional case in every way.  In short, a challenging one to mediate.

And I loved every minute of it.  

For me, the way I do it, mediation is emotionally and intellectually draining.  I give so much of myself to the parties, the attorneys, and the process that it hollows me out when I have multiple mediations in a week or multi-day mediation like I had this week.  I love mediating, perhaps, because it is challenging.  Like so many things in life, if it were easy, everyone would do it.

What I wanted to write about this morning, though, is the brief period of time immediately after mediation yesterday.  It was 6 p.m. or so after I cleaned up the conference rooms and everyone else in the office was gone for the day, and for the weekend.  Most of the lights were off and those that weren't, I turned off.  It was still light outside, so the office wasn't dark as the early evening sunshine streamed through the large windows up front and the smaller windows up the staircase to the send floor.

I poured myself a bourbon, as I sometimes do at the end of a mediation, and listened to . . . the silence.  No talking, no telephones ringing, no questions from staff, no stress.  Just a few minutes, alone, to unwind, decompress, and think about absolutely nothing.

I'm proud of our building, as I should be.  Mark, Chas, and I took a big leap of faith 16 years ago when we brought it and renovated it.  I was terrified at the time of the financial commitment but, as Ed Silva told me then and reminds me now, it was the smartest thing the three of us have ever done.  The building has appreciated in value tremendously and we're not far from paying it off.

As I walked around the office, alone, yesterday evening, I was struck by the quiet and the solitude.  I marveled, for a minute or two, at what the three of us have built in that office.  Our careers.  Our families.  Our lives.  

So many people have walked through the office, downstairs and upstairs, staff, attorneys, judges, and clients.  So many conversations, depositions, meetings, parties.  Open houses and events for judicial candidates.  A lot of laughter and, yes, some tears.  

I spent some time, as I sipped my bourbon, looking at the photos arrayed in my office.  Photos of the boys when they were young.  Photos of Jude and me before we had the boys, when we were young.  I looked at Joe's ultrasound photo, which still sits write behind my desk, more than a decade old. 

I'm not a young man anymore and that office - my office - has watched me age from 39 to 55 years old.  I don't really feel much different, other than a few more aches and pains.  Same office, same desk, same chair for 16 years.  The staff change, the attorneys change occasionally, but Mark, Chas, and I are always there. 

That office is where I'll end my career someday - not soon, hopefully - I guess.  

That's what I was thinking - all of those things are more, really - as I walked through the office after my mediation yesterday and got ready to enjoy the weekend with my family.