When Practicing Law Is Slow Death

It started as soon as I began my law career as an articling student. A lawyer gave me a task on Friday due Monday, meaning I would lose my weekend. I felt a little bit of pride – who, little old me, tasked with something so important? But I soon learned what is urgent is rarely important, and important rarely urgent. Having “uncovered every rock” and discovered nothing further, I watched my research memo fall into the abyss of make-work legal projects, more for show and profit, productivity measured more in money than in legal progress. I think I gained 15 pounds that year.

Upon finishing articling I vowed to work as little as possible beyond the 9-to-5 and on the weekends. No wonder, then, that I was drawn to contingency work, where profit margins made the 4-hour workweek seem like a dream within reach. But I broke my vow too soon. The pull of clients and their files ran on a 24-hour clock. I thought about my files going to sleep, and worse, when I woke up, let alone the random pings from clients, opposing counsel, and my colleagues. I was reminded of how much I loved chess as a child, and how much I hated it as I improved, studying the game and thinking about it all the time. Inevitably there was the 6-week trial which demanded even the worst, laziest lawyer to work into the night to prepare for the next day. And so my free time disappeared slowly, insidiously. My colleagues and fellow classmates walked the same path into weddings and houses, reaping the spoils of disposable income in the busiest time of our lives. I did not fail, however, to see my elders falling into a path of failed marriages, children who had to schedule phone calls with assistants just to talk to their parents, strip clubs on trips out of town, alcoholism run rampant, a miscellany of misbehaviour. As for me, I was rewarded with a generous salary, another 30 pounds, and a vow to find a new direction.

Feeling the weight in my legs as I stood up out of bed, and labouring to walk up a set a of stairs, in-house counsel proved more hospitable, equipped with elevators and without billable hours. But to my dismay I saw many a co-worker on automatic as if already put out to pasture, willing to sacrifice the excitement of private practice for steady pay and a retirement kitty. The stagnant atmosphere was initially welcome, but gave way soon to a familiar ennui. Could the gladiator in me ever find peace? In the meantime my fellow classmates were progressing further, making partner, invites to conferences, winning awards, and making more money in a year than I made in three. The years passed but the sacrifice continued to show. Those who wanted to be married remained unmarried, going from one failed relationship to another, lacking the time and commitment and love to give. Those who once stood as paragons of health and beauty now sat tired and bedraggled, barely able to walk a 5k they once would have ran at a moment’s notice. I counted myself among the fortunate who had gained more than I lost, but I had lost enough, including my health, and precious time and love for my family and my self.

Everything compounds. Not just for the better, but for the worse as well. In finance it is a beautiful concept that a small gain of eight percent a year can double an investment in less than a decade. In law my abilities improved exponentially every year. I fondly remember turning the screws on a witness in cross-examination in my fifth year of practice, and writing a two-paragraph mediation memo sufficing to settle the file in my tenth year of practice. But my health deteriorated at the same time with each gained pound, with each lost hour sitting, finishing work too exhausted to exercise, too exhausted to spend time enjoying life. Vacations were a study in recovery, not enjoyment. Mentally, finding sadness in my surroundings and my self, in the plight of the profession, in the lack of equity and diversity and inclusion in our lives, and in the grind of daily life, the sadness compounds. Little things that work against me grow, just as the little things that work for me.

Ultimately I stepped away from practice. After some fifteen years I found solace at my alma mater helping law students find jobs. The energy and vitality of enlightened and woke students lifted me in a way I had forgotten was possible. They were thankful for the help I provided, and I was happy to play a part in their dreams. I can only hope they embrace their enlightenment, demand better from their employers, and implement the dreams they wanted for themselves when they become the employers. Practicing law can be a slow death. I hope, in whatever roles we play, we can make the work more amenable to life.