A reeeeeeally long time ago, I wrote a little piece about lawyers seeking alternative careers. Even back then, there was a lot of dissatisfaction with practicing law, and lawyers everywhere it seemed were trying to chart another path towards a meaningful future. Although this was intended as humor, I still think it points to the issue of what happens to one’s sense of legacy if you are good at something that eats you alive.
Anyway, I happened across this article going through boxes of old stuff whilst deciding what to shred. I spared this. I’ll let you decide whether it was a good idea to save the two sheets of paper upon which it resides from the crosscutting teeth. This mini essay is a bit dated, but I thought my Substack readers would still enjoy the trip.[1] Other than a few minor edits, it is unchanged across the years and decades since I first penned it.
Every lawyer, it seems, is talking about alternative careers. The dreams vary in practicality. One law school buddy of mine thought that he could spend about two years on a park bench feeding the pigeons. “Think of the wardrobe savings alone,” he said. “All you really need to change is your underwear, and you can flip ‘em inside out if you're REALLY desperate.”
Why is lawyer burnout so prevalent? No lawyer I know is starving.[2] One colleague who practices elder law ticks off fees as an advantage of his business. “Heck, “ he says. “Sometimes the early Alzheimer's clients try to pay my bill several times.”
Could it be that dealing with peoples’ problems all day is depressing? My elder law friend describes his business as a “death and dementia practice.” Of course, a death and dementia practice may be preferable to another colleague of mine who concentrates her practice in guardianships and mental health. That makes her a “dementia and delusions” lawyer. Her clients do get better when their medication kicks in, even if the guy who thinks he's JFK still slips and calls her Jackie once in a while.
Every lawyer deals with the trauma from a life in the law in his or her own way. Some engage in sports; some engage in drinking; some engage in elaborate fantasies about their most problematic client dying in a boating accident (after payment of any outstanding fees of course).
All attorneys have stories about clients. Are they the source of stress? Some thought leaders in the legal profession think that if lawyers made their practices less personal and more retail, they could get rid of the troublesome human element. What about an office in the mall, with a neon sign that says Legal Hut in the window, and dressing all the attorneys in powder blue sports coats with our names emblazoned on our breast pockets? All the fees could end in 99: wills $99.99 each. Uncontested divorces (is there such an animal?) $499.99. Powers of attorney: buy one, get the second at half price. How about a drive through window? Alas, there are still marketing decisions to make. Do you want to be a Lord and Taylor or a Walmart?
No, retailing wasn't an answer. Few people I knew looked good in powder blue.
It didn’t seem that wholesaling was the answer either. Years ago, about twice a week a financial planner showed up at my door wanting to know if I'd draft living trusts for his clients for about $100 a pop. “It's all boilerplate on your PC anyway,” I would hear. The planner would continue to pitch me, but I’d kind of drift off as I'm trying to figure out what year light green leisure suits went out of style. Somehow I bet all of his clients thought that if you don't have a trust and you go through probate that “the state will get all my money.”
Ah, money. All attorneys are in the business to make it. It means more to some than others of course. We pursue business in different ways. Do we schmooze at the country club, or do we slap a magnetic sign on the side of our car and monitor the police bands? And where are my tasseled loafers anyway? Most lawyers are generally decent folk who try to do good and avoid evil, albeit fewer and fewer as the years pass it seems. Ethics used to be the true soul of lawyering. Funny, but every time I try to discuss ethics with anyone – lawyer or layperson – I get looks like I'm trying to trap them in a really bad TV after school special.
No, most lawyers chose that career path because someone told them it was a good idea. Such as:
My father/uncle/older sibling: (a) was a lawyer; (b) hated lawyers; (c) pretended to be a lawyer; (d) served time because he or she said his or her lawyer stunk; and he or she said that I should be a lawyer because: (a) I could make a lot of money; (b) I could attract really cute dates; (c) I could make mom proud; (d) I could handle his or her appeal. Law school itself is a wonderful experience they crow. It teaches us: (a) to learn the noble profession of Abe Lincoln, F. Lee Bailey, and Arnie Becker; (b) to learn to make money AND meet really cute dates AND make mom proud; (c) to erase that embarrassing incident in undergrad involving the goat, the chainsaw, and the sorority house.
So why are people lawyers and why do they stay in the field? It's one of the mysteries of life. Like why does Mickey Mouse wear pants but no shirt and Donald Duck wears a shirt but no pants? Or if Goofy and Pluto are both dogs, why can Goofy talk while Pluto can't?
None of the people who complained about their legal calling were bad lawyers. In fact, from what I could see and from what I knew – and virtually everyone I discussed this topic with was a colleague and a friend – they were good at their craft. They helped a lot of people. The tradeoff was they were good at something that threatened at least their happiness, if not their mental and physical wellbeing.
Those who landed positions at large law firms were often compensated handsomely and were moving up the ladder towards, or had already achieved, coveted partner status. This actually created another source of stress. Working for a big player meant you had to look the part. Pricey, tailored clothing, a luxury car, a good-looking spouse that knew how to spend money, one or more country club memberships, and dinners at the finest places sound nice, but it’s an expensive way to live. And even if a big firm lawyer wanted to leave, he or she was trapped into a costly lifestyle, one that garnered a nickname: the golden handcuffs. You were stuck.
Perhaps my friend's notepad on her desk said it best:
What day is it, Where am I, and Why[3]
Okay, this was a silly distraction, but even ludicrous satire can look at life’s problems and help the legacy of what we all might leave behind come into clearer view. I hope you enjoyed indulging me. Please consider commenting, if you are so moved, and consider subscribing, if you haven’t already. Legacy is one person’s opinions; hopefully, it will make you think and sometimes it will make you smile. Until next week, same bat time, same bat channel.[4] I promise to be more serious in the next post.
[1] The original copyright date of this epic tome is 1993. Yikes!
[2] Although I still know of no starving attorneys, I do know that having your own private practice is a lot more challenging these days than it was 30+ years ago.
[3] To be clear, this post is simply humor and satire. I am and have always been fortunate in my practice. I met a lot of interesting people, and have had few problematic clients. Most of my clientele are good and decent folks. If you are a client – past or present – who happens to read this, know that I do appreciate you! And, I have good relationships with a lot of other professionals — accountants and financial planners for example — who are honest and competent professionals. Maybe I am simply luckier than some of my colleagues.
[4] This is clearly ripped off so my lawyerly side insists that I must give proper attribution to the old Batman series. I wasn’t a huge fan, but if you were, you can get the whole series from Warner Brothers. See https://www.warnerbros.com/tv/batman-complete-series