Mike Burstein

My goal in life is to be happy, both while working and not. What makes me happy is subject to change, but generally, I want to find a job that is morally and mentally satisfying. That has placed me on the path toward human rights and development law. I really do not know if that is where the path will ultimately end, but that is what it looks like right now. This makes me different than a lot of other human-rights lawyers, who are driven by some moral certainty or need to contribute to society. To me, that is rather distasteful - "I don't know what's best for society, and neither do you," I think. At least I have a clue as to what puts a smile on my face. That is about all I need.

Before going to law school, I had a life. It was fun and interesting, as many lives are, and it was mine, so I was biased toward it. Along with the general drinking, shooting pool, hanging out, and other normal activities that young 20-somethings are wont to do in San Francisco, I spent a lot of my time working on what can best be described as "performance art." You know those conversations that you have with your friends, after a few too many, that start out with "Wouldn't it be great if somebody did.?" Well, about five years ago, me and my buddies, through either a desire to be on stage or a severe lack of common sense, actually started to go out and do those things.

Mike during the 2002 Urban-Iditarod, in which human "sled dogs" pull shopping carts in a race through the streets of San Francisco.

Our greatest achievement is Urban Golf. Every year 150 of my closest friends and I go golfing through the streets of San Francisco. We use stress-balls instead of real golf balls so no one gets hurt, and the streets are the holes and the bars are the water hazards. We were recently featured in Forbes FYI, Maxim, and a variety of local media. It used to be fun, but organizing 150 people and making sure that nothing exceptionally stupid happens has become more of a hassle than what it is worth, and we just might retire Urban Golf for a few years. We also did things like run game shows at random bars (which were more like audience-oriented sketch comedy) and stage pseudo-protests, clown rampages, and Santa-anarchy. Not all the ideas were ours, some were inherited, like Urban-Iditarod. UI is exactly like the Alaskan sled race, except it takes place in San Francisco, the sleds are shopping carts, and the dogs are played by people, about 350 of them.

As fun as all of that really was, I never felt like it was enough. I always had an itch in the back of my brain that said that I should be doing something else. I've had such feelings a few times before. I normally pay attention to them. Unfortunately, acting on them doesn't always work out for the better - yet each time I have left something that has made me happy in one aspect of my life, in search of something that will be more consuming.

'I was happy in Albania, but I still wanted more. I talked to people who were doing really cool things, and I asked them, "You are cool and you do neat stuff. How do I get your job?" The answer was always "Go to law school" or "Get a master's." The price was giving up my old lifestyle.' -Mike Burstein

The particular itch to get me out of being a professional goofball was to explore my other passion, which was international development. I would spend a relaxing Sunday at Zeitgeist reading the Economist or Foreign Affairs, and get all worked up. The issues discussed in those fine publications were exactly what I would argue with my friends when we were not being jackasses, except the authors at least seemed to know what they were talking about. I felt that I needed to try to engage international development on some level. Either I would find out that it was boring or I would dig it.

So I quit my job doing educational research and went to Albania for almost a year. I worked for a small nonprofit that was trying to achieve inter-ethnic peace through leadership training camps and community mobilization. While I was over there, I learned a bunch of things, the most important being that it doesn't matter what you are doing, so long as you enjoy it. Before Albania, I had a great time outside of work, with Urban Golf and all, but the majority of my waking hours were at a job that was decent enough (paid the bills, non-sadistic coworkers, etc.) but not invigorating. In Albania, I had a job that stimulated me mentally and I was able to work toward a goal I truly believed in. The problem was that I could not goof off in the same way in the context of the local culture - different senses of humor and such. However, my time outside work was a constant learning process that I would not trade for the world.

I was happy in Albania, but I still wanted more. I talked to people who were doing really cool things, and I asked them, "You are cool and you do neat stuff. How do I get your job?" The answer was always "Go to law school" or "Get a master's." The price was giving up my old lifestyle. It was a painful decision, but I knew if I went back to my old life, the itch would be back with a vengeance. I would never be happy because I would always have that doubt that I should have explored development work in a different context further and tried to find that best of both worlds.

So here I am. I have finished my first year at Berkeley's Boalt Hall Law School, which was not very pleasant at all. Then again, it isn't supposed to be. And now I am off to Budapest to work with the European Roma Rights Center, which seeks to protect the legal rights of the stateless Roma people, commonly called Gypsies. I think this is something that will make me happy, but I haven't ever actually done legal human rights work before. I am learning what my future will look like. I have this summer and next summer to decide if this is really what I want to do. Right now, the idea is that I will be able to work in human rights or development law in some capacity that will allow me to both travel, even part time, and still have access to my old goofball life.

The problem is that I am not sure if I will ever go back to my old life. I would like to, but I have the fear that it would just be like returning to your old high school. No matter how many pimply teenagers are running around between classes, it will still feel empty and vacant because all those kids are living in their Now and not in your Then.

-Mike