“It is not down on any map; true places never are.”
― Herman Melville, Moby Dick

A little more than four years ago, I found myself in the producer’s chair, attempting to put together my first podcast for Wondery Media. The episode centered around a mystery story, one that remains unsolved. It was no unsolved murder or whodunit yarn, but instead a tale about what happened to a 7-foot 900 lbs bronze statue of Joe Paterno, the disgraced former-head football coach of the Penn State Nittany Lions. The statue disappeared in the aftermath of the Jerry Sandusky scandal that rocked the State College community back in 2011 and led to Paterno’s firing; a previously unbelievable outcome for a coach who at that time led the NCAA in career victories. The whereabouts of the statue remain unknown, and while that mystery remained, what became clear to me as I bumbled my way through putting that story together was just how little I knew about what an adequate producer does every day. 

At that moment production suddenly became far more daunting and overwhelming than I ever imagined it could be. For the first time I was seeing that, in fact, I knew far less than I supposed about crafting a coherent and compelling audio story on a tight production deadline under the exacting standards of a seasoned producer. It doesn’t take much imagination to see the parallels between taking on the professional challenges of becoming a podcast producer and heading into the first year of law school at 33 and as a first generation law student. That transition presents a lot of practical hurdles and adjustments for any student, but in particular for those for whom law school is an entirely new and alien experience. A non-exhaustive list might include; time management in balancing all the demands inside and outside the classroom; taking useful notes from a lengthy and dense class lectures; composing useful and logical outlines for exams and studying; ingesting hundreds of casebook pages over short periods of time; handling the pressure of a cold call under the hectoring gaze of a professor in front of your peers; I could go on. 

By no means would I suggest that my approach to any of these things is perfect, but I would argue that my professional experience in journalism makes navigating these new waters a little less intimidating. After all, there is no perfect way to approach law school and for many of us, especially first generational law students, it can feel like traveling without a map or set destination in mind. You have a sense of where you want to go and maybe some thoughts about how you will get there, but in the end you are figuring it out as you go, relying on your wits and past experiences to get through it all, relatively unscathed, and to a place entirely alien, yet hopefully familiar in the sense that places meant for us always are. To get there challenges must be faced and overcome, and fortunately (or unfortunately) law school provides many, many ordeals along the way.

I think the biggest of those challenges in the early days of law school come from managing (or mis-managing) our time. I know this challenge well as I learned early that you can not successfully produce a podcast, especially on a tight deadline (which let’s be honest it usually is a tight deadline), without a keen sense of time. A podcast production involves many interlocking gears, and in order for that machine to function efficiently and effectively things need to move on time. Inefficiency is death in an every day production, both in terms of cost and morale, so sober and realistic judgment is key to making it all sustainable. In law school, me and my peers have to navigate fitting a number of time consuming tasks, like reading, class time, assignments, outlining, extracurriculars, and networking for our future jobs, and so on. In order to tackle all or any of those things, a law student needs to be as time conscious as any producer. Spending too much time on one task can cost you on another, and, with that in mind, a student needs to know which tasks she wants to prioritize over the others, because in some instances, well, there just isn’t enough time. It helps to have made these tough decisions before, especially in a professional environment, and I lean on those experiences every day as I try (to varying degrees of success) and stay on top of all of my new tasks and responsibilities.

Another major challenge we face in law school is processing the avalanche of information coming at us every single day. As a showrunner on a daily news show, I know this sensation all too well. In that role, I often had to sift through hundreds of stories a day. From there, I would cut down and consolidate that wide array of news into a selection of six to eight segment ideas and break out the salient elements of each story into a production outline that helped our team determine our coverage plan. The outline process required rendering each story a variety of prisms unique to audio; is the story interesting, emotional, or unique, will the story provide us with compelling outside audio (meaning audio that wasn’t recorded by the hosts, think highlights, press conferences etc), is there an inventive angle we can take to distinguish our coverage from everyone else’s, especially for a story or game every other outlet will cover, and so on. The echoes between that process and what we do every day in law school is probably very apparent. Obviously, the density of material and intellectual rigor required to understand it is very different, but the principles remain largely the same. You have to pick out the most important aspects of a case or a statute or a regulation, then take time to fully understand each aspect and its larger implications, and then think of way to organize in a hierarchical way that helps you retain and discuss these somewhat heady ideas in a comprehensible and concise manner. Most similarly to my work as a producer, I do not think I have perfected my approach to this, but every day provides a chance to improve and refine it, and because I am quite used to that process, it feels less arduous than it may otherwise. 

I know that when I was a younger, less experienced person, I tended to hold on to my original ideas, even if more optimal approaches were right in front of me. It came from a place of insecurity; that if I admitted my ideas weren’t “perfect” perhaps I was lesser compared to others who seemed so confident in their approach. I’m sure that many law students can relate to that feeling, especially because everything about law school can feel comparative and competitive, with little room for self-awareness or displays of vulnerability. But I can say with absolute confidence that the best people I ever worked with constantly looked for chances to re-work their own approaches, to find new efficiencies, and looked to others for inspiration when their own ideas turned stale. My working experience completely reversed my old position. I would say the strongest, most intellectually rigorous people will be the first to admit their own fallibility. That approach helps us venture into new intellectual waters with an openness and feeling of discovery that disappears if we refuse to open ourselves to the excitement of a new or novel approach to our own.

Finally, I want to talk about the dreaded cold call. First I think it important to say that cold calling feels intimidating to everyone, no matter your background. I will also say that once you have experienced it in a professional setting, you realize that an earnest, thoughtful answer is good enough, and no one expects you to know everything, not even the toughest law school professor or most grizzled journalism professional. As a daily news showrunner I led hundreds of editorial calls with on-air talent, many of whom were far more experienced and accomplished than me, and faced down their questions that demanded story ideas, outside audio ideas, and data or information to burnish the segments and arguments within them, and sometimes, despite all my reading and prep, I didn’t have the answer. Early on in my time in that role, I would often try to answer even if I didn’t know for sure, and more often than not, that caused me a bigger headache than simply admitting I wasn’t sure. I thought I needed to demonstrate the talent that I read everything, that I was putting in the hours, and because of that nothing they could ask me would throw me off balance. To say that approach was wrong-headed would be putting it lightly. People can tell when you’ve done the work and when you have not. Just because you do not know everything does not imply you know nothing. If anything, the confidence in admitting where your understanding ends demonstrates a deeper confidence in your knowledge and ability than trying to filibuster around a simple “I’m not sure. I can look it up or we can talk through it?” A cold call experience can feel eerily similar to those editorial calls, and even more so to the editorial calls for my first show where A LOT of my ideas got shot down ruthlessly, and I understand the trepidation it causes. But I think as long as you do the work, do the reading, and answer with the confidence of wanting to know more, and admitting when you do not know right now, the process becomes less daunting and more enlightening, which, after all, is the whole point of this endeavor.

These lessons and insights may seem particular to my career path, but I want to emphasize that they are not. I think it’s important that any incoming law student gets experiences like these in any number of industries. Those experiences you can gain outside the classroom and the relatively insular world of the law will help you immeasurably in navigating school and the professional world that comes after it. Not only that, but they often provide good admissions essay content, the first entree into the legal world for many of us. 

When I get overwhelmed in school and feel all the deadlines looming, the readings stacking up, and the concepts swirling around in my head, I think back to that first day as a producer. I felt all those same things that day too. Then I put my head down and get to work. I learned life principles and work approaches that allowed me to do things I only dreamed about in the journalism world. That past experience is the lodestar that guides this new journey I find myself on; to parts unknown and to intellectual and professional experiences yet to be seen.

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Ian Hurley is a first-year student and brand new Impact blogger. Contact him at hurleyia@bc.edu.