Sybil Dunlop, BridgeTower Media Newswires
This month, I’ve been puzzling over the question of how to practice law with joy.
I recently gave a presentation on this topic. I started with a confession—I have no idea how any one lawyer can become happier. I’m grateful when I can figure out what makes me happy. And while I enjoy reading subject-matter experts on the topic of happiness, I am no expert myself. I never like to start a presentation by confessing ignorance, but with this particular topic I felt compelled to offer a disclaimer.
The numbers suggest that lawyers should spend more time thinking about their happiness. Indeed, as a group, we are struggling. Twenty-eight percent of lawyers experience depression. Nineteen percent experience anxiety, 23 percent experience chronic stress and 20.6 percent struggle with problematic drinking. And, in case you were thinking that this doesn’t sound so bad, we are worse than other professionals. Only 11.8 percent of the educated workforce screens positive for problematic drinking as do 15 percent of surgeons and physicians.
Much ink has been spilled exploring the question of why lawyers struggle. Answers run the gamut from the fact that we have little control over desired outcomes (but are expected to generate them) to the fact that work can be constant. When clients email tough questions at 11 p.m., they may expect an immediate answer. And—worse still—when a client has a terrible case, she may still expect us to work miracles.
As for myself, I know what aspects of our profession make me unhappy. I hate engaging in petty fights with opposing counsel and exchanging snarky emails. I become anxious when I am waiting for someone else to respond to me and a deadline is approaching. And I become annoyed when people send unnecessary emails over weekends or in the evenings.
But much more of my professional life brings me joy. I love sitting down to write a brief. I enjoy planning case strategy. I like working with clients to prepare for hearings and depositions. I am grateful that our profession requires me to exercise both oral and written presentation skills. And I like other lawyers—we are smart people who are engaged in our communities and value reasoned thinking and debate.
In law school, I worried about the folks who didn’t seem to find any joy in the law. One friend loved creative writing. He attended law school because his wife told him it was time to get a real job. Another friend was a musician. His parents volunteered to pay for law school. So he dutifully (and without love) attended classes. I suspect that—if there is no love to balance the unpleasant aspects of our profession—happiness may be hard to find.
But even if you love aspects of our work, the law can be a difficult place to find happiness.
According to one happiness expert, about 70 percent of our controllable happiness stems from being with other people. Yet our intellectual work is a solo endeavor, even at large firms. And, as busy as we are, many of us elect to sit at our desks instead of socializing during lunch. I know that I experience greater happiness when I take time to connect with my colleagues, sharing lunch or a happy hour conversation.
Feelings of control also correlate with increased happiness levels. But our profession often leaves us feeling out of control—we can’t always control opposing counsel, outcomes, or our clients. At times when my happiness has flagged, I’ve learned (and keep relearning) that repairing unhappy conditions requires active effort—a positive exertion of control. And I’ve had to do this at least twice.
The first time occurred as a summer associate. I was so grateful to receive a summer position at a big law firm in D.C. Yet, during my time there, I wasn’t happy. I didn’t feel like my contributions mattered (or would matter for at least another five years). While I am not opposed to working long hours, associates appeared to be staying until 10 p.m. each night just for face time. And many senior attorneys didn’t know the junior associates’ names. So during my two-year clerkship in Minnesota, I looked for other options. I am so grateful to have found a place in this legal community—a community that (perhaps due to its smaller size) cares about mentoring, professional development, and affords newer attorneys opportunities. But the easiest solution would have been simply to stay in D.C. Instead, I moved to a new state and started over.
I needed to exert control again more recently. Four years ago, expecting our first child, my husband and I moved out of Minneapolis to the suburbs. After leaving the city, I spent hours sitting on Highway 36 every week. If it snowed, it was even worse. And I was miserable. I also hated owning a house—I am terrible at cleaning gutters, fixing things, or even remembering to call people to ask them to fix things. It was my husband who suggested that we return to Minneapolis and live in an apartment. I am a much happier person as a result.
But both of these stories confirm my thesis—I have no idea what will make any other lawyers happy. Some folks thrive at big law firms in D.C. Other folks love living in the suburbs, cultivating beautiful gardens and enjoying soccer games on their lawns. I certainly wouldn’t advise anyone else to follow in my footsteps in order to be happy. For me, being happy means simply listening to myself. But, of course, I forget this lesson over and over again. Maybe unhappiness is simply our body’s way of reminding us to pay attention.
