March 2001

Two Cents' Worth

The phrase "get a life" has become a common response to those of us who are routinely to be found in our offices late at night and on weekends. In fact, for many attorneys (and other professionals) our work does become our life. We use up so much emotional energy counseling clients, meeting deadlines — both court-imposed and self-imposed — that there is little left for our families and friends. Its not for nothing that our professional ancestors referred to the law as their "jealous mistress."

For many young — and even older — lawyers, the world of the 75-hour work week is alive and well. Attorneys in big firms are under constant pressure to bill more hours. Attorneys in small firms and solo practice are often under pressure just to make the next payroll and take home enough for the next mortgage payment. In many families there is a constant battle between time and money. Often there doesn't seem to be enough of either.

For many lawyers, the pressure, the adversarial relationships, and constant second-guessing by clients and bosses leads to "burn out." One legal Web site promotes its advertising for non-legal jobs by asking: "Are you tired of lawyer jokes?" I am personally acquainted with at least three former lawyers who now make good livings counseling lawyers on alternative career strategies.

But what about those of us who like being lawyers, but want to balance our professional lives with something else? One of my office mates coaches little league baseball, runs marathons and sings doo-wap.

Another friend is active in the Second Harvest program. Others simply hang out with their spouses, treasuring the down-time. The point is that these people have made a conscious decision to bring variety into their lives. They see and mingle with people who are not lawyers. They recharge, and they find that their time off is not time lost — if anything, they are more efficient, more energetic and more creative during their working hours.

In the case of Spokane attorney George Critchlow, adopting a baby daughter provided a brand-new perspective on life.

His story follows.

Middle-Aged Lawyer Goes Through Change of Life

I am a fifty-one-year-old lawyer, professor and office administrator. I direct a legal services clinic at a medium-sized law school. I am proud to be a lawyer involved in providing access to justice for poor people. But for many years my days and nights have been partly suffused with anxiety and guilt. This usually stems from not being as productive, prepared, disciplined, generous, sensitive, understanding, effective and multi-talented as I think I should be. Some suspicion of inadequacy always lies submerged just below the confident professional veneer. I should have returned that phone call; I shouldn't have been so adversarial with opposing counsel; I should read more law review articles in preparing to teach a class; I should be more empathetic with students and clients; I should work this weekend to get caught up; I should learn French, volunteer for more boards or committees, be nicer to support staff; and, for sure, I should figure out how to research investment opportunities so my wife and I don't go on welfare when they find out I really am inadequate and I lose my job.

Other lawyers may know this feeling. Over time we come to believe that what we do professionally, socially and economically are the only things that count. We are driven by the knowledge that there is always something more we could be doing. We work hard. We problem solve. We keep up with the pace of cultural change. We are pro-active. The notion of doing nothing may seem nice in some abstract, utopian, Buddhist sort of way, but really it's subversive to how we define ourselves. Thanks to digital technology, espresso bars, political scandal, fast food, junk TV, thrill seeking, endless clients, controversies, famous people and volatile stock funds, we are constantly engaged, moving forward, afraid we will fall behind.

Billy, the diminutive character of conscience played by Linda Hunt in the film The Year of Living Dangerously, observes: "We make a fetish of our careers. All else becomes secondary. Where is there space for us to learn to love?"

So let me tell you about my recent change of life by describing, more graphically perhaps than necessary, my morning on a recent Saturday. I laid the beautiful, perfect, loving, 11-month-old Charlotte Isabella on her changing pad, stripped off her diaper and was relieved to find no smelly mess. I left the room for a moment leaving Charlotte unattended but content. When I returned, she had crawled off the changing pad, onto the expensive, imported Chinese carpet, and delivered herself of the well-digested residue of several recent meals. The stuff was all over baby and carpet.

Since my wife and I returned from China in December with our newly adopted first child, every day has been an opportunity for me to reflect on what's important. In particular, I'm learning to appreciate the relative value of giggling, quiet time and naps, funny noises, gentle touches, and modern leak-proof diapers. And dancing. On the Saturday morning of Charlotte's untimely mess, after the cleanup and bath, the apples and mango breakfast, the walk in the snow with the dogs, Charlotte and I danced to Bob Dylan, Toni Braxton, Miles Davis, and a recent release by Eric Clapton and B. B. King. She loved it all, but I think the Clapton-King collaboration was her favorite.

I loved it all, too. Not for a moment did I feel guilty or anxious about neglecting my career or the rest of the world. If I felt inadequate at all, it had to do with not understanding how an imperfect guy could be blessed with such a perfect little treasure.

This story comes full circle. There is an unbroken thread that connects the wonder and responsibility of having a baby and the work we do as lawyers. We lawyers are shepherds of justice and human rights. How do these principles evolve and grow? There is a colorful illustration hanging on my office wall depicting mother and child. It is accompanied by the inspirational words of Eleanor Roosevelt. I did not fully apprehend their truth until Charlotte came into our lives:

Where, after all, 
do universal human rights begin? 
In small places close to home,
 so close and so small that they cannot be seen on
any maps of the world... 
Unless these rights have meaning there,
 they have little meaning anywhere.George Critchlow received his J.D. from Gonzaga University School of Law in 1977. After three years of private practice he joined the faculty at Gonzaga University School of Law, where he is director of clinical law programs and director of the Gonzaga Institute for Action Against Hate.

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