And if you lose your case, that doesn’t mean you’re done. We’ve talked about how to make the best of your potential time behind bars, but most clients—even the toughest meatheads in the joint—still have something on the outside that keeps their hearts ticking and encourages them to continue drawing big, fat Xs on the calendar days to mark their time.
If even Big Bubba is angling at how to get his affairs in order on the outside, I know for sure that you will be, too.
Unfortunately, just having a sharp new suit or Liberace feather boa or whatever your flavor laid out all nice and ironed when you strip off that prison jumpsuit probably isn’t going to be the only big fix you need to put your life back on track again. We know there’s much more to it than that, but I can use that as a symbol.
Whatever position you’re in, once it’s all over—the trial itself, the sentence after the trial—it’s over and that’s awesome. We start in the black again, right?
When you get out, your perspective is going to be different. It’s like what people say about near-death experiences—you come out to see the grass grows greener, the cinnamon buns smell sweeter, the chili tastes spicier, and the ocean breeze feels just a bit breezier.
If you’ve been in lockup it might be easy—really easy—to walk out into the world with a grade-A chip on your shoulder. Many people do. They end up back in my office, too, because that anger is jet fuel for a big term: “recidivism.” It sounds like something that involves a high fever and brings out boils on your skin, but it’s just a fancy word for “relapse.”
Energy can’t be created or destroyed; it’s science! For these aforementioned ladies and gents all that anger they’re carrying needs someplace to go, so they might find themselves taking it out on someone. That can happen even if the case is won, since trials are so stressful.
However you’re feeling, a new set of clothes might be a good first move toward your fresh-smelling new lease on life. Some other steps to consider taking:
• Don’t do the same shit you used to do. Sounds like a lead-pipe cinch, but did you ever go sledding as a kid? Find a hill covered in fresh, fluffy snow, sit yourself down on a trashcan lid, and—wheee!—down the slope you go. First time’s a little slow, there’s no natural path so you’re carving it yourself—but the more times you ride down, a clear route starts to form and it becomes really, really hard to break out of that groove. The bad business you’re associated with? That’s the groove. I’ve mentioned it before, talking about running with old friends who might only get you in trouble again. Let’s broaden that horizon. Don’t even take the same routes you used to walk through the neighborhood to get to the corner store. Nobody wants to remain as unsettled as they feel after a trial—or worse, an incarceration (I get indigestion just thinking about it)—but it might be a chance to instate some good new habits.
• Get a job. It can be tough for those who are having a lover’s quarrel with the law to find work, even if they were on trial but never convicted, because that alone gives you an arrest record. Like if a guy or gal is tried for taking pervy Polaroids at the state fair—even if they’re found not guilty, you’re not gonna sign up for their bargain glamour photo shoot next summer. The good news is that there are services in place in a lot of cities that are geared toward helping folks with legal issues find jobs. They find employers who believe in giving people second chances. That’s pretty great. But, to be clear, if you’re working with a program like this, you’ve got to manage your expectations. Regardless of the job you were doing before your scuffle with the law, your entrée back into the workforce may be severely limited. I don’t care what a whiz he is with a calculator, nobody’s asking for Bernie Madoff to manage their finances anymore. So, cool it with the hubris—the best job available may not be a golden ticket to a new life ripe with velvet carpets and gold-plated toilet seats, but it may still be the yellow brick road that leads you back to happiness and stability.
We’ve been talking a lot about strategy. Strategy has nothing to do with some kind of touchy-feely, flowing linen and starshine kind of “Fix my life” bull hockey. It’s about an honest client and a no-nonsense lawyer who recognize that people are gonna try to be who they are and that it may be necessary to manage how others see that.
Think about this statement: “The clothes make the con.” The con as in “confidence.” As in conviction. That new dress? That new suit? An Italian wool tool. It says you’re ready for a new start, and look like a different person. Just because you’re putting on a costume doesn’t mean you’ve become the role. Leave that to Streep and Pacino.
• Take it down a notch. Are you animated? Not like: are you a cartoon, Scratch Cat—but, do you have a big mouth? Vibrant personality? A memorable disposition that sometimes rubs folks quietly reading on the subway the wrong way? If you’re trying to recoup your life, it may be time to backpedal a little. Don’t worry, no one is trying put your light under a bushel! I’d never try to change who you are. But! Being Mr. Low Profile might be a wise strategy to consider as a viable means of staying off the radar of Eliot Ness and his ragtime band.
Back to those positive steps:
• Make yourself a better you (or at least a better image of you). Consider joining a club. Maybe take a yoga class? If you were raised with a perfect Sunday School attendance record and stopping by a service or two doesn’t make you grind your teeth to nubs, maybe even brings you inner peace or some quiet time—heck, go back! You could just zone out and work on your cryptograms while you’re there, but when you’re trying to present the latest, greatest you to the judge presiding over your probation? Church is awesome. Sing along with the hymns, join the bell choir, carry the heaviest boxes when it’s time to host the town book sale. Work on your posture! That sort of thing looks great when you’re checking in with your parole officer.
• Mix and mingle. When it comes to dating, don’t let your criminal record stand in your way any more than you would your high school report card. This advice is obviously more for the unmarried client. If you’re married and you want to start dating again, that’s a fun new adventure or a hullabaloo that could end with you wading in a hefty new set of bills and a few more courtroom appearances. But for you singles out there, nothing looks better to ensure your continued conditional release than some kind of steady relationship. That’s pretty much synonymous with stability. So: try it. If you’re shy, start online. Whatever your preference or creed or ethnicity or farming experience, there’s a dating site for you. There are a heck of a lot of fish in that (albeit murky) ocean. If you’re an in-person kinda person, see if there are any babes at that library or church where you sit and do Sudoku, whatever—just keep in mind that the more steady things you have going on in life, the better it will start to feel and the better it will look to those who are paying more attention than you’d probably like them to.
The clothes you choose are like the strong whiff of perfume that’s going to leave an impression after you walk out of a room. But, outfits are just one aspect of your metamorphosis. If your trial resulted in jail time, there are ways to start working toward that transformation before you put on your shades and walk out squinting at the sunshine of freedom. One thing incarceration does provide is time. It’s yours for the taking. To work on that novel, to learn a new language. I know of men and women behind bars who slimmed from flabby to taut in time to take on the world. There are others who come out basically bar exam ready, because hey, if there’s a law library in there, why not get into it and start figuring out what all those official-looking people were mumbling about during the trial?