The Seasonal Law School Existential Crisis My first case as a lawyer was at the tender age of four. In my final year of kindergarten, I came in dressed in a makeshift black robe fashioned out of my mum’s old tablecloth. I marched into my school’s annual fancy dress competition with a lawyer’s arrogance, my pretend criminal and fellow friend in tow to sell my dramatic narrative. I had a scrunched up paper in the pocket, filled with elaborate dialogues written by my mum, her favourite crime films an inspiration for the gasp-inducing, tear jerking lines for the spectators in my class. When I finally stood before the Judge, the courtroom was moved and the criminal sent to prison as that evening I came home as the first prize winner and proud owner of a bright, red double decker lunchbox. But more importantly, I had gained an unwavering confidence in the belief that I would simply become the best lawyer of the century a handful of years down the line. Today I am 21. My dreams remain the same, my penchant for dramatic speech still constant and the makeshift black robe a nostalgic inspiration for what I always hoped to be. But somewhere along the line, I lost a hold of the unwavering confidence that had me believe in my capability of achieving my
dreams and aspirations. I refer to this as the seasonal law school existential crisis that almost all of us have loyally subscribed to over the years. As students in a competitive industry, it is not surprising for many of us to periodically develop a negative attitude towards our capabilities and achievements especially since we have been taught to measure our progress by comparing our strengths and weaknesses to others. I have on so many occasions caught myself feeling
