2021 is over

Personal reflections on a terrible, wonderful year

Happy new year.

You might be expecting this post to be about how awful my 2021 was, and how I hope 2022 will be better. After all, there’s much that’s been painful this year. I spent two months of 2021 in prison. I “no longer work at Bank of America” (as I’m restricted to saying by a certain agreement). I watched my beloved city’s people and institutions ravaged by those who care little for the city and what makes it special. I saw many of my personal heroes who have stood up for rule of law and constitutionally protected freedoms—patriots to the core—labeled as seditionists, national security risks, terrorists and worse. I’ve seen many of the same people imprisoned without bail on the flimsiest of charges.

But for me personally, there is much to be thankful for.

I didn’t become a lawyer to help investment banks make their wealthy shareholders and clients richer. I originally planned to stay in that world only long enough to pay off my student loans before quitting and focusing on making a difference. But those loans were paid off many years ago, and the “golden handcuffs” of the corporate world were too enticing. Every year I’d tell myself I’d stay just one more year and then quit to go to do the public service advocacy I really wanted to do. But I never managed to leave—at least, not until I found my life turned upside down by my wrongful arrest and imprisonment.

The fates, it seems, decided to offer me a golden opportunity to rethink my priorities.

If none of this had happened, I’d likely be spending this holiday anxiously checking my phone for urgent emails, worrying about how big my bonus would be, and telling myself “just one more year,” once again. Instead I’ve spent the holidays writing and advocating, sending letters and cards to my friends and those I admire in prison, going out to police stations and courthouses to support my heroes in person, and spending time with my loved ones.

I could have been preparing for another year of meaningless office work. Instead I’m making plans for how best I can make a difference for the people and causes I care about next year.

Prison has a way of making a person really contemplate what’s important to them. I learned that two things are really all that matters to me: the people I care about, and the principles and causes that drive me. As long as I am loved and supported by “my people” and have an outlet, however small, to work towards a better world, I don’t need the fancy apartments and vacations, the status, the material comforts of a soulless corporate job. And that realization has been incredibly liberating.

Thank you to all of you for your support this year. Take care of yourselves, and remember to breathe.