Change or Die

Over four years ago, I was a junior associate in a regional BigLaw up in Silicon Valley. At 8:30 a.m., I'd pull up into the office off Page Mill Road, one of those two-story mirrored-glass and white plastic-looking front constructions that were de riguer in the late nineties. At 9 p.m., I'd pull out, and over half the cars would still be there. In between, I had days full of scheming or screaming partners, dozens of brushfires to put out, and dozens of other long-term projects that would turn into brushfires because I couldn't spend time on them. I don't remember taking lunches, though I'm sure I had them. I do remember ordering dinner, rushing down to the first floor as the order came in and wolfing it down--lukewarm pasta, lukewarm burgers, or soggy tempura--in my office before turning to yet another brief. Near the end, I couldn't stand the light, and only used a weak desklamp to work. I'd go home and drink a six-pack or several screwdrivers to unwind in the quickest way possible. I never had a single day of vacation in the two and a half years I was there. And then the Salary Wars began, with Gunderson (now a mere footnote of legal history) hiking up first year salaries by 50%. That should've been great news for associates, but any forward thinking person could see what was coming. My first BigLaw got on the tech market too late. The head office in San Francisco had trouble keeping their associates busy. Increase salaries with no increase in work, well, something had to give. So, I changed . . .

And I went to an even larger BigLaw, following one of the few incredibly talented lawyers who was also a decent human being. I spent another year without a vacation. The hours were even longer. I considered myself lucky if I got out by 10 p.m. I considered myself lucky if I had a Sunday off. I remember watching the midnight traffic on the 101 from my office. This BigLaw was less psychotic. Any egos were well-deserved and still kept business flowing to the firm. The place felt like a startup. For the first several months there, I was, well, not happy, but not unhappy. Then one bad apple had to ruin everything. I hear from my friends that he's a joke--but he's a partner now because he could bring in business. I do have to thank him, though. Without him, I wouldn't have realized that the acceptance of misery is not a life. With him, I learned that happiness is having the option to leave. So I did . . .

And for a year, I wrote. That is the happiest period of my life. I lost weight. I mellowed out. I was content. But I was lonely--Silicon Valley is still the worst place to live if you're a single, straight male. Plus the money was running out. So, I sold my place up north, gained a hefty nest egg and moved back down to Lalaland . . .

And was welcomed by my friends down here. I met and dated women, which abated my loneliness for a while, which caused more heartache in the short run that eventually healed. But I was going out. I started at SmallFirm, later to be known as Phuqued Firm, to see if it was truly law I hated or just BigFirm lifestyle. For eleven months, I dealt with both psychotic and psychopathic behavior--a screamer and a backstabber. The jury is still out on whether I hate the law (OK, maybe not), but I knew if I stayed there for too much longer, I would have a mental breakdown. So I changed, and I left, or is it the other way around . . .

And then I found a ContractGig at a firm in which the associates and the staff were genuinely happy. To bad the punchline was that it was folding up. So then I went to the last ContractGig. Out of respect for that last gig, I will be discrete as to why I left. The partner will be a success no matter what he does. However, my Spidey-senses were tingling in the last two months. I also found out that yes, there is such a thing as destiny, but that destiny can be derailed. Two paths were presented, and she took the wrong one . . .

But what I have learned in looking back at my life since law school is that I have always changed. There are situations which you cannot change, so you look to what you can change. More often than not, the only thing you can change is you. Staying on that derailing train will only get you hurt or worse. You'd be surprised how many decide to stay. Jumping off into those dark woods is better.

So here I go, launching myself, changing myself yet again.