I Quit

I tried to quit my job last month, but my boss said no.

I graduated from law school in 2011.  I often wonder whether law school permanently changed my personality for the worse. I’m convinced I used to be funnier and less risk adverse, though there’s no way to measure that objectively. However, I don’t regret going to law school.  There is at least one thing I learned for which I will be forever grateful, and that was the training in oral arguments.

In moot (read – pretend) court, you learn how to argue a case to a panel of judges.  The judges will often interrupt you with questions, so you cannot read your argument or stick too closely to your outline.  Rather, you prepare a roadmap for your argument, often by identifying the three significant points you must hit before your time runs out, and then you practice fielding questions and smoothly transitioning back to your points.  Your goal is to be in control, but also flexible.  You want to persuade the judges by answering their questions, and thus easing their concerns, but also by making the points you need to make within the allotted time. 

You may be thinking, “you think law school ruined your personality, and yet you’re grateful to have learned a skill that you may never use in your life?”  It’s true that I am nearly six years into my career and have yet to argue in front of a real appellate court.  However, moot court skills are not just useful for appellate arguments. They are useful for EVERY argument.

During late fall of my second year of law school, I felt dissatisfied in my relationship with my then- boyfriend.  It seemed like fifty percent of the time, he was glad we were in a relationship, and the other fifty percent of the time, he wished he was single, and acted that way.  He never cheated on me, he just filled his time playing basketball, playing music, studying, eating with friends, etc. I decided it was time we part ways.

We had broken up once before and gotten back together less than a month later, and I was not interested in having an on again/off again relationship, so I knew I needed to make it clear that the break up was final.  I sat in the quiet of my apartment and thought through the reasons why we could not be together, and I slowly put together my roadmap for the breakup. I did not want to break up with him, so I knew that I would cry. A lot. I also knew that he would have compelling reasons for us to stay together, so I needed to be prepared. Using a page from a check register, I wrote down the three bullet points for why we were incompatible, read them over, and put them in my purse.

A few days later, I road BART to his apartment. I had the bullet points in my purse. I also had a fever. When I got to his apartment, I said we needed to talk, and I launched into my persuasive argument.  We both cried.  He tried to get me to sit down at one point because my fever was making me weak, but I stood strong, literally and figuratively.  I walked out of his apartment, got onto the BART, and sobbed the whole ride back. I hadn’t looked at the bullet points once.  That’s the genius of the roadmap; once you go to the trouble of identifying and writing down your three most important points, you have internalized your argument and no longer need notes.

Which brings me to last month, when I tried to quit my job.  I had been unhappy for a long time.  If you ask my friends and family, they will likely tell you that I have been complaining about my job for years.  I realized 14 months ago, while on maternity leave and dreading my return to work, that I needed to do something about my unhappiness, and I started looking for other jobs. Two months ago, I realized that I was stuck, and needed to take a leap of faith and give notice.  So for a few weeks, I rehearsed what I would say to my boss.  I practiced my introduction as I drove to and from the office.  I ran possible phrasing by my husband and friends.  I pictured myself speaking the words.  But I never wrote a roadmap.  I wrote a speech. 

Last month, I walked into my boss’s office and shut the door.  I felt ill, but I delivered my speech, complete with large, awkward, and entirely unnecessary hand motions.  He looked shocked, but he listened. Once I finished, he asked me what I was going to do next, and I said that I didn’t know. He had more questions, like whether there are any projects at our firm that I enjoy doing, and whether we could continue a dialogue about me staying in a part time capacity. 

My husband told me to be prepared for this situation, and yet I came unprepared! I never practiced fielding difficult questions and smoothly seguing back to my main points, like the point that I am unhappy and leaving! I had practiced a monologue. And because I didn’t have answers to my boss’s questions, I said yes.

Yes, we can keep talking about a way for me to stay connected to the firm. 

Yes, there are some projects I like doing here.

Yes, I could stay on in a part-time capacity. 

Just like that, I had lost control of the room. 

…

As it turns out, my boss not letting me quit was one of the best things that has ever happened to me. I’ve been struggling to find what type of law interests me the most, and I believe I’ve discovered it: part-time law. I still research, write, and advise my clients, but often from home. When I need human contact or an excuse to wash my hair, I go into the office. I have time to volunteer at a family law clinic, and I can pick the Bean up early from daycare. I will need to find a way to make some additional money at some point, but in the meantime, being a part-time lawyer is where it’s at.