attorney – LongLegsBigCity

Recovering Attorney – 5 years out and 4 years clean

It’s that time again. Every year, 9 days after my birthday, is my law school graduation anniversary. Ironically, it’s the day after D-Day. Now, it may be a bit dramatic to compare my freedom from law to the freedom of the world and rescue by the Allied Forces, but whatevs. It’s the same for me.

If you read my post last year about being a Recovering Attorney, you’d know I was only working in law for 11 months, even though it felt like much longer. I have finally gotten to a point in my life where I don’t mention being a lawyer when I introduce myself, or when people ask me what I do for a living. Let’s be honest, in New York, it’s the first question out of anyone’s mouth after “What’s your name?” New Yorkers love to ask questions, and in general, we are more brutally honest than in other cities. It is not uncommon to hear 20 people at a party boasting about how they can’t afford their rent. They include figures about their electricity bill, their broker’s fee, everything.

I used to feel like I needed to mention I “used to be a lawyer” when asked what I did for a living. I stopped mentioning it for a few reasons. First of all, the longer ago I quit, the more fake it felt to mention it. I only practiced law in earnest for under a year, so a year after I quit, it seemed silly to mention it. And if you add in the three years I was in school, it was still only 4 years total. I felt it was time to stop mentioning it. But for a while, I still did. If you recall from my blog last year, there are only two good things about being a lawyer: the money, and saying you’re a lawyer. I had already given up the mulah (more on that later), and I guess I wasn’t ready to give up the “prestige” that comes with the title.

Despite my conscious decision to stop mentioning my history as an attorney, it’s often an inevitable topic because it’s tied to so many other questions: How did you end up working for rabbis? Why did you move to New York? Why did you live in Brooklyn before Manhattan? Etc. etc. etc. All answers lead back to law school and lawyering. But unfortunately, the questions don’t end there. I told you, New Yorkers love intrusive questions. Inevitably, once I tell someone I used to be a lawyer, it leads to more questions. For my 5-year-law-iversary, (or 4-year-non-law-iversary), I will tackle some of the FAQ’s I receive. I’m really writing this blog for my future self. In the future, when people ask me unending questions, I’ll just give them this URL.

Really? You used to be a lawyer?

For some reason, this is always the first question. Do people think I’m lying? Is this something funny that people do? Do they think Ashton Kutcher is going to come out and say “JK Emily is Punking You?” I have no clue. I always find this a strange question. I guess some people find it unbelievable. The funny part about people thinking it is unbelievable, is that it’s actually quite common. I have read many times that close to 40% of people with law degrees do not practice law. In fact, some people pair this question right afterward with the statement that they know another person who also quit law.

Plainly speaking, I am not alone. And yet people always ask me this question. Maybe it’s because my “personality” does not lend itself to being a good lawyer. I have heard this many times, too. I try not to be offended by that. What in the world does that mean? I’m not smart enough? That can’t be the case. I graduated law school in the top third of my class, I wrote on the top law journal, I took (and passed) two state Bar Exams… so what is it? When I try to rationalize this in my head, I decide to interpret it that I am too nice. Lawyers are mean, blood-sucking people. (Ok, I exaggerate slightly). This brings me to the second question I am always asked:

Why did you quit?

I could honestly write about this in a post itself. I’ll do a cursory list instead, and maybe fill it in for a 6-year anniversary post in 2019:

The people are mean.
I prefer fulfilling work.
I don’t like to work on the weekend.
I don’t like leaving work with the feeling that I’ve ruined people’s lives.
The people are really mean.
Even waterproof mascara runs after you have been crying for 8 hours.

What did your parents think when you told them you were going to quit?

This is sometimes the third question, but sometimes, it’s the first. I find this incredibly strange as a 31-year-old. Most parents had their own children by now. Some of them had careers they chose to quit for child-rearing purposes. So, shouldn’t they understand if I chose to quit, simply to go to another job? It’s not like I became a hobo. More importantly, aren’t parents supposed to say, “I don’t care what you do, as long as you’re happy?” In theory.

Two days ago, I had this conversation with a woman in her 50’s, and she said exactly that: “I know I’m supposed to say I only care if my kids are happy, but honestly, I don’t know what I’d think.” Here’s the deal: If you have a kid who is so miserable that she calls you crying every day, eventually you’ll agree that she needs to find another path. And that is exactly what happened with my parents. When I told them after 3 months that I was looking to leave the law firm, I don’t think they were thrilled. They gave me a lot of lines about “sticking it out,” and “I’m sure it will get better.” But as the months dragged on and I was more and more miserable, the tears increasing, the misery palpable, and the innumerable job applications unanswered, they finally came around. It didn’t take too many crying lunchtime calls before they realized it was probably best that I left. In fact, they even supported my idea of moving back in with them. It was not my first choice, but with my lease ending and my patience running low, it seemed like a good idea, even though I had not lived with them in 9 years.

It also helped that none of their money went into my law school education or housing, so they couldn’t say I squandered anything monetary. Sure, I squandered three years of my life, but NBD.

I should also note that I have very supportive parents. I’m not sure if every other parent out there would have been thrilled with my decision, but there also comes a point in your life where you have to make yourself happy first. I was lucky that in improving my own life, my parents had my back. Plus, now I work for rabbis. They couldn’t be more thrilled (and hysterical every time I bring up a Jewish holiday or Yiddish word).

Do you miss the money?

People seriously ask me this. I live in NYC where apartments the size of a closet cost $2K/month. OBVIOUSLY I MISS THE MONEY. An article just came out this week announcing that the first-year class of attorneys at big firms in NYC will now make $190K/year. LOL

I’m always completely honest on my blog, so I’ll admit I did not even make half of that as a lawyer. My salary was $84K (including a $1K bonus), and that was before taxes. So the reality is, I don’t make that much less now, percentage-wise. And if you were to divide that by hours worked, I make MUCH MORE now that I work in the non-profit sector (LOL again). So I do miss the money, but it wasn’t much money to begin with. It certainly was not enough money to buy my life and happiness. Don’t get me wrong, a certain amount of money may have bought me happiness, but $84K in NYC is chump change. #NotWorthIt

Also, since my student loans are income-based, I was paying more in loans. That brings me to the next question I’m often asked:

When will you pay off your loans?

GURL. I have no idea. The good news is, I now work in the non-profit sector, so I am a very eager participant in the Public Service Loan Forgiveness program. I wrote an entire blog SERIES about my loans last fall, and I wrote one post in the series about how I am paying them back. If I continue in non-profit, and if I continue to make income-based payments, the rest of my loans will be forgiven in 6 years and 2 months. If I do not continue in non-profit, or if the PSLF program is rescinded, that will not happen.

Also, please note that I said my loans will be forgiven, not that I will pay them off. The answer to when I will pay them off is: NEVER. They are literally growing every month. So yeah. Not happening anytime soon. Good news: they are discharged at death.

Do you miss it?

I already said this, but I did not enjoy anything about lawyering. I enjoyed SAYING I was a lawyer, but I never interacted with people because I was always at work, and the people at work already knew I was a lawyer, so no need to tell them. The other thing I sometimes miss is dressing up. It always felt like dress-up to me. But I did dry-cleaning last week for the first time in 3 years, and I definitely do not miss those bills.

Will you ever go back?

People ask me this all the time. And it’s usually the last question before I curtail the conversation with a swift and resounding NO. Last year, I recounted a conversation with my boyfriend about how likely it was that I return to law. I said 90% no, and he said he thought it would be 97% no. At this point, I think I am a 99% no. I would possibly go back in-house at a firm to do recruiting and career development, but not as a lawyer.

That covers most of the questions I receive. Do you have any others? I’m pretty much an open book at this point. The other question I get, obviously from people who don’t know me, is “should I go to law school.” I already covered this extensively, but, RUN. RUN AWAY FROM IT AS FAST AND AS FAR AS YOU CAN.

Have a great summer, and as you enjoy your time at the beach and in the park, think of all the lawyers slaving away in their recirculated air offices. Even on a Sunday.

Recovering Attorney

Today is the 4^th anniversary of my law school graduation. I figured there was no better time to start talking about my experience. If you read my About Me, you’d know that I am a recovering attorney. Short version: I graduated law school in June of 2013, passed the NY and NJ Bar, worked for a mid-size civil defense litigation firm for 11 very long months and quit. Never to look back. I haven’t practiced law in 2 years, 10 months and 20 days. That’s 1,055 days. Which is equivalent to 1,519,200 minutes. Or 91,152,000 seconds. But who’s counting.

Things I used to be able to say: I work at a law firm in the financial district. Technically I get 10 days of vacation per year, but no one takes them. And I still have to bill 180 hours/month so why bother. I drink every day. I cry when I leave work. A homeless man with tattoos on his face gave me a bottle of the water on the subway today because I was crying and he told me “things would get better.”

Things I can say now: My job does not own me. I don’t check my work email from Friday at 5 pm until Monday at 9 am. I get 20 days of vacation, plus all Jewish holidays and Federal Holidays, so basically 45 days/year. I regularly sign off on my emails with “Mazel Tov” or “Shabbat Shalom.” I know there is a such thing as a holiday that celebrates cheesecake. I hyperlink words in my blog posts to articles in Ha’aretz.

Thing I used to do and still can do: Sign my complaint emails to my leasing office/airlines/hotels/Uber/anything customer service related, with three magic letters: ESQ.

That last part is crucial. But was it worth $100K in loans? I’ve gotten a lot of money back from Delta, but the answer is still “probably not.” The American Bar Association literally published a paper entitled “The Value Proposition of Attending Law School,” which basically tells people law school is a financial burden that is often not worth the time or benefit, and that most expected salaries will not support the expected debt. More on student loans another time, though.

Have I convinced you not to go yet? If I haven’t, maybe someone else will. Nowadays, you can find someone telling you not to go to law school on almost every website. A quick google search of “don’t go to law school” will bring back “about 26,100,000 results,” not like I have done this or anything. In 2013, Business Insider published a flow chart specifically designed to convince you not to go to law school. Unfortunately, I graduated in 2013, so it was too little too late. The Boston Globe wrote about it. Even Huffington Post (Tucker Max) talked about it. Above the Law talks about it all the time. In 2015, they started a piece with “I’m a lawyer. I hate it. what now?” Unfortunately, this is more common than you would think. Judging from a very small sample size of people I went to law school with (graduating class of 478), I can tell you that I personally know 3 people who actually enjoy what they do. The rest of them? Well, they get to enjoy at least one of the only 2 great parts of being a lawyer: (1) saying you’re a lawyer, and (2) a big paycheck. Those who actually like their jobs (probably because they are “making a difference” or “helping people”) do not actually get to enjoy the money part. I probably make more money than they did when they started, and none of them get a 2-day cheesecake holiday off of work.

When I tell people that I quit law, the first thing they do (without fail) is say that they, too, know somebody, or know somebody who knows somebody, who did the exact same thing. This is not surprising, considering everything I said above. The Atlantic published an article the same month I quit my job at the firm about how the legal industry is one of the only fields that has a sub-industry helping people quit. As I read that article back in 2014 (which I rediscovered surprisingly easily with another google search), the line that stuck out to me was that a “law-firm associate consistently ranks at the top of unhappy-professions lists despite starting salaries of $160,000,” and that “law firms experience significant yearly associate attrition.” The attrition part did not surprise me at all. When I left my firm after less than a year, I was the 16^th associate to put in notice in the time that I was there. I had a list of them that I kept in plain sight on my desk, asking myself every day if I was going to be the next name on the list. My firm (which will remain nameless) was known to have a revolving door, and since it was not big law, they didn’t have to pay big law money but they expected big law hours. The problem with that was, associates would leave to go anywhere else for more money since they were already putting in the time.

I learned through the grapevine that my firm was notorious. Unfortunately, my real “come to god” moment about this terrible place came from Glassdoor reviews, the first of which was posted 2 months after I quit. THANKS FOR NOTHING. But really, it did make me feel a little bit better to know that I was not alone. My firm’s average rating is currently 1.5 out of 5. A mere fourteen percent would recommend to a friend. When I quit, I put on alerts so that I would get an email every time someone posted a new review. Over the years, these have provided me with much-needed comic relief. Some of my favorite review titles include “slavery for low pay makes me cranky,” or “Are you kidding me?” or “Avoid at all costs,” or the very honest “Horrible!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” (there are really 15 exclamation points). But my all-time favorite title is “Run”. Short, sweet, leaves no room for misinterpretation. That doesn’t even touch the tip of iceberg of the actual content of the reviews. A few highlights: “Cons: Associates are overworked, underpaid, and generally miserable.” “Pros: It’s close to the train station.” “Pros: There are no pros to this place.”

My firm may have been particularly bad, but as they say, one bad apple spoils the barrel, and I wasn’t about to try my luck with another law firm and just hope that it was different. Again, I only speak from my own experience, but as you can see from all of the articles above, I am not alone. I recently had a conversation with my boyfriend about how likely it is that I will return to the legal field. I said 90% no way. He said “that’s crazy high, that’s 1 in ten chance that you will go back. I would have put it at 97% or 98%.” He is probably right. Why would I put myself through that again? I may return to the legal field someday, but most likely not as a lawyer.

I can talk about those miserable 11 months all day long, but if you are currently working for a firm, you have probably already wasted .3 hours of your billable time reading this (if you round up!), so I will save the story of why I went to law school in the first place for another time. The answer is complicated, and it’s embedded in a very complicated throne of lies that were fed to me for years. If you have gotten through this whole post and you are still considering going to law school, you are hopeless. Go spend some time on Glassdoor and google “don’t go to law school” some more. Do not pass go and do not collect $200 (or $200,000 in loans).