Unfuzzy Things

When Post Traumatic Stress Disorder hit me almost three years ago, the most visible symptom was a dramatic increase in my formerly mild case of trichotillomania – the compulsion to pull out your hair. I began ferociously rubbing my forehead and yanking out what's left of the hair above it. Most of the time I’m unaware it’s happening. By the end of particularly stressful days, my scalp is raw. 

To mitigate trichotillomania’s impact, I learned to fiddle instead with over-sized pipe cleaners – “fuzzy things.” As I wrote here last year, I found my fuzzy things serendipitously. Long ago I had a favorite stress squeezeball, a miniature blue and green globe. So when the scalp-rubbing began driving me crazy, I went to the basement and sorted through all the kids’ old balls to see if I could find something with a similar size and soothing squishiness. (Yes, I’ve tried fidget spinners. Too hard.) Finally, I found a green ball that felt just right – but it wasn’t a ball after all. It was a balled-up oversized pipe cleaner, left over from some forgotten art project.  

I began buying fuzzy things in bulk at Michael’s craft store, which I then cut up into eight-inch strips. They’re soft and squeezable, but you can also fiddle with them, or use them to tie up your fingers. They work pretty well at keeping my hands occupied, or at grabbing my attention as I see them approach my forehead. But they’re not 100% effective. And they fall apart too easily.

A few months later, I discovered a shelf at Michael’s displaying reinforced supersized fuzzy things. Unfortunately, Super Fuzzy Things only come in black. And they wear out after a few heavy-duty hours, breaking up into fuzzy fragments with sharp metal protrusions. I still end most days with a sore forehead.

Have you identified the improvable therbligs in your life?

One of the favorite books from my childhood is Cheaper by the Dozen, a memoir by siblings Frank Gilbreth, Jr. and Ernestine Gilbreth Carey. (They also wrote the sequel Belles on their Toes.) If you’re only familiar with the 2003 Steve Martin movie of the same name, you would think Cheaper by the Dozen is merely a story about growing up in a large family. But what set the Gilbreth kids apart from their early 20th century peers was the profession of their eccentric parents: Frank Sr. and his wife Lillian were pioneers in the field of “time and motion study,” what we now would call organizational behavior and management consulting. And the Gilbreth parents insisted on embarrassing their numerous offspring by practicing efficiency techniques on them at home.

Frank and Lillian coined the term “therblig,” which is their surname spelled backwards, to refer to each of the individual steps or standardized components of an industrial process. In Cheaper by the Dozen, the Gilbreth children provide a practical illustration of how motion study works. The goal is to identify and optimize each “therblig” that makes up a particular process:

Suppose a man goes into a bathroom and shave. We'll assume that his face is all lathered and that he is ready to pick up his razor. He knows where the razor is, but first he must locate it with his eye. That is "search," the first Therblig. His eye finds it and comes to rest – that's "find," the second Therblig. Third comes "select," the process of sliding the razor prior to the fourth Therblig, "grasp." Fifth is "transport loaded," bringing the razor up to his face, and sixth is "position," getting the razor set on his face. There are eleven other Therbligs –  the last one is "think"!

Cheaper by the Dozen neglects to share the secrets of a perfectly efficient shave. However, every time I put on a dress shirt, I remember I’m doing it wrong. According to the Gilbreths, it’s faster to start buttoning up from the bottom button, rather than from the top down.

In the final novel she published before her death in 1974, my favorite author Jane Duncan focused on two beloved characters that readers first got to know in the earliest tales of the author’s childhood. Her uncles George and Tom spent their lives in the remote Highlands, on a marginally arable family farm (a “croft” in Scots dialect) – very like my Mormon pioneer ancestors in Utah.   

After the death of her husband, our 50something narrator finally returns home to Scotland after a long expatriate stint in the West Indies. She begins a new life as a writer, and moves into the family cottage with her elderly uncles. (This was in the 1960s, about the time I was born.) George and Tom were born in the Victorian era, so by this time they had seen enormous changes to their world: revolutions, depressions, two world wars, and massive technological transformations. Through all the tumult, they remained endlessly curious and resourceful. 

Duncan writes about the time her uncles figured out how to convert a couple of pieces of abandoned furniture into an ergonomic work station for her. According to the narrator, the episode was “illustrative of their ingenuity”:  

I have often thought that the men who erected the Pyramids or the statues on Easter Island must have had something in common with George and Tom, for at the croft they had contrived to move enormous boulders or huge trees that seemed to be beyond the strength of two men.

Frank and Lillian Gilbreth would have liked George and Tom.

George and Tom always remind me of my father. He grew up milking cows by hand on the family farm, before escaping to college at the end of the 1950s. A pragmatic insurance adjuster by profession, my dad also has endless practical skills. He’s built a house and remodeled two others to death. He has a tool for every occasion, or he will jury-rig one. He’s a real-life amateur MacGyver. At age 54, I still approach every mechanical or automotive task by asking myself “what would Dad do?” Or I just call and ask him.

Earlier this summer, my parents made their annual trek to Utah, where they stayed with my Uncle LaMar. Dad’s younger brother is more of a professional MacGyver – he’s a management consultant who travels the world figuring out how to improve manufacturing processes.

While in Utah, LaMar took my parents to the site of his current client, a manufacturer of next-generation pillows and mattresses. My dad saw a bowl full of purple “unfuzzy things,” which the company offers to customers to show how their technology works. Dad immediately recognized these promotional items had the potential to replace my Super Fuzzy Things as a tool for mitigating the impact of trichotillomania, and brought a few home.

Sure enough, Unfuzzy Things work. I can fiddle with them endlessly without their falling apart or poking my fingers. The cool non-metallic texture feels soothing. I need to lay up a healthy supply before Uncle LaMar moves on to his next consulting project.

Trichotillomania is not just for people living with PTSD, although there is a high correlation. The Trichotillomania Learning Center, now rebranded as the “TLC Foundation for Body-Focused Repetitive Behaviors,” has a helpful website if you’d like to learn more about the disorder. Although my own particular symptoms hurt and make me terribly self-conscious, I’m relatively fortunate. As a middle-aged dad with thinning hair, my localized handiwork is pretty inconspicuous. In contrast, Google will take you to ghastly Pinterest photos of women who have mowed broad bald swaths across their skulls. Body-focused repetitive behaviors, like the related cluster of eating disorders, are examples of the debilitating impact of mental illness.

I know a teenager who was abused and neglected as a young child. Now she’s a poised, happy young woman. Most of the time you would never guess what she went through. Nevertheless, for as long as I’ve known her, she has compulsively brought her fingers up to her face and fiddled with them. Just like me now.

Before I began living with PTSD, my reaction was to gently suggest she stop doing it – to “snap out of it,” as Cher says to Nicholas Cage in Moonstruck. This same thoughtless response is exactly how too many people react to other very real examples of mental illness, including depression, anxiety, and PTSD. 

Trauma alters the wiring of our brains. Some of trauma’s impact can be mitigated by medication, counseling, and other treatments. But as with other disabilities, both “physical” and “mental” (as if there was a meaningful distinction, other than society’s disparate response), some symptoms may never go away. 

After three years of living with a PTSD diagnosis, I’m overjoyed by the progress I’ve made. Like other disabled people, I’m frustrated by the doors that remain closed, but that’s another story. Meanwhile, I’m resigned to the prospect of relying on fuzzy and unfuzzy things for years to come. 

So I turn to something like Reinhold Niebuhr’s Serenity Prayer, which folks repeat countless times every day at meetings of Codependents Anonymous, AA, and other similar groups:  

Grant me the Serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
the Courage [and Creativity] to change the things I can,
and the Wisdom to know the difference.

Act Two....

The ballots have now been counted in Washington’s primary election. Unfortunately, I will not be one of the candidates continuing on to the general election in November. 

Thanks to all the voters and others who supported me, particularly intrepid volunteers like Marla Jones and Jack Hovenier, and graphics designer Dennis Phillips. Most of all I’ve appreciated my family’s love and support. 

Before entering the race, I reached out to several people for campaign advice. A couple of friends shared their recent experiences as a candidate. Each survived the primary, only to fall short in the general election. When I asked each what they wished they had known as a new candidate, I expected tips about balancing family responsibilities, effective fundraising, or using social media. Instead, both independently gave me the same response – “I wish I’d known I was going to lose” – with the implication in each case that they wouldn’t have run at all.

Their observation stuck with me. I was entering a crowded and uncertain race, where four of five candidates would inevitably lose. I campaigned to win. But I also tried to use the experience – win or lose – as an opportunity for family and personal growth. I set goals about managing anxiety, creating positive experiences for my family, and raising my community profile. I didn’t meet my exercise targets, but I made progress on things like reading, writing, and unplugging from the internet. 

Although I’m disappointed by the outcome of the election, I do not regret running for the Court of Appeals. I look forward to finding other opportunities for service.

As any candidate will report, the best part of the experience was interacting with voters. For example, after my presentation at the League of Women Voter’s forum last month, I was touched by the women who came up to tell me I should be a teacher. Similarly, in an encouraging sign of voter engagement, my post “Vote for Roger” quickly received more hits than any of my prior blog posts. Multiple folks thanked me for explaining what appellate judges actually do. 

Nevertheless, candidates can easily retreat to a bubble of positive news – no one bothers to tell you they’re voting for the other guy. (Other than the Second Amendment fanatic who scoured ancient Facebook posts looking for evidence that I would be a “gun grabber” as a judge.)

In the end, it’s not enough to be the most qualified person in an elaborate popularity contest. So I’m fortunate to have the recent example of watching my daughter gracefully handle defeat in her election for middle school class secretary. If she can do it, so can I.

F. Scott Fitzgerald famously and falsely wrote “There are no second acts in American lives.” To the contrary, our lives are endless stories of reinvention and redemption. 

I confess I got my hopes up over this judicial campaign thing because it seemed to offer such an elegant and appealing path out of the troubles that began plaguing me a few years ago. But so did my job at the university, as well as other promising job leads that didn't pan out. Yet. It turns out there is no one true Act Two (or Act Three, or Four, or whatever). So it's back to the job search, and writing, and a little legal work. Let me know if you hear of any professional opportunities in the area.

In the meantime, the kids will be back from summer camp soon, and we're looking forward to a fun conclusion to an interesting summer. 

Thanks again to everyone for your support and encouragement.

Vote for Roger

Earlier this week I got a message on Facebook from a stranger. I was about to delete it as spam, but then I realized it came from a voter. She asked, “Why should I vote for you instead of _______?”

I said I’d get back to her. 

Then yesterday I participated in the League of Women Voter’s Primary Election candidate forum. For the first and only time, all five lawyers who are running for our region’s vacancy on the Court of Appeals appeared together. 

The forum was interesting but somewhat frustrating. None of us had enough time to fully engage the voters’ questions, and everyone demonstrated a tendency to fall back on self-serving soundbites. (You’ll be shocked to learn both the former prosecutor and the public defender think what an appellate judge needs most is lots of experience with criminal trials.) 

Venues like the voter forum are particularly challenging for me, for a couple of reasons. First, my Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder can make large social settings awkward, and brings out my stammer. Second, I’m extremely shy about tooting my own horn. As a result, no one underscored some of the obvious qualifications that set me apart from the other candidates, such as my stellar academic credentials as a graduate of the best law school in the country; my employment at two of Washington’s top law firms; my service with the nation’s premier nonprofit advocacy organization; and my years of professional and community leadership. (Visit www.leishmanforjudge.com for more information about my background.)

Maybe I’m better at telling my story in writing rather than in person. So why should the voters of Whatcom, Island, Skagit, and San Juan Counties vote for me instead of one of the other four candidates?

The courtroom of the Court of Appeals, Division One,  in Seattle

Before choosing a candidate, you need to figure out what kind of a judge you’re electing.

The judicial branch of government is like a pyramid. At the bottom of the pyramid are the numerous trial courts across the state. Trial judges are responsible for the vast majority of judicial decisions, from evidentiary rulings to criminal sentences. Together with the juries they wrangle, trial judges resolve all factual disputes, based on the evidence in the record. These busy trial judges also issue rulings on numerous purely legal disputes – but they do so under constant time pressure, and with limited resources. I have immense respect and admiration for these dedicated judges.

At the top of the judicial pyramid is the Washington Supreme Court. The Supreme Court is the ultimate authority on the Washington constitution, common law, and statutory interpretation. Like its counterpart in the federal system, the Washington Supreme Court only considers a very limited number of cases each year, choosing to weigh in on the legal issues that pique the interest of a bloc of justices, or to resolve conflicts among lower court decisions. I've had the pleasure of knowing most members of the state Supreme Court over the last decade; each is deeply committed to justice and the rule of law.

Last in our judicial pyramid, squeezed in between the busy trial courts and the picky Supreme Court, is the Court of Appeals. Every litigant has the constitutional right to an appeal. The Court of Appeals decides almost all appeals from trial court decisions in Washington, including civil, criminal, juvenile, and family law matters. 

Unlike the “policy-making” role of the Supreme Court, the Court of Appeals is primarily an “error correcting” court. The Court of Appeals reviews the trial court’s evidentiary and factual rulings under a deferential standard of review. The Court of Appeals also takes a fresh look at the various legal rulings in the case. The Court of Appeals’ written opinions resolving each appeal provide trial judges, attorneys, and litigants with the only map covering much of Washington’s legal terrain.

The Washington Court of Appeals consists of a total of 22 judges in three divisions that hear arguments in Seattle, Tacoma, and Spokane. Each judge has a couple of law clerks to help review the record and analyze relevant legal authorities. The court also has several staff attorneys who assist with routine criminal appeals. 

Other than performing the occasional marriage, an appellate judge never acts alone. Instead, a rotating panel of three Court of Appeals judges reads the parties’ briefs, hears arguments, and decides each case. Appellate judging is a team sport.

Seattle-based Division One of the Court of Appeals is the busiest appellate court in the state. Almost half of the 3,683 total appeals filed in the Court of Appeals last year were handled by Division One.  Each judge on Division One hears several hundred appeals a year, and writes the opinion of the Court in approximately 75 cases. If an individual judge does not agree with some or all of the reasoning embraced by the other members of the three-judge panel hearing the particular case, he or she can write a concurring or dissenting opinion. That's a lot of writing. (In contrast, the nine justices of the Washington Supreme Court issued opinions in only 92 cases – a few more than the United States Supreme Court – with each individual justice responsible for writing a mere 10 opinions.)

Division One is also the largest appellate court in the state, with ten judges. Seven of Division One’s judges are elected from King County, the state’s most populous jurisdiction. Two judges are elected from Snohomish County, immediately north of Seattle. 

The tenth member of Division One is elected by the voters of four counties here in Northwest Washington. About half of the votes come from Whatcom County, where I now live, and where my family has lived for almost four decades. Twenty-five percent of the votes come from Island County, where I owned a house for fifteen years, before the road and my driveway slid down the bluff in a massive landslide. Twenty percent of the votes come from neighboring Skagit County, and five percent come from the islanders of San Juan County. 

The late Judge Susan Agid, who served on Division One of the Court of Appeals for two decades, owned a cabin down the road from my house on Whidbey Island. Ten years ago, she was one of the first people who encouraged me to seek a position on the Court of Appeals. 

Judge Agid described appellate judges as “the last living generalists, expected to know something about every area of the law.” This is particularly true for judges on error-correcting appellate courts like the Court of Appeals.

For more than half of my legal career, my practice focused on appeals. When I was a partner in Davis Wright Tremaine LLP, the state’s second largest law firm, I was the firm’s expert on Washington appeals. Like an appellate judge, my role in each appeal was to figure out the applicable area of the law, and then apply it to the record in the case. I am thoroughly familiar with Division One’s procedures and personnel.

During the times in my career when I wasn’t perched in an appellate niche, I was blessed with opportunities to represent clients in many other kinds of venues. I appeared in jury and bench trials, arbitrations, and mediations, and counseled clients about their business and personal dilemmas. I’ve been a contingent-fee plaintiff’s lawyer. I’ve represented defendants. I’ve worked on multiple criminal matters. I’ve handled numerous family law cases, including dissolutions, custody disputes, and the termination of parental rights. I’ve worked for both small and large private firms, and for nonprofit and government agencies. I served as chief legal advisor to the state’s third largest university. I've advocated for children, the disabled, and other marginalized populations. Over the years, I gained substantial experience in numerous areas of the law, including employment, civil rights, real property, torts, contracts, evidence, class actions, constitutional law, privacy, water law, and intellectual property. 

More than any of the other candidates, my twenty-eight years of experience in a varied and sophisticated legal practice has prepared me for an appellate judge’s essential role as a legal generalist.

All of the judges I’ve admired over the years have been passionate about “getting it right,” in two separate senses. 

First, judges strive for the result that best serves justice. In contrast with lawyers, who approach each case from the perspective of zealous advocacy, judges are attentive but impartial. For the rule of law to thrive, "getting it right" means all litigants need to believe they’ve been heard, and that the courts have treated them fairly.

Second, many of the legal questions before the Court of Appeals involve complex puzzles with a “right” answer. Judges need to figure out the applicable legal rule, weighing the parties’ arguments and identifying the most analogous prior cases. Judges must then apply the right rule fairly and consistently to the facts of the case, showing how both the rule and its application connect to the rest of the law’s vast terrain. The Court’s written opinions should ultimately become a clear road map to guide future lawyers, litigants, and judges. 

Getting to the right answer requires someone who is not just fair and smart, but also smart in a very specific way. I have been preparing for this role my entire career.

I originally went to law school because I was a tortured gay Mormon English major who needed to escape from Brigham Young University. 

This whole law thing has never been a perfect fit. I spent years in private practice, flirted with grad school, and moved to Chicago to be a gay rights lawyer with the ACLU. Along the way I explored academia, boutique firms, nonprofits, government, and other alternatives. 

Eventually I concluded I would make a good judge, particularly at the appellate level, which is much more academic and writerly than most trial-level courts. Over the years I worked closely with judges and bar leaders, acquiring useful skills and contacts. And I sought out opportunities to hear about the various paths to the bench. Meanwhile, I was the longtime chair of the nonprofit organization promoting inclusion in the stodgy legal profession – working with numerous judges and other bar leaders in our efforts to diversify private firms, government law offices, and the judiciary. 

The Court of Appeals offers the perfect legal role for a smart introvert. Even before going to law school, I felt the call to public service. I love the law. I love reading and writing. I’m very collegial, particularly in small groups. Indeed, I do my best thinking when I can vigorously exchange ideas with a few close colleagues – before closing the door and collecting my thoughts alone. I’m even good at occasional committee meetings, teaching gigs, and public events. It’s a good fit.

Several years ago, when I was still an appellate lawyer in Seattle, I unsuccessfully applied for appointment to one of the King County positions on Division One. At the time, multiple bar associations rated me Exceptionally Well Qualified for the Court of Appeals. Since then, my additional professional experiences have further prepared me for judicial service. Moreover, in the last three years I’ve also grown from receiving a disconcerting PTSD diagnosis, facing discrimination, managing my disability, and overcoming adversity.

My professional accomplishments make me stand out as a judicial candidate. In addition, I would bring much-needed diversity to the Court of Appeals. The Court has never had an openly LGBT judge, or an openly disabled judge. I hope my judicial colleagues – and the litigants before us – would benefit not just from my legal acumen, but also from my life experiences.

If these arguments fail to convince you, perhaps I can appeal to a little tongue-in-cheek philosophy?

“Utilitarianism” is an influential ethical theory that began with eminent Victorians like Jeremy Bentham and John Stuart Mills, and continues today with folks like Princeton professor/animal rights advocate Peter Singer. Utilitarians make their decisions based on which alternative will bring the greatest amount of total happiness (calculated as the sum of all pleasure that results from an action, minus the suffering of anyone involved in the action).

The other four candidates on the ballot currently are employed in private practice. No doubt each would be happy to win the election in November. Nevertheless, each already enjoys a successful and rewarding legal career that will continue to flourish, even if he or she doesn’t become a judge at this particular time.

In contrast with the other candidates, I’m an unemployed disabled gay single dad. Because of family ties, I live in a small community with limited professional prospects. Winning the election in November would spectacularly transform our lives: my career would be revived, my daughters could get braces, my son would get a new bicycle, I wouldn’t have to move in with my parents, we'd finally trade in our ancient minivan....

You get the picture. Perhaps we should print up new T shirts: “Vote for Roger … for the children.”

Throughout my legal career, colleagues and judges have recognized my talents as an exceptional writer. Nevertheless, during that time, I also suffered from excruciating writer’s block.

The silver lining from my PTSD diagnosis and treatment came when my writer’s block finally lifted. In the last year, I’ve written hundreds of thousands of words for this blog and other writing projects. I’ve had the opportunity to read extensively, honing my analytic skills. I’m becoming an even better and more fluent writer.

As I observed above, judges on the Court of Appeals need to read and absorb voluminous materials, then expeditiously draft thoughtful and understandable legal opinions. A great judge’s written opinions will illuminate the law for generations of readers.

Vote for a smart gay single dad with 28 years of diverse legal experience.  

And vote for a writer.

JWTYHCOYO… the Teen Years

JWTYHCOYO! is an abbreviation for “Just wait till you have children of your own!” It’s the title of a 1974 book about parenthood by housewife/columnist Erma Bombeck. 

The phrase JWTYHCOYO! actually came from Bombeck’s own youth. I don’t remember what she and her mother were arguing about; I don’t recall whether Bombeck herself remembered. What stuck was the image of her mother turning to her and saying “Never mind why I’m smiling. Just wait till you have children of your own.” 

In a blog post last winter, I reported that I’d had my first opportunity to use Bombeck’s line on one of my own children.

Last month my daughter Rosalind turned thirteen. Sixteen days later my daughter Eleanor also passed the teenager milestone.

Recently I had a flashback to an incident that occurred thirty years ago, when I was in my early twenties. I was home visiting my parents in Bellingham between semesters of law school. I noticed a  a brand-new copy of a book about parenting teenagers.

I pointed out to my mother that it was a bit late to be closing this particular barn door, as I’d entered and then exited the teen years some time before. Obviously I’d been a model child, with no need for specialized manuals.

My mother sighed. She said, “I used to have children in their teens. Now I have teenagers.”

Unlike my parents, I enjoyed a very brief teenager honeymoon.

Last weekend my family marched in the Bellingham Pride Parade. We carried signs and wore T shirts letting the community know I’m running for the Washington Court of Appeals. Rather than make a float or find a convertible, I borrowed a couple of adorable dogs from my ex to complement my adorable children. (FYI, Bear and Buster are both “Aussiedoodles,” which means they’re the size of poodles but keep trying to herd you like an Australian shepherd.) 

As you can see from the picture, one member of the family declined to wear her campaign T-shirt, and instead insisted on wearing a black shirt in the blazing sun. The entire length of the parade she whined nonstop about how mortifying it would be if someone from school saw her.

I hope I live long enough to see Eleanor parent teenagers. JWTYHCOYO….

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Puberty So Far: An Update

Every family has its timeless stories. Here is one of our perennials:

My three children were all adopted separately, and share no biological connection. Nevertheless, there’s a strong physical resemblance among all three, mostly because they all happen to have blue eyes and light brown hair.  

They also seem to share similar colorings. Not true. Actually, it turns out two of the three are impervious to the sun. 

Each summer, as I aim our minivan toward the beach for the first time, I invariably ask my family, “now remind Papa again, which kid is the one who always burns?”  

That one. The one who will quickly turn bright red after exposure to little more than the harsh florescent lighting that prevails in the kind of retail establishment she herself would sneer at. The hypochondriac who treats every twinge as a grand drama. The adolescent who insists on pushing me out and slamming her door. (I bet you have a good guess which child I'm talking about.)

This year I remembered all by myself. I personally slathered sunblock all over Eleanor’s back, and closely inspected the white sheen on her face. Eleanor swore up and down she’d thoroughly coated her arms and legs already, and she impatiently pushed me away.

We had a marvelous daytrip to Whidbey Island yesterday. It was our first visit back to the island in over a year – the first since losing our home to the mudslide and its aftermath. Papa and his PTSD handled the day surprisingly well.

As we began our meandering drive back to Bellingham, even before Fro-Yo in Oak Harbor, we stopped at Lind’s Drugstore. Because the burn victim next to me insisted I buy a drum of soothing Aloe Vera for her lobster-red arms and legs. 

FYI, her back and face are perfectly fine. Personally, I’d say I’m doing great at this whole “parenting teens” thing.

The news one year ago: "Puberty So Far" (7/20/17)

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