Last weekend, our firm went to Palawan for our annual trip. I haven't been to the beach in such a long time, and unlike most people, I very much enjoy the "tour group" activities: island hopping, snorkeling, kayaking, boodle lunches, collectively panicking about forgetting your sunblock. It was a much-needed escape from emails, hearings, and clients who say, "Just a quick question." (It never is.) We stayed at an exclusive hotel resort by Sabang Beach, and despite the heavy overcast and eventual rains, it was such a great weekend.
The highlight for me was definitely the Puerto Princesa Underground River. It is a UNESCO World Heritage site, one I've been looking forward to seeing since our flights were booked a few months ago.
If you've never been, picture this: you’re in a small boat, ducking slightly as it glides into the yawning mouth of a cave. The air gets cooler. It’s dark. The only light comes from your boatman's flashlight. He swings it around, perfectly timed with the audio guide on your ear. The spotlight illuminates rock formations that, at first, look like, well, just rocks.
But then the soft, firm voice of the audio narrator says something like, "Look at this one -- it's the Holy Family." And suddenly, that oddly shaped cluster of stalactites does look like the nativity scene. Later on, they point to two dinosaurs. Vegetables. The Batcave. The hull of the Titanic. A supposedly naked woman.
And from that point on, you can’t unsee them. The shapes reveal themselves, not because they changed, but because your perspective of them did.
Then, it hit me: this is exactly how law practice has felt after seven years.
In your first few years, everything looks like unformed rock. Dense, confusing, neutral. You know you’re supposed to make something out of it, but you don’t know what you’re looking at. You're dependent on someone else to point and say, “That? That’s a valid cause of action.” Or, “That clause? That's going to bite them in the ass.”
But over time, your flashlight steadies. Your eye adjusts. You learn to see the structures for yourself, the risk hiding in a client’s story, the subtle nuances in each argument, the case precedent no one noticed. Like those stalactites, it may not be obvious at first. But once you spot it, it’s unmistakable.
Also very much like law and jurisprudence: these limestone formations took centuries to build. Drip by drip. Case by case. Filing by painful filing.
A goosebumps-inducing moment during the tour was when we stopped at supposedly the deepest part of the river tour, which was right below the highest point of the cave. We were under a 980-feet dome, and above
I guess what I’m saying is, after Facebook reminded me that on the day of our Underground River tour, seven years ago, I took my oath as a lawyer before the Supreme Court justices, lawyering is part geology, part philosophy, and a lot of learning how to "see." And in the right light, even the hardest things can start to make sense.
Bonus: when you finally step out of the cave, there’s sunlight, sand, and the quiet satisfaction of knowing you’re not where you started.
And maybe a cold beer, if your bosses are feeling generous.
Happy seven years, self!
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