Tootin' Ye Olde Horn.

I am, by nature, a rewriter of history. Most storytellers are, I think. That's fitting. We want to be able to reimagine life differently than what it is. We need to birth new worlds, see deeper into moments, find a poet no further away than our own writing table. But it's a problem for me when I find that, in the act of recreating, I can no longer remember things as they really happened. I want the truth AND the lie on hand at all times.

Case in point: my new moniker, "J.C., J.D."

When I remember law school, I feel lonely instantly. I put on a sweater and notice that it's suddenly too tight. I make a pot of coffee. My stomach knots. I breathe in, not the warm invitation of old books and oversized wooden tables of childhood libraries, but the antiseptic smell of a new facility housing nothing but legal reporters and always kept five degrees colder than was comfortable. In mid-August, I feel as though I haven't seen the sun for days.

This is a false memory.

True, these are accurate memories. For parts of my law school career, I was uncertain, unhealthy, and alone in a new culture -- one I wasn't sure I liked -- for large amounts of time. But I don't want these memories to overtake the rest of what happened here, because the entire truth is this: in these three years, I became. I stepped foot on the very ground that prompted me to law school in the first place. I helped people who were too afraid of violence to go home at night. Friends found me. One of them encouraged me to put back on my running shoes. Church became a sanctuary. I forgave and was forgiven. The world opened: I got my first passport and unexpectedly lived in London. I fell in love and was loved right back. My kitchen became a new zone of creativity. I showed my written work to someone other than my mother or boyfriend. I gained the confidence to take classes that couldn't help my GPA. I learned that, if anything, I need to dream more deeply than I have. Somewhere along the way, the adventurer within awakened from a long, quiet sleep.

...and on that note, I do hereby solemnly swear and promise to cease and desist from writing only about myself. This city is too darned crazy and wonderful to appear so infrequently here!