Law of the Instrument

When I was in college, I interned for a semester at the Public Defenders Office in Washington, D.C. I was an investigator for two attorneys who represented juvenile clients. My job was to go into communities, homes, and schools in what was known then as the nation’s “murder capital,” and gather information from anyone who might be able to help our clients. 

I was young and worked alone in notoriously dangerous areas talking with people - most of whom also happened to be drug dealers, addicts, criminals and gang members. And yet, I never felt fear. Honestly, it never occurred to me that I should. Over and over again, I was greeted with respect, kindness, generosity.

Until a friend gave me Mace for protection. They’d heard what I was doing and thought I was nuts for not being better protected. So they gave me a small can to put in my bag and use in case ‘just in case’. 

For a week and a half I carried that Mace around - my finger inching closer to its trigger as time went on. I hadn’t been afraid before, but now everything looked like a potential threat. 

After days of living with growing stress and anxiety, I got rid of the Mace. And went back to approaching people armed only with a smile and a notepad. Never once did I encounter trouble.

I’m not saying I wasn’t in risky situations at times. But when I showed up with a metaphorical hammer, everything looked like a nail.