I made a mistake and then I fixed it.

I knew not long into practicing law that I made a career mistake. But, I felt trapped. My ego, my financial situation, my student loans, my expectations of myself, the expectations of others — all of these things made me feel as though I had no choice but to make a go of it. So, made a go of it I did for 12 years. Hell, I knew I hated being a lawyer when I started this blog, but all you have to do is read the title I chose – ProfMomEsq – or the “About Me” page to see how I nonetheless wrapped up law practice into my personal identity.

It probably isn’t worth it to rehash all the reasons why I don’t like law practice. There are too many reasons, and I’ve written about it before. I suppose some of the reasons apply to lawyers in general, but many apply only to me. The truth – which took me a very long time to realize – is that the reasons I hate being a lawyer are neither “right” nor “wrong.” They just are. So, ultimately, I had only a simple choice: did I want to be happy or unhappy? Pretty easy, right?

Yet, it took me 12 years — 12 YEARS — to find the strength not just to say I don’t want to be a lawyer anymore but to actually do something about it. You know what I did? I quit being a lawyer. Friday is my last day. I sent my goodbye email to my colleagues yesterday. I start an entirely new, non-lawyer job on Monday. And while I am a little nervous, I am mostly so thrilled that I feel as though I float down the hallways of the firm now, leaving a trail of pixie dust and the vague scent of warm chocolate chip cookies in my wake. I keep looking at myself in the mirror with this feeling of relief and surprise that – yep – I still exist even though I jettisoned the bar card.

As sunshine-y and rainbow-y as I am for myself, I can’t help but be sad for the lawyers I’ve talked to this week – colleagues, opposing counsel, clients – who remark about how jealous or envious they are of my decision to leave the profession or how brave I am to take this step. It wasn’t bravery that got me here. It was desperation. And, the envy is wasted energy. I want to tell each of them to spend that energy finding their passions. But, I know that the words are not enough. Like losing weight, quitting smoking or ending a bad relationship, leaving a career takes will power, and it is so hard to find the will. This is true even if your head understands that the change would be “good” for you, because we easily confuse “good” the feeling with “good” the outcome. Eating chocolate cake feels good. The rush of nicotine feels good. The momentary affection of someone you desperately want to love you feels good. But, that kind of “good” works some mischievous chemical voodoo on our brains and hearts that makes what is truly “good” (e.g, healthy) for us seem less desirable – to hell with logic and reason.

I had to get to the very edge of my sanity to understand this and – more importantly – to do something about it. So, while I listen to the stream of lawyers expressing envy or jealousy at my escape from the billable-hours grind, my heart aches for them. The answer is so simple it is literally unbelievable: do something else. But, we humans are so good at “justifying” where we are when we believe we are stuck. I won’t make as much money. I still have student loans. It will be better when I make partner. My clients need me. I don’t want to waste my degree. My family/friends/peers will think I’m a loser/quitter/weak/stupid.

What I learned (thanks to the happy coincidence of meeting a social worker who “got” me) is to stop evaluating my life choices as “right” or “wrong” and to start evaluating them as “healthy” or “unhealthy.”

Well, hey there, you know what’s not healthy? Spending more time doing a soul-sucking job that you absolutely hate than you do with the family and friends you love. It makes you a surprisingly unpleasant person. Paradoxically for me, it also made me put up with a lot of crap that I never in a million years would imagine tolerating.

Many folks I know are fond of the expression, “God gives you only what you can handle.” I don’t think that’s true. I have complicated feelings about God, but even when I’m open to the idea of a supreme being who has a plan for my life, I would have to believe that God grossly overestimates my threshold capacity for stress if he thinks I can “handle” the competing demands of law practice, raising two children, being a wife, addressing financial setbacks and learning/navigating the ins and outs of special education in a public school bureaucracy. Rather, I think God/life/karma/the universe deliberately presents us with events we can’t handle as a means of getting our attention and forcing us to make a decision. If I really bought into the God-gives-you-only-what-you-can-handle philosophy, I honestly believe I would be dead. I would’ve struggled mightily to continue to balance all those things, and I would’ve had a heart attack – a literal, chest-crushing heart attack. Instead, I saw it (eventually and after a lot of therapy) as a message: decide what is most important and focus on that.

My children are important to me. My husband is important to me. I am important to me. Being a lawyer is not important to me. I don’t view working as optional because of our family’s financial situation, but “needing” to work doesn’t mean I “need” to be a lawyer. And, funny enough, there are actually other (better) paying and more satisfying jobs out there!

So … what’s my point? Don’t waste your life doing what you think is “right,” when you can dedicate your life to doing what is healthy. Don’t confuse what feels good with what is good. Start small – plan every day to do just one thing that is healthy for you, and watch it snowball. Two months ago, I walked into an intensive outpatient therapy group for my panic disorder, and I stunned a room full of people dealing with abuse, addiction, disorders and depression into absolute silence when I told the story of my life. Five weeks later, I left that group hearing the applause of its members when I announced I had a new job and was on the path to a new career. That happened because every day I had to commit to doing something better, and every day I was held accountable for it by others until I was strong enough to hold myself accountable.

I know a lot of you reading this are balancing or juggling your own competing responsibilities, so I challenge you to find one thing – no matter how big or small – you will commit to doing today to help make your life better. Not your child’s life, not your spouse’s life, not you parent’s life — YOUR LIFE. Then, feel free to share it if you want some accountability.

In the meantime, I’ll be over here, thinking up a new name for this blog. 🙂

Next Thing You Know, the Managing Partner Will Take My Blackberry Outside and Shoot It

I'm taking my ball and going home

I thought it only fair to warn you up front.

Shame parenting managing.  It’s all the rage.

Last week, a law firm’s managing partner – without warning or precedent – emailed all of the attorneys in the firm classed as Special Counsel.  (As background, “Special Counsel” is the title given to those of us with too much experience to be associates but who are not otherwise qualified to be partners.  Some are here by choice and some not.)  Attached to the email was a spreadsheet detailing how many hours each Special Counsel billed so far this year, how much of that time ultimately was not billed to a client, and how far ahead of or off “target” each attorney is.  (For those blissfully ignorant of how law firms work, attorneys are required to bill a certain number of hours per year.  The “target” to which I refer is the annual billing requirement.)

Nowhere in this email is a statement about why the spreadsheet was distributed or whether the information is to be treated as confidential (outside this group, anyway).  The email said only Here’s a report showing who’s done what.  I’ve highlighted the slackers in red.  Pay close attention to them.  Okay.  I paraphrased a little there, but it’s close enough.

I Ate Baby Poop

So, I guess we’re resorting to public shaming as a source of inspirational motivation now. Either do your job, or you will be called out in front of your peers as a loser.  Awesome.  I so enjoyed that in high school, especially because it didn’t harm my self-esteem or self-confidence or desire to even go to school.  Oh, no, not at all.  (Please insert exasperated eye-roll here.)

I have so many problems with this as a management decision, I barely know where to begin.  Some of my issues are impossible to illustrate without showing you said spreadsheet, which I won’t do (even though no one said I couldn’t).  Instead, I am pointing to the spreadsheet while saying, “Liar! Liar! Pants on fire!”

Do you smell something burning?

For those of you uninitiated into the dark magic that is private law firm practice, let’s talk about what being a private-law-firm lawyer means.  (If you already know – or think you know – just skip right down to the comment section to tell me I’m wrong.  You know you’re going to do that anyway.)

In exchange for an annual salary and benefits package, the attorney is expected to produce a certain number of billable hours (which translates into a certain level of income) for the firm.  Seems fair, right?  Well, let’s look a little deeper, shall we?

According to National Association for Law Placement:

… few [starting lawyers’ ] salaries are actually at the national median of $63,000 or the national average of $84,111. Many salaries cluster at the $40,000 to $65,000 range at the lower end and at the $145,000 to $160,000 range at the high end. The mean and median also skew high because NALP collects more salary information from large than small law firms. When the statistics are adjusted to place greater weight on small firm salaries, national average pay is $77,333 for all full-time jobs.

So, let’s imagine that a lawyer agrees to take a job for $80,000 per year in exchange for billing 2,000 hours.  If billing 2,000 hours meant working 2,000 hours, the attorney would be paid an effective hourly wage of $40.00 per hour.  That certainly beats the hell out of minimum wage!  And – hey! – that doesn’t include your benefits package, so let’s pump that annual salary up to $100,000.  Now, you’re making $50 an hour!

Except you’re not.

Only in an attorney’s wildest (or most unethical) dreams does billing 2,000 hours mean working only 2,000 hours, because it is simply not possible for every minute you spent at work to be billable.  The reasons why could be the subject of an entire blog post itself, so I’ll keep it simple.  You will leave your desk to get a cup of coffee/tea/glass of water at least once during the day, which means you will also need to leave your desk to use the restroom at least once during the day.  You’ve lost at least 15 minutes, right there. Heaven help you if you get hungry and the only thing you find in your desk is a bottle of Tums.

No.  Seriously.  Do you smell something burning?

Instead, let’s just do a little math (at which I am horrible, so I’m going to show my work here).  There are 52 weeks in a year.  Each week contains 5 work days.  (52 * 5 = 260)  Businesses generally observe 12 holidays per year, which reduces the number of work days to 248. (260-12 = 248)  You have two weeks of vacation, which you take, because if you don’t, you will staple all the papers down to your supervising partner’s desk, switch out the coffee to decaf without telling anyone, and run screaming from the building while shouting, “I am a covenant running with the land!”  You’ve now further reduced your work days to 238 (248 – (5×2) = 238).

To work 2,000 hours in 238 days requires working a minimum of 8.4033 hours per day. (2,000 / 238= 8.4033)  We already know that you cannot produce 2,000 billable hours just by working 2,000 hours, so you must work more than 2,000 hours within 238 days.  In other words, plan on working at least nine-hour days or 6 days per week, and you better not get sick.  Ever.  You also better have an exceptionally reliable file clerk who takes his job seriously and isn’t just padding his resume for his law school application, or you will spend two (non-billable) hours on a Saturday afternoon searching your four-story office top to bottom to find that motion you need to oppose by Monday morning.

But, I digress.

Let’s assume that you’re a pretty efficient and super healthy lawyer, so you need only work 10.5 hours per day to produce 8.5 billable hours.  This means, you actually work 2,499 hours per year.  (10.5 x 238 = 2,499)  So, you’re really making between $32 and $40, depending on whose version of your comp plan you believe.

How do those $900/month student loan payments taste, now?  I’m sorry.  What was that?  I couldn’t hear you over the choking.

Lawyers do not get paid overtime.  We get paid whatever salary we agree to and work as many hours as it takes to meet our annual billable hours requirements.  Supposedly, this structure encourages efficiency – a human will instinctively work diligently to accomplish as much work in as little time as possible.  If what lawyers did was repetitive, predictable, formulaic work, that supposition might prove fact.  But, a lawyer’s work is often complex and rife with variables (many of which cannot be accounted for) if for no other reason than the people involved in and necessary to accomplishing the work – the clients, opposing counsel, mediators, arbitrators, judges – are human beings.  (No, it’s true.  I know, I know.  I’ve heard that one, too.)  Efficiency requires cooperation – in this context, among people who are adverse to one another or have divergent interests.  Oh, the horror!  Also, the system actually rewards inefficiency.  Why should I perform research in an hour that used to take me two hours?  Sure, I get the research done faster, which gets me onto the next item on my to-do list, but I just robbed myself (and the firm) of a billable hour.

In fact, the system almost demands inefficiency. Not all the time an attorney spends working toward a client’s goal is billable.  Sometimes you must do administrative work – not billable.  Sometimes a project takes longer than seems reasonable to bill the client (even if that’s actually how long it took) – not billable.  Sometimes, a client will call and ask you a “quick” question, which you answer because it’s good business sense to keep your clients happy – but not billable (and almost never “quick”).  Sometimes, you’re working on a motion, get interrupted by a phone call, during which you get an email, which reminds you of something else you were supposed to do, but none of which you actually remember to write down on your timesheet – thus, not billable (or billed, anyway).

These concepts are not new to law firm management; thus, the birth of “bonuses.”  Attorneys who bill more than their annual requirement are financially awarded with a bonus.  Size of bonus varies wildly from firm to firm, but I think it’s fair to say that you’re looking at something in the neighborhood of $5,000 – $20,000, depending on a variety of factors. I imagine the thinking here was that if the firm set a target higher than the minimum, that came with a greater reward, attorneys would try to reach the higher target (obtaining the greater reward), and if someone fell short – well, it wouldn’t be short of the minimum.  Win-win!

Look, money is nice.  I like money.  It pays bills.  It pays for fun things, like vacations (as in the one I’ll send my spouse and children on so I feel less guilty about being at work all the time).  But, this “motivational tool” misses the point, doesn’t it?  If I’m already killing myself to meet the minimum requirement just to keep my job, why dangle $5,000 in front of me to bring me back to life and kill me again?

What's that ticking sound?

Also, not every billable hour is created equal.  The attorneys in a firm may all bill at different hourly rates, depending on experience, practice area, client base or geographic region.  For example, the Special Counsels in my firm have hourly rates that range between $170 and $350.  Thus, one of my problems with the lying-liar spreadsheet – it focuses on only the number of hours each lawyer billed.  But, several of the attorneys who billed the most hours actually made the firm significantly less money.  Why are we devaluing the work of more profitable attorneys and over-valuing the less profitable work of others?

What we’re doing here doesn’t make any sense.  I get that a law firm must be profitable; if it’s not, it doesn’t exist. But, if the people who generate the work that creates profit must dedicate nearly one-half of their waking lives to the enterprise, they need not only extrinsic motivation (like money, positive acknowledgement, constructive feedback) but intrinsic motivation as well.  They need to love their work and if not love, at least respect the people with and for whom they do it.

(Oh, here, you can check my math on the “nearly one-half” thing:  365 x 24 = 8,760 (number of hours in a year).  365 x 8 = 2,920 (number of hours you (should) sleep).  8,760 – 2,920 = 5,840 (number of hours you are awake in a year).  2,499 / 5,840 = .4279 (number of hours you are awake divided by number of hours you must work equals percentage of waking hours spent at work).  Yes, I rounded up a little.  Sue me.)

So, how do you do it?  How do you motivate a group to work according to the demands of the work itself and the expectations of the law firm (which reasonably include being profitable)?

headdesk

I’d argue – quite forcefully – that it’s not by shame, humiliation or public embarrassment.  If you want to demoralize someone, those are all very effective means of accomplishing that goal.  But, you don’t have to be a rocket scientist to understand  that demoralized people aren’t very productive.  A person shamed by someone she doesn’t already have great affection or admiration for likely responds by withdrawal or by actively building negative consensus about the person who shamed her.  A person shamed by someone whom she loves or respects is likely to be heartbroken and may also seek to discredit the person doing the shaming.

Do you want your law firm’s profitability determined by a bunch of withdrawn and heartbroken people, some of whom may be actively spreading the message that you suck?  That would not make me sleep well at night.

You also don’t motivate people to contribute their best efforts by creating evaluative benchmarks that are obviously inequitable.  You cannot value a $350 hour the same as a $175 hour.  You can’t value 1,900 hours billed at $200 per hour the same for Attorney A and Attorney B if Attorney A collected payment on all 1,900 hours and Attorney B collected only 85% of what was billed. You must account for the disparate difficulty in producing an hour of billable work between – say  — a construction defect attorney who attends depositions five days per week and an appellate law attorney who must spend hours combing through a trial record to prepare an appeal.  And, you can’t ignore results – attorneys whose billable time achieves or realizes a client goal has a different value to the firm than time spent otherwise.

I think Stephen Covey (author of the 7 Habits of Highly Successful People) hit the nail on the head when he wrote about the need for organizational management to stop focusing on employees as “things” that perform tasks and instead as actual human beings who not only perform work but bring knowledge, creativity, inspiration and passion to the table.

… Because many in positions of authority do not see the true worth and potential of their people and do not possess a complete, accurate understanding of human nature, they manage people as they do things. This lack of understanding prevents them from tapping into the highest motivations, talents, and genius of people. [¶] What happens when you treat people like things today? It insults and alienates them, depersonalizes work, and creates low-trust, unionized, litigious cultures. People stop believing that leadership can become a choice. … Simply put — at its most elemental and practical level — leadership is communicating to people their worth and potential so clearly that they come to see it in themselves. Think about this definition. Isn’t this the essence of the kind of leadership that influences and truly endures? – Stephen Covey, excerpted from The 8th Habit.

Attorneys need constructive criticism.  If you’re not getting your job done, you deserve to hear about it.  (And, by “deserve” I don’t mean you should get what’s coming to you – although that may be true at times.  I mean you are owed that much by the firm for the work you did do.)  To be constructive, however, the criticism must be delivered so that it is not only received but also digested. Were I Queen of the World, this would mean that criticism would be individually tailored and far more holistic than it is now.  Instead of calling anyone out or myopically (and arbitrarily) focusing on production in terms of hours billed, I’d deliver the criticism in a one-on-one format, invest the attorney in the conversation by asking for self-evaluative feedback, and focus more broadly on the attorney’s value to the firm in terms of profitability, production, results, and culture.  In other words, fuel an attorney’s passion; don’t eclipse it or squelch it.

The One Where I Find Out I Can’t Juggle

I’m not crazy, M’Lynn.  I’ve just been in a very bad mood for the last 40 years.  — Ouiser Boudreaux, ‘Steel Magnolias’

Here’s the thing about juggling.  If you think too much about the mechanics of keeping the balls in the air, you are bound to drop them.  Maybe you’ll get lucky and drop only one.  But, more often than not, everything’s gonna wind up on the floor and getting away from you.

For the past two months, I’ve spent an awful lot of time thinking about the mechanics of juggling, and shit is hitting the floor.

I am certain that until the moment I actually went to work as a lawyer — sat down behind the desk, staring at my name on letterhead — I believed I could simultaneously be a spectacular mom and a kick-ass professional.  Oh, sure, I had talked to or read about other moms who were “struggling” with finding a balance between work and home.  But, that was them, and I am me.  My whole life, I’ve always managed to land on my feet.  Things work out because they just have to work out.  Over the course of fourteen years, I’ve managed to balance law practice, a teaching career, parenting, volunteer work, running a house and the occasional side project.

Lately, though, I’ve been asking myself:  why?  I can’t be doing all this for my kids.  If given a choice between me being home and available to them or constantly at work or traveling, I think they’d choose to have me home.  I can’t be doing this for my husband, who has to pick up the slack when I’m away (which is a lot) and who has had to essentially put his own career on hold to accommodate mine.  I can’t even be doing this for me, because I’m too damn busy getting through this stuff to actually enjoy any of it.

Sure, I’ve had some successes.  I’ve scored some big wins for clients.  I’ve had my work complimented by judges in open court.  I’ve seen many of my former students go on to become lawyers and do well for themselves.  I save all the emails from students that come years later, thanking me for what they learned in my classes.  I have the best husband a girl could ever hope to have (and not just because he hasn’t killed me yet).  I have two beautiful, amazing kids.

This should be enough, right?  To ask for any more than this is selfish and greedy.  Well, I don’t want more; I want less.  I want to forget this stuff:

  • The first day you drop your baby off at daycare will be the singularly worst day of your life.  You will bill 1.1 hours that day.
  • The day you are to take your first deposition, your son’s school will call to say he has a fever.  There will be no one else who can pick him up.  There’s no one else you really want to pick him up.  But, you’re a second-year associate, and telling your male supervising partner (whose wife stays at home with their kids) that you need to leave makes you want to put a hot stick through your eye.
  • There will be countless Saturdays that you can’t go to the park, or bowling, or to a movie, because you’re trying to catch up on billable hours.  You hate yourself as you start yet another Thomas the Tank Engine video.
  • You will be in a car accident and have your hand broken, make a Herculean effort to get your kids to school and yourself to work, and have a supervising partner look at your cast as you walk in the door and ask, “Where’s my brief?”
  • You and your spouse will have a scheduling conflict and no one to watch your daughter, so you will hide her under your desk at work as she naps while you get in as many billable hours as possible.
  • The phrase “quality of life” describes the difference between working Saturdays and Sundays or just one of them.
  • You will be shocked to find sympathy for this struggle more from male lawyers than from female lawyers — especially the female lawyers who do not have children.  There are women who will absolutely despise you for taking maternity leave.  You, in turn, will want to strangle the women in your firm who take maternity leave and then string the firm along on a return-to-work date only to decide not to return at all.
  • It’s really fucking hard to leave your kids everyday to go to work if you don’t absolutely love what you do, no matter how good you might be at it or how much money it might provide your family.  You do not love being a lawyer.
  • It will be cause for celebration in your house when you are actually home for dinner.  If you make dinner, your family will be confused by the plates and silverware as they search for bags, boxes and sporks.
  • Your daughter will be diagnosed with autism, but you will stay in your job for years because of the guilt you feel about “wasting” $100,000 on a legal education and for breaking promises you made to the firm that supported you.
  • You will develop insomnia and random but real pain throughout your body.  Your doctor will suggest you see a mental health professional, and you will not only ignore him, you will actively look for another doctor, because yours is clearly an idiot.  (Except, you know, that he’s not.)
  • You will say mean things to your husband and your children that you don’t really want to say but that fly out of your mouth because you are exhausted and bitter.  The words I’m sorry are said way too often.
  • You will end up in a puddle on the floor of a therapist’s office, begging her to save you from yourself.

So, here’s what I’ve realized in the past couple of months.  Yes, there are women who do it – who manage career success and still make soccer games and dance recitals and band concerts.  I am not one of those women, and its not just because I have a daughter with special needs (although that’s really forced me to confront this).  So, on Friday, I put the balls down and took a leave of absence from my law firm.  What I finally realized is that if I don’t take care of myself, I am no good to anyone else.  I might be able to make up billable hours, but I can’t make up for lost time.  There is no one at the finish line of life handing out medals for juggling, and I don’t want a medal anyway.  I want kisses and hugs.  I want to read books, play in the park, make flashcards, chaperone field trips and make dinner every night.  I want to exercise more than my brain.  I want to be present in my life instead of just going through the motions of living it, building a resume that looks good on paper but leaves nothing meaningful in my wake.  I want to figure out how to heal.  I want to know whether I can handle more than one job and do both of them really, really well.

I can’t juggle.  But, the beautiful thing is, the only person who really expects that of me is me, and I can stop whenever I want.

Lawyer as Witness: Turning Tables & the Art of Following Your Own Advice

Recently, I was deposed and later testified as a witness in an arbitration. Yes, that’s right – I was a witness, and someone else was the lawyer.  It was a role reversal that truly changed me as a trial lawyer.

I can’t talk about the specifics of the case for confidentiality reasons. But, generally speaking, the dispute was this:  my client asked someone else to pay the cost to settle a case. The someone else didn’t want to pay. The someone else didn’t want to pay, because they believed I gave my client the wrong analysis of the basis for payment. Dispute ensued, arbitration followed, lessons were learned.

Trust.  I am a serious control-freak. I am terrified to fly mostly because someone else is flying the plane. It does not matter that part of my brain comprehends the illogical premise of this fear; it’s still there. So, I was none too pleased to put my client’s fate – and to some degree my fate – in the hands of another lawyer.  I mean – I may not know how to fly a plane, but I know one or two things about the lawyer stuff.  Yet, I had to do it.  I wouldn’t storm the cockpit of the plane at the first sign of turbulence no matter how bad I might be hyperventilating.  So, I knew I had to surrender control of the case to my lawyer, or the case was going to crash.  Bear in mind, that doesn’t mean I wanted to do it.

This made me realize (or – more accurately – reminded me) that clients do not trust you just because you’re a lawyer.  I’m sure some of you are saying, “Duh. That’s not some brilliant insight.”  Except that it is.  If you are a lawyer, think seriously about your last few new client meetings.  How much consideration did you give to truly building your client’s confidence in your trustworthiness? No matter how well-educated you are, how successful you’ve been, or how well-known your law firm is, clients don’t trust you right out of the box no matter how confident they might be in your abilities.  The trust part of the attorney-client relationship is earned.  Your resume is the reason you (or your firm) got hired in the first place; it’s not the reason the client keeps you around.  Don’t walk into a new client meeting assuming you are smarter, know more or are better prepared than the client.  Free your mind of generalizations, stereotypes, gender roles and age or experience gaps and remember one hugely important thing:  you and your client are human beings with actual feelings.  If you think you’re nervous, it’s a sure thing that the person sitting in the client chair is scared to death no matter how brave a face she puts on.  What a client wants isn’t so much for you to impress her with how much law you know but for you to listen to and hear her.  Your client needs to know you’ve got her back.  That’s what builds trust.  Without it, the client will (consciously or not) withhold important information from the lawyer, and that will always leave the lawyer at a dangerous disadvantage in defending or prosecuting a case.  There’s a reason counselor is a synonym for lawyer, and it’s not coincidence.

Preparation.  I truly thought I knew how to prepare a witness for deposition or trial testimony before this experience.  I even thought I did a good job at it.  Now, I know I overestimated myself.

Until you sit in that witness chair for eight hours, having your work or actions questioned, misrepresented, twisted, maligned, skewed and then questioned again, you cannot possibly appreciate what a physically and mentally taxing experience it is for the witness. The best analogy I can give comes from golf.  When you walk up to the tee, you must consider so many things before swinging that club:  the fairway, the hazards, body alignment, grip strength, swing speed, wind direction, and optimal shot position.  You can’t stand in the tee box all day contemplating these variables — there are players waiting and only so many hours of daylight.

Being a witness is a lot like being a golfer — there are (too) many things going on at once:  listen to the question, process what’s asked, focus on answering the question accurately, avoid volunteering information or over-answering, anticipate the next question, wait for objections and try to interpret what guidance you might from them, keep your emotions in check, speak clearly, and do not talk over anyone else.  Now, do all of this with sufficient speed to avoid any awkward gaps or pauses in the testimony that might make a listener think you’re concocting an answer instead of stating facts.

It’s really damn hard.  First, the witness will be nervous, especially if never been deposed before.  It didn’t matter that I’ve taken more depositions than I can remember or that I was confident in the correctness of my position going into the deposition.  I still barely slept the night before, I choked down my coffee the morning of, and I was sweating by the time I sat down next to the court reporter.  Nervousness makes it very hard to remember and follow all the directions you’re given, no matter how many times you’ve heard them.  Second, at some point (if not immediately) the witness will feel defensive.  Who among us likes to have our competence or veracity questioned?  Defensiveness is a natural and hard-to-control reaction to someone expressing or implying that you’re lying or stupid, and that feeling is also bound to make following directions near impossible.  Third, testifying is tiring.  The average adult has an attention span of about 17 minutes.  The average deposition takes about four hours.  Witnesses who are nervous, defensive and exhausted are probably more dangerous than a drunken toddler wielding a kitchen knife near a light socket.

Allow me to make my (paraphrased) deposition testimony Exhibit A:

Q.  Is it possible you meant [to say the sky is green] when you wrote this?

A.  Counsel, I’ve told you five or six times now that I don’t remember writing these words.  I’m not going to guess at what it means.  I don’t remember.

Q.  But, I’m just asking you whether it’s possible that’s what you meant.

A.  I’m not going to guess.  You’re entitled to my best estimate, but I don’t have to guess.

Q.  But, I’m just asking whether it’s possible.  You know whether it’s possible, right?

A.  Sure.  I might win the lottery tomorrow, too.

It’s a stupid exchange that ended in me conceding what was ultimately an irrelevant point.  But, I still gave in.  My frustration and exhaustion allowed me to let my snark flag fly despite years of training to avoid exactly that.  Yet, I somehow expect a witness — whose job is not being a witness but doing whatever else that person does for a living — to magically follow the deposition rules perfectly the first time out of the gate.  That would be like asking my legal writing students to start the class by taking the final.  Every once in a while, someone might be a natural and knock one over the fence.  Most of them, though, will fail and miserably so.

There is only one sure way to help a witness overcome the unfortunate side-effects of exhaustion, defensiveness and nervousness (or its unhappy cousin — arrogance):  conditioning.

You must examine and cross-examine your witness over and over again ahead of time.  Don’t just sit together for hours pondering documents or speculating about what the witness might be asked.  Depose your witness. Cross-examine your witness.   Ask the difficult or even nasty questions that will be asked at the deposition or at trial.  Try to impeach the witness.  Make the witness actually experience what’s going to happen the day of testimony.  Have another lawyer or a paralegal who’s good with the rules of evidence sit in to make objections to your questions so that the witness experiences the interruption and learns how to respond to it.  Show the witness documents in the context of how he or she will be questioned about them.  Question the witness about prior deposition testimony. Engage this process for as many hours as you can so you and the witness feel the experience, too.

Preparing this way does double duty.  It enables the witness to appreciate the emotional, physical and mental experiences of testifying in a way that no amount of discussion can.  It also helps the lawyer identify the strengths and weaknesses in the client’s case and testimony.  Lawyers come from the same species as jurors.  (I swear, it’s true.)  If a witness’s practice testimony leaves you with a sense of accomplishment, that’s probably going to be the jury’s take-away, too.  Conversely, if the practice testimony fills you with dread, you have a chance to polish as much as possible to minimize damage.  But, you can’t possibly assess these things in the abstract, and you sure as hell don’t want to find this out during the real show.

Faith.   As a lawyer, I’ve been frustrated with the occasional vagaries of the legal system.  Despite a judicial error or wayward juror here or there, I believe the system works, because — more often than not — it does.  (And, I’m speaking here philosophically — we can talk about whether the actual mechanics of our underfunded and oddly organized state court systems “work” another time.)  There is, however, no substitute for putting your fate in the hands of that system to truly test the strength of your conviction in its functionality.  From my witness experience, I gained a profound appreciation for what it is we ask a client to do when the client submits its financial, business, mental, emotional, physical or familial future to the decisions of one or more people who can know only precious little about the experiences that led the client to that courtroom.

I am a better lawyer for this experience.  I will be more conscious of my role not just as a legal adviser but as a counselor, a cheerleader, a gatekeeper and a teacher.  I will assume less and listen more.  I will include patience and sympathy in my hourly rate.  I will earn trust, I will proactively practice preparation and I will build faith.  I will also forever wonder why being deposed or cross-examined wasn’t part of the “performance tests” on the Bar exam …

Thinking About Law School? Ask the Right Questions.

Students frequently ask me for advice about going to law school.  The student’s mouth says, “Should I go to law school?”  But his or her mind (and heart) is really only looking for affirmation of the decision to go —  a decision made well before asking me for advice.

I hate this question for two main reasons.  First, I know what I say ultimately will be rejected out of disbelief or disregard.  Second, I know that my answer is dream-killing.  So, at the end of the conversation, the student is bitter, and I feel like a jerk.  But, I promise that what I say is true, not only from my experiences as a law student and a lawyer but from my experiences of serving on a law school admissions committee and educating future lawyers.  I serve it up here with the hope that you really consider these things before sending in those applications.

1.  You Probably Are Not Ready to Make This Big a Decision. If you’re the average law school applicant, you are about 23 years old.  That’s old enough to drink yourself stupid, vote, join the military, maybe even rent a car in some states.  You’ve graduated from college — probably at the top of your class — and you think you know everything.  So of course you know you want to go to law school.  Well, no matter how smart you are – or think you are – you cannot predict the future.  Are you going to get married?  Will you buy a home?  Will you have children?  Will you stay in the state where you live now or move away? What type of law do you want to practice?  In what type of place? The decisions about going to law school (especially if you are taking on debt to do it), where to go to law school, and where to practice law significantly impact many other decisions in your life and not always in a positive or predictable way.  Among the very worst reasons to go to law school is that you just don’t know what else to do with your undergraduate degree or yourself after college graduation.  You seriously limit your options when you come out the other side of a J.D. $100,000 in debt, especially if you are also painfully aware that you don’t really want to be a lawyer.  Before you make a decision of this magnitude, take some time off.  Expand your horizons a little, get some perspective and — better yet — some professional experience.  If you still really want to go to law school, a five or ten-year gap between college and law school won’t make as big a difference to your law school admission or employment prospects as it will to you and the quality of your life.

2.  Law School Is Not College.  Law school admission is a competitive process.  The number of applicants for most schools exceeds the number of available seats.  Consequently, many law schools can cherry-pick applicants to construct an incoming class comprising the best of the best from colleges and universities around the nation and world.  When you went to college, you were surrounded by students of widely varying abilities and levels of preparation.  If you were a naturally good student, rising above the crowd wasn’t all that hard to do.  Believe me, I’ve graded enough undergraduate papers now to know this is true.  But, when you go to law school, you are surrounded by people who are at least as smart and probably smarter than you.  They were all in the top ten percent of their respective classes.  Now, some of those ten-percenters will be on the other end of the spectrum.  Someone must be the bottom of the curve, and your instructors do not give a damn that you were a straight-A student in whatever irrelevant thing you studied before you got to law school.  They know full well you were a rock star where you came from or you wouldn’t be standing there now, whining about your B+ (which was earned and not given by the way).  Trust me, what that professor is thinking, as s/he explains why your undergraduate performance no longer matters, is that if you don’t understand the apple-to-orange analysis you are advocating, you are Exhibit A to why your grade is not a mistake.

3.  College was Hard, Law School is Harder, but Law Practice Is a MF’er.  You think college was hard?  You have no idea.  Your law professors will assign you 150 pages of more of reading per week, per class without blinking.  There will be few papers, no extra credit assignments and no feedback.  You will read, you will “discuss,” then you will be tested in the highest-stake and most subjective exam format there is — a single set of essays determining your entire course grade.  If you attend a law school following a more traditional curriculum, a fair percentage of subjects tested on the Bar exam are not required courses.  If you survive to graduation, you will take that little state quiz standing between you and gainful employment as a lawyer, having to learn most of the material covered on the exam for the first time during an eight-week “review” course.  And yet, that all pales in comparison to the first time you draft or oppose and argue a motion upon which someone’s emotional, financial or literal life depends.  As you handle a case of this magnitude, you will long for the days where your biggest concern was your Torts outline.  The first time I had to defend a client doctor against a malpractice claim by deposing the plaintiff – a woman dying of breast cancer, bald from chemotherapy and too emotionally drained to stop herself from crying through the entire thing – I realized that law school and the Bar exam were almost a sick joke.  Law school does not offer an elective in Asshole 101, and I wouldn’t have taken it anyway.  [Insert joke here about how I would’ve aced it.  Go ahead.]

4.  Law School Does Little to Teach You About Being a Lawyer.  Law school is great for sharpening (but not teaching) reading comprehension skills, logical reasoning skills and critical thinking skills.  It will probably help you build stamina for the long work hours law practice requires.  It may make you more comfortable speaking in public.  If you’re exceptionally lucky, you might learn a thing or two about legal research and legal writing.  Outside of that, however, there is precious little about a law school curriculum that actually prepares you for the work of being a lawyer.  There is not a damn thing about Laurence Tribe’s triangular theory of hearsay that will be of remote help in asserting or refuting such an objection in court. I’ve yet to meet a freshly minted lawyer who knows jack about drafting an admissible declaration in support of a motion, having an intelligible conversation with a client (who is an actual human being, not a “character” from a casebook), participating in a mediation (save the blustery theatrics for the jury, please), or developing a marketing plan for getting and keeping clients who pay the bills (no, your paycheck doesn’t magically appear from thin air each month). And, be prepared for clients who do not appreciate law firms who “train” their new associates on the client’s dime.  As you can imagine, clients are not generally thrilled about paying $250 or more per hour for some green pea lawyer to spend 16.1 hours “shepardizing” cases on an issue of law that should be obvious to a seasoned attorney.

5.  Law School Is Not for Everyone.  We can’t all go to top-tier law schools.  (See Paragraph 2, above.)  Some of us can’t do it for academic reasons, and some of us can’t do it for financial or familial reasons.  Thankfully, you do not need a perfect LSAT score or a 4.0 college g.p.a. to go to law school or to be successful as a lawyer.  Law school admissions rely heavily on LSAT and g.p.a., because they are measurable, objective criteria by which to separate otherwise equally qualified candidates.  But the only thing meaningfully predicted by your LSAT score and your undergraduate grades is the likelihood you’ll make it through the first year of law study.  Even then, your undergraduate grades are valuable only as to certain subjects and your LSAT score has predictive value only on the outliers — if you score in the top 30% or the bottom 30%, you have a better than average or far less than average chance of success, respectively.  Anything else in between is a coin flip.  Plenty of law schools equipped to provide a good, sound legal education realize this and have more flexible or holistic admissions standards.  At the end of the day, the law in the library at Harvard is the same law in the library at any other law school.

But, be realistic.  If you have a 2.5 undergraduate g.p.a. and a LSAT score in the 31st percentile, you are not prepared for law school – period.  Your grades and LSAT score strongly indicate that you lack the reading comprehension and logical reasoning skills critical to success both as a law student and a lawyer.  Yes, there is a law school out there somewhere that will admit you.  That doesn’t mean you should go; it’s an acceptance letter, not a subpoena.  Either academically prepare yourself by improving your core skills or accept the fact that this is not the field in which your talents lie.  Do not let yourself go into debt that is the equivalent of a small mortgage to learn this lesson. (See next paragraph.)

6.  Be a Critical Consumer and Do Not Believe Everything You Hear or Read.  I have seen people spend more time debating the purchase of a $50 pair of shoes than debating to which law school they will give their hard-earned money for the privilege of earning a law degree.  It’s insane.  Even those students who do some investigation ask all the wrong questions.  I’m sure the backlash on this will come fast and furious, but I’m gonna say it anyway:  you should not care what a school’s bar pass rate is unless it’s practically zero.  You are the best predictor of your likelihood for success on the bar, not your classmates past and present, and law school isn’t a three or four-year-long Bar prep course.

What should you care about?  Two things:  (1) how many people flunk out the first year and (2) your job prospects during law school and after.  If the first-year attrition rate is more than 30%, that’s a good indication the school is admitting too many students not well-prepared for the study of law.  These are not folks you want to rely upon as study partners, that will heighten the quality of classroom dialogue, or who will enable the faculty to teach to anything but the lowest common denominator.  Not a recipe for a great law school experience.   Also be wary of overly optimistic employment numbers.  If it seems unreal to you that 98% of graduates are employed, trust your gut.  Ask about opportunities to intern or clerk somewhere; it’s the only hands-on experience you’ll get before the real show.  Do some homework and randomly select graduates to ask about their pre and post-graduation employment experiences to determine your true chances of finding employment you need or desire.  Don’t rely solely on the alumni served up to you at a prospective law school’s open house or recruiting event — these folks were carefully selected, and I’m sure you can imagine the marketing office wasn’t asking any unemployed or underemployed alumni to talk up their experience.

Be especially critical if your law school path takes you down a non-traditional road, such as to a state-accredited law school.  Investigate the consequences of attending such a school (such as where and when you can take the Bar exam in other states) and your employment prospects with an even greater degree of scrutiny.  If you can choose between an ABA school and a state-accredited school, choose carefully.  You need the reasons for attending a state-accredited school to really outweigh those for attending your ABA option, if only because of the serious limitations on your mobility and employment prospects attendant to the state-accredited degree.  (For example, you can never sit for the Bar exam in Arizona if you hold a J.D. from a non-ABA school, no matter how many years you’ve practiced.)  If your options are limited for academic reasons to non-ABA schools, rethink your decision about law school altogether.  You are about to plunk down $20,000 to $30,000 for the first year of study, and you will still owe that money even if you are academically disqualified after the first year.  Non-profit does not mean “no profit;” the law school admissions committees do not have your best interests at heart no matter what that glossy marketing brochure says.

7.  Law Is Not What You See on T.V.  I have been a lawyer for nearly 12 years.  In that time, I have tried one case.  Oh, I’ve prepared plenty of cases for trial, and I see the inside of a courtroom often enough, but the reality of law practice in this country is that only about 4% of cases ever get tried.  Any higher number would grind our already beleaguered judicial system to a halt.  Consequently, I spend the vast amount of my time reading, writing and negotiating.  If you are either not good at these things or do not like them, you are making a career choice that will doom you to a life of misery no matter how much you might like law school.  If the idea of sitting alone in a library for hours to read case law, working furiously through the night to write a brief on a deadline, or pleading with opposing counsel (or your own client) to be reasonable makes you want to poke your eye out with a hot stick, I highly recommend you consider an alternate career path, lest you find yourself blind two weeks into your first job.

8.  You Cannot Be a Law Firm Lawyer and a Parent and Do Both Well.  Because law school is ridiculously expensive, you’re going to need a decent paying job when you graduate.  The vast majority of those are at law firms with high annual billable hour requirements.  Whether your annual requirement is 1,900 hours or 2,300 hours, you are going to find that requirement mostly incompatible with things like parent-teacher conferences, Little League practice, music lessons, field trips and homework help, to say nothing of maternity leave if you are the one birthing the future Little-Leaguer or paternity leave if you are lucky enough to land at a firm that not only has such a policy and doesn’t make you feel like a complete jackass for utilizing it.  In fact, you will find a billable hours requirement quite difficult to balance against being home for dinner, taking a vacation or getting more than 6 hours of sleep per night (sometimes on the floor of your office).  And, I’m just talking about making it through a year meeting the bare minimum of what’s expected of an associate.  If you have aspirations of earning a bonus or making partner at a law firm, you better have a stay-at-home parent or a nanny and a high tolerance for watching your children grow up in pictures, because rest assured your weeks will be 80-100 hours per on a regular basis.  You will have to make difficult choices more often than you’d like:  go to dinner with a client who unexpectedly popped into town or go to Junior’s playoff game?  More often, though, you’ll just have difficult conversations because you don’t get a choice.  Ask my husband how he took the news that I’ll be away for an entire month this year for a trial.  I’m sure you’ll get an earful.  And my husband is a lawyer, too, so the professional part of him at least understands even when the parent/husband part of him is frustrated.

9.  Not Every Lawyer Plays by the Rules.  You would think that lawyers, having gone through all the same hazing rituals, would be kinder to each other.  Sometimes, that’s the case.  I’ve been fortunate over the years to work with (and against) some lawyers I’m quite proud to call colleagues.  But, I’ve encountered more than a fair share of lawyers whose ethics, motives, tactics and gamesmanship are appalling.  You know those stories you’ve heard about students stealing pages out of law library books to prevent the “competition” from completing an assignment?  Well, those jerks end up practicing law, too, and they take those bad habits right along with them, honing them over years of practice.  It’s bad enough when one of them ends up on the other side of one of your cases.  But, it’s far worse when one of them ends up working in your firm on one of your cases.

10. Being Argumentative Does Not Make You a Good Lawyer.  If I had a dollar for every student who said to me, “I like to argue, so I’d be a great lawyer,” I wouldn’t need a day job.  This is, however, probably the second worst reason to go to law school.  (See paragraph 1.)  I’d explain this, but I couldn’t do a better job of it than Mark Herrmann did here.

About Me. (a/k/a Informed Consent)

I’m going to turn 40 years old on Monday.  It seems fitting that my 40th birthday falls on a Monday — the bittersweet coincidence that Monday is the worst day of the week but that it’s the start of a whole new period of time.

On the list of things I promised myself I would do before I turned 40 was to write more.  On reflection, that seems odd given I spend more than half my days doing just that.  But, my promise was meant to fulfill a desire to write more about things on which I want to spend time writing.  That, and launching this blog was only marginally less difficult than losing weight, running a marathon, saving money, becoming fluent in Spanish or earning a doctoral degree. I suppose that’s what happens when you draft a to-do-before-40 list when you’re 39.

So, what is it that I want to spend time writing about?  In a word:  Me.  Not in the I’m-so-wonderful-how-could-you-look-away-Kim-Karsdashian way.  I mean this in the I-have-so-much-going-on-there-must-be-something-you-can-relate-to way.  If you’re out there and can relate, welcome to the audience.  Participation is encouraged.

I am married to a great husband and mother to two wonderful kids, ages 4 and 14.  (No, that’s not a typo.)  That comes with all the usual stuff being a wife and mother entails, wrapped up in the semi-weirdness that will be simultaneously having a child in kindergarten and a child in high school.  Add to the mix that our 4-year-old was diagnosed last year with Autism, and you get anything but “usual.”  Truly — if I thought my life was full of acronyms after I became a lawyer, I had no idea:  ADA, IEP, SELPA, ASD, PDD-NOS, OT, PT, ST, MFT, LCSW … I could keep going, but you get the idea.

I’m a working-mom-type.  I’m a full-time lawyer, and I work at a law firm, which means I spend a good deal of my life locked in a battle between personal and professional commitments. I don’t know who is winning, but I’m guessing most days it isn’t me.  My husband is also a lawyer, so at least we have the assurance of knowing our children have no hope of winning an argument with us.  Ever.

I also teach legal research and writing classes to paralegal students.  I used to teach law students, but I found I like undergraduates more.  A lot more.  Teaching both reminds me why I wanted to become a lawyer and makes me question the entire human race.  If nothing else, students are a good source of material.

When I have a spare moment, I like to spend it in the kitchen or watching other people in the kitchen.  I love to read (which may explain how I ended up in law school), and I have no particular preference for fiction or non-fiction — just for well-written and meaningful stories.

So, there it is.  If you can find something to relate to in family, parenting, Autism, teenagers, teaching, learning, lawyering, balancing career and family, preparing a good meal or reading a good book, come on along for the ride.  Otherwise — no worries — as a mother and a lawyer, I’ve grown entirely accustomed to talking to myself.  It’s an occupational hazard.