It likely comes as a surprise to those who think old lawyers are just mean-spirited and unhelpful to younger lawyers who come for validation of their wants and desires, but I get a fairly regular stream of lawyers calling for advice. Even though they know there is a risk they won’t get the answer they want, they still call. And I do my best to be honest and helpful, even when I know it’s not what they want to hear.
But it’s not that often that I get a call from a lawyer who has been in the game more than ten, fifteen years, so when Brian Tannebaum told me he had a serious question, I figured he meant it. I settled into my chair and listened.
Brian has a great practice. A mix of state and federal criminal work. A mix of criminal defense and bar disciplinary cases. A reputation of skill and effort, for which he’s well respected. He does well, even if he suffers the same ups and downs that every small or solo practice endures. Revenues can be spotty, and hot months are followed by cold months, always wondering if the month after will be hot again. That’s solo life.
The dilemma Brian faced was one that a great many lawyers would love. A biglaw firm wanted him. What should he do.
He left the question hanging. He didn’t give me any further indication of why he was asking me, whether he just wanted a sounding board or whether there was something I could bring to his thought process that might not be on his radar. I decided that the best I could offer was the perspective of an older lawyer, one who could only see 18 years of practice in the rearview mirror.
There was a time, way back when, that a call came in asking whether I would be interested in hooking up with a law firm. At the time, I was still climbing the mountain, enjoying the struggle to see what could be accomplished and looking forward to the bright lights ahead of me. Midlife still seemed far away, and the future was mine for the taking. I had already tried a bit of law firm life, and it was unpleasant, to say the least.
Having my choices, my decisions, subject to other people’s approval felt like a lead weight on my back. Dealing with personality conflicts, whining, complaining, jockeying for position, wasn’t my idea of practicing law. Who needed to deal with all that crap, when fighting it out in court was where all the fun was? And there was no more money for doing so.
Sure, the revenues evened out better with more lawyers, as each brought in cases at different times, and one lawyer’s low month was another’s high. But at the end of the year, it was pretty much even, and all the aggravation that went with managing people was a burden for which there was no reward.
Some of my friends also got the call, and went with it. Today, they sit in corner offices down the end of long hallways. Some haven’t seen a courtroom in years. They manage. They advise. They send young soldiers off to war and pray they come back unharmed.
Some still try to get into the courtroom as much as possible, hoping to feel that burst of adrenalin when they’re offered the opportunity to give the jury an opening statement. But they have to get back to the office for conference calls, feeling their blood pressure level off and their butt flatten.
At 40, the idea of sitting on conference calls and listening to associates whine about assignments is like death. The bright light fades to a fuzzy glow; you know it will always be there but it will never be bright again. From there, it’s just waiting until the last meeting when they hand you the gold watch and carry the box of your life to the waiting car.
At 50, however, it looks a little different. This was the perspective I could offer Brian that he wouldn’t be able to see on his own. The thrill somehow disappeared one morning, as you wake up and find parts of your body hurting that never hurt before. You’ve done enough openings. Closings. Crosses. More importantly, you hear yourself explaining things to potential clients that you’ve said too many times before. The novelties of youth have grown old. It’s not that you don’t want a challenge, but that you reached the peak of the mountain. That was it. The rest of the time would be standing there.
I told Brian that the great moments of solo practice would lose some of their luster soon. Not that a “not guilty” verdict wouldn’t thrill him, but that the thrill wouldn’t last much past the next day. I told him that hanging out in bars and restaurants with clients until the wee hours of the morning would give way to wishing you were in bed by 10 because you’re exhausted.
The thrill of scoring the next big case diminishes, while the knowledge that there will be a check every other week becomes comforting. A couple of kids in college, the cost of maintaining the big house and a few cars hangs over you. Where before you felt compelled to accumulate the things that bring you pleasure, you begin to wonder why you need all this stuff, and what you’re going to do with it. You begin to feel as if it owns you rather than the other way around. And big kids need big things. And eat a lot more than little babies.
But when this realization hits, that there is virtue in stability and a slower pace, a funny thing happens. You’re no longer the up and coming young buck with a proven track record and a glorious future. You’re a fixture, a known quantity that’s hit his stride. You’re too expensive for the investment, and can’t promise enough good years left to guarantee that a significant investment will pay off.
I told Brian that when he reaches my age, there won’t be a call from Biglaw asking him to come aboard. His opportunity to make the change is now.
I neither advised him to take the job or pass. I tried to give him a flavor of what the future might look like so he could make his decision with an understanding that you don’t stay 40 forever, and that life brings changes in perspective and concern. No one told me that when I was younger. I passed on a few opportunities, firms, bench and teaching, that had little luster at the time but are far more attractive today. It’s not to say that I made the wrong choice, but that I made a choice without a clear appreciation of how life looks after the bright light fades.
Brian turned down the offer. Whether he made the right choice for him won’t be known for another decade or two. I hope my thoughts helped him to decide.
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It might be sour grapes on my part, considering that firms aren’t exactly beating down the door to bring me on board, but having worked in a formal organization during a previous career, I can’t imagine going back. I didn’t realize then how many of hours of the day were wasted through meetings and other organizational stuff, and it is immensely liberating not having to clear anything with anyone. As for reaching the top of the mountain, I doubt that I will ever get there, particularly at my advanced age. But, if you will forgive the cliché, I enjoy the climb.
As someone who has benefitted from some of your off-line advice about a legal problem I was wrestling with, I know that the responses come back quickly, concisely, and completely on point. Judges must love you.
Love me? Well, more than herpes. Maybe.
I think you took a wonderful path, shifting gears as you approached that point where it all became old and becoming a lawyer later in life. Never reaching the peak is a great thing. It means that you will still be climbing when others are done. To continue to have challenges, thrills and new experiences is what keeps us alive and vital. Your choice will allow you to enjoy being a lawyer for many years to come, after many of us have grown tired of doing the same thing for far too long.
I went solo after working at a small firm where the senior partner was abusive and known to be a nut job by judges and lawyers alike. He had us work on ridiculous assignments; and he had to sign every single piece of paper that left the office himself. He turned down many new cases I tried to bring in. His slogan was, “the client is the enemy” and he was constantly torturing them to pay their bills, and suing them if they didn’t. I was so happy to leave there and work for myself. You know what? After 5 years on my own, I wish I had stayed. The abusive jerk of a boss paid very well (I got my first new car while working for him), promoted people and, most importantly, was able to get work to support the rest of us. And he wasn’t all that bad of a guy when you got to know him. And if nothing else, the office was a total meritocracy. I used to think he was unprofessional the way he would attack judges, for example, but now I understand his frustration, having more experience with judges who don’t have any brains, were put on the bench through their connections and shouldn’t be judges. They should be attacked.
Younger lawyers, if you happen to get an offer somewhere and are torn between that and the “exciting” solo career, take the offer with the firm. Think with your head, not your heart. (And read the entry on this blog, “Cut the Crap”) I wish someone had told this to me. Instead, we get the type of advice found on my shingle (not this blog, which is honest about the difficulties).
I have a major issue with anyone who paints an unbalanced picture of solo practice. There is a cottage industry on the web promoting it as a panacea. It can just as easily destroy a life, and when the downside isn’t told along with the puffy praises, it’s fundamentally deceitful and destructive.
Anyone who talks about your supposed meanness should be required to read this comment. What a lovely sentiment, and one I have tried to follow.
Thank you.
Thanks, Noah. I’m blushing.
Here is my perspective, which is admittedly limited…
I did the “biglaw” thing. I am very glad that I did. I learned very quickly that subpar work will not be accepted, there are no excuses for crap, and that being a civil litigator requires a tremendous attention to detail.
However, there are other things you only learn in the trenches. Like how to become friendly with the court staff, how the “law of the clerk of the court” works, etc. Stuff that comes from being in court day in and day out. Often you don’t get that experience in biglaw since you’re taking ancillary witness depositions and very rarely argue the motions you drafted.
For a young person, personally, I would recommend at least 5 years of firm practice, before going out on your own. Maybe more.
BUT, I also wouldn’t recommend staying in firm practice forever. There are too many opportunities when your name is on the door. If you wait too long one day you’ll wake up and say “I wonder what it would have been like if I had my own firm, but now I can’t because I have kids in college.”
I’m still young and enjoying the thrill of it all, though. My life is immensely more interesting now than it was a year ago.
Says who?
Wow. This was simultaneously inspiring and demoralizing.
The firm that wanted Brian should have been more creative. A hybrid method which would have allowed him to eat a substantial portion of what he personally killed might have made a difference. He was smart to avail himself of your wisdom.
I enjoyed reading this post and Brian’s post as well.
Great post…
I fully understand the viewpoint at my age
the only missing Element, is how big firms pressure you to produce, errr… bring in money
as I was asked once ” why are you headed home ..?? it’s only 7:30 “
I do not miss big business
When you’re a solo, the boss may never complain about your being home in time for dinner, but still pressures you to bring in money. And sometimes you don’t get to leave the office by 7:30 anyway, even though there’s no one to tell you to stay.
After 33 years solo, I’m always home by 4:30
Run your business for yourself, otherwise, why bother …??-
Don’t know what your practice is, but in criminal defense, those damn obligations to clients sometimes get in the way. At 4:30, I’m either trying to finish up my cross for the day or fielding all the phone calls that people are trying to squeeze in before 5.
And on occasion (in my youth, at least), there were the clients whose arraignments would come in during the lobster shift and whose family preferred that it not get pushed over to the next day. I spent a few nights waiting for the papers outside the clerk’s office.
In my practice, that’s what running it for myself meant.
Great post. Great comments.
I read a short story recently that referenced a lawyer in her 50’s with her career as a partner at a large firm as “autopilot.” There are days – more than I would like to admit – where autopilot sounds very inviting. Go into the office, pick up a file with interesting matters, delegate and go home and read or do what people do with their spare time.
The story can’t be true. It takes at least two lawyers to do anything at biglaw. I know. I’ve seen the bills.