Because Eddy asked.
I downloaded Pat Benatar's "We Belong" recently. It's quite possibly my all-time favorite pop song. I listen to it on my walk to work; it gears me up for a full day of lawyering. The tune reminds me of when I was passionate about life, or as I like to say, fucking crazy. I don't think I've ever told anyone this--aside from Claire--but the night that one of my ex-girlfriends broke up with me, I jimmyed my way into her building with a credit card, in the hope that my persistence would lead to some sort of reconciliation. It didn't, imagine that. Which, as it turns out, was fine. Because had we reconciled, I'd likely be less than two years away from paying my first child-support payment. But in any case, I miss my former self, if only because he had the capacity for great emotion.
I've been much more ambivalent about my life's calling lately. For the past year, I'd been operating on the presumption that I was going to make partner and practice the law for the next two or three decades. I don't know what happened exactly, and I don't think it was the expiration of my twenties, but I've been considering, more and more seriously, a hasty departure from the law. My closest friend at work is probably a bad influence. He's someone who's never felt the sense of desperation that comes with leaving behind a good paying job for the unknown. It's not that I'm fearful of washing out. At this point, partnership is more a matter of wanting it to a greater degree than the competition, and being willing to make the sacrifices that are expected of you. But kids, apparently, enjoy the human touch. That, and I don't like the stress. It kills me that I'm required to worry so much about stupid fucking bullshit that, from an objective standpoint, doesn't mean jack shit to the client. The devil is ostensibly in the details, which should make sense, but guess what--it doesn't. When your client's defending 200 depositions for a lawsuit and 80% of the deponents are fucking nobodies, the thirty hours in two days that you killed yourself to bill while preparing one of those nobody's deposition outline isn't going to make a lick's difference when, 30 months from now, the case gets settled before trial.
On the other hand, I consider my friend to be a little spoiled by life. No workplace is perfect, that's why it's fucking work. And there are a lot of shittier things to do for a boatload of money than lawyering. It's funny how we only remember certain random things about our lives; how we let specific and otherwise nondistinct events define us. I had this conversation a long time ago with a law firm associate who was more junior than I am now, when I was a law office monkey. I was bitching about bates-labeling and how it was beneath me. The attorney had been a friend of mine and his reaction was not expected. He reamed me out. In his opinion, I was being a whiny little bitch--nobody was making me work this job and while I was here, I might as well be grateful and do a good job of it. I was doing better than the poor bastards working the lunch shift at the lake forest burger king, and those dudes had families to care for. He told me to ball up and shut my yap. Which stays with me to this day. So who knows. If years from now, I'm able to co-own a yacht with any of you, know that 50% of your luxury vessel was underwritten by my soul's demise.
I've been much more ambivalent about my life's calling lately. For the past year, I'd been operating on the presumption that I was going to make partner and practice the law for the next two or three decades. I don't know what happened exactly, and I don't think it was the expiration of my twenties, but I've been considering, more and more seriously, a hasty departure from the law. My closest friend at work is probably a bad influence. He's someone who's never felt the sense of desperation that comes with leaving behind a good paying job for the unknown. It's not that I'm fearful of washing out. At this point, partnership is more a matter of wanting it to a greater degree than the competition, and being willing to make the sacrifices that are expected of you. But kids, apparently, enjoy the human touch. That, and I don't like the stress. It kills me that I'm required to worry so much about stupid fucking bullshit that, from an objective standpoint, doesn't mean jack shit to the client. The devil is ostensibly in the details, which should make sense, but guess what--it doesn't. When your client's defending 200 depositions for a lawsuit and 80% of the deponents are fucking nobodies, the thirty hours in two days that you killed yourself to bill while preparing one of those nobody's deposition outline isn't going to make a lick's difference when, 30 months from now, the case gets settled before trial.
On the other hand, I consider my friend to be a little spoiled by life. No workplace is perfect, that's why it's fucking work. And there are a lot of shittier things to do for a boatload of money than lawyering. It's funny how we only remember certain random things about our lives; how we let specific and otherwise nondistinct events define us. I had this conversation a long time ago with a law firm associate who was more junior than I am now, when I was a law office monkey. I was bitching about bates-labeling and how it was beneath me. The attorney had been a friend of mine and his reaction was not expected. He reamed me out. In his opinion, I was being a whiny little bitch--nobody was making me work this job and while I was here, I might as well be grateful and do a good job of it. I was doing better than the poor bastards working the lunch shift at the lake forest burger king, and those dudes had families to care for. He told me to ball up and shut my yap. Which stays with me to this day. So who knows. If years from now, I'm able to co-own a yacht with any of you, know that 50% of your luxury vessel was underwritten by my soul's demise.
1 Comments:
One of my friends out here in the bay area that is a lawyer is actually bailing out of her ">$200,000" job to go back to school to get her PhD in English. You only live once. Guess you gotta do what makes you happy. Then again, look at me. I'm in b-school and considering joining the ranks of investment banking.
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