Ed. note: Welcome to the latest installment of “Notes from the Breadline,” a column by a laid-off lawyer in New York. Prior columns are collected here. You can reach Roxana St. Thomas by email (at roxanastthomas@gmail.com), follow her on Twitter, or find her on Facebook.
Dear Lat,
Thank you so much for the back-to-school care package you sent when I started classes at Solo Practice University! I must ask: where did you find the Wonder Twins pencil box? I absolutely adore it, and I love the Trapper Keeper (and the puffy stickers with googly eyes!) you picked out. I am also crazy about the Dukes of Hazzard lunchbox, and the note you included was very thoughtful. (I’m not sure that “Knock ‘em dead!” is appropriate advice for a lawyer, but why split hairs?)
I’ll address, seriatim, the questions you posed in your enclosed letter. Regarding your first question (“What are you going to wear on your first day of class??”), I had a hard time deciding between the plaid skirt, button-down shirt, and penny loafers you helped me pick out when we went back-to-school shopping, and something a little more casual, like the Guns ‘n Roses t-shirt and holey jeans you turned your nose up at when I was modeling outfits. (I believe your exact words were “If you think you’re leaving the house dressed like that, young lady, think again,” and “If I put a 7-11 hot dog and a Slurpee in your hand, you’d look like Britney Spears – on a bad day.”)
But that, my fashion-forward friend, is the beauty of Solo Practice University: I don’t have to leave my house to go to class. Susan Cartier Liebel, the headmistress of Solo Practice University, calls it “carpet commuting,” but since, as you know, I live in true Manhattan-style squalor and thus do not have a carpet, I simply call it “convenient.” In any event (and because I also do not have an air conditioner), I opted for a tank top with a large coffee stain on the front, and shorts. Though I was certain my mother would pop out of the closet, smack me on the back of the head, and remind to “dress for the job you want,” she did not make an appearance. The cats, however, channeling her disapproval, looked at me with disdain.
As for your second question, things here at Solo Practice University, or “SPU,” as we call it on campus, are going well. The classes that SPU has to offer are – at this point – too numerous to list here, but as you know, they are divided four general areas: Substantive Law, Marketing and Management, Technology, and Work/Life Balance. In fact, the course content is so voluminous that I spent a few undignified minutes wringing my hands, uncertain about where to begin. (Again, the beauty of SPU is that no one can observe, firsthand, your minor meltdowns.)
No, Lat: there’s no need to start gathering piles of Zoloft for my next care package (although a little Valium never hurt anyone – let’s talk later). It turns out that my generalized anxieties, and the sense of being overwhelmed by the nuts and bolts of solo practice, were a valuable object lesson. Many people, Susan told me, are derailed by their fear of solo practice. One of her goals, therefore, was simply to “demystify” the reality of lawyering without a net. This led me to a minor, but useful, epiphany about one of my perceived barriers to solo practice: my fear of commitment.

Continue reading “Notes from the Breadline: To Be On Your Own (Part III)”

Ed. note: Welcome to the latest installment of “Notes from the Breadline,” a column by a laid-off lawyer in New York. Prior columns are collected here. You can reach Roxana St. Thomas by email (at roxanastthomas@gmail.com), follow her on Twitter, or find her on Facebook.
As the summer drifts by with no sign of viable employment prospects, I realize I am suffering from a pernicious affliction which, while common amongst lawyers, has reached epidemic proportions here in the breadline. In a word, the problem is this: slavery.
No, friends: I’m not referring to the kind of involuntary servitude expressly prohibited by the Thirteenth Amendment (of which I am not, of course, making light). I’m talking about the unique bondage of the BlackBerry, which ensnares us with invisible, but often impermeable, shackles. Or, if you are infinitely cooler and have an iPhone, there’s probably an app for that.
Following this realization, I resolve to develop a more normal relationship with my BlackBerry. No one is calling or emailing to offer me a fantastic job, I remind myself. Being hyper-attuned to the blinking red light that would, in theory, alert me to new messages or missed calls has not, thus far, caused any new messages or missed calls to materialize. So, I decide, I will take the bold step of leaving my BlackBerry at home when I go out to do errands.
“Don’t worry,” I say to the device anxiously, as I prepare for a Berry-free outing. “I won’t be gone long.” In some cultures, offering reassurance to a phone might be considered … well, strange. But those cultures, I tell myself, are judgmental and parochial.
Alas, my leap of faith is rewarded with an email from a recruiter looking to fill a temporary position “ASAP!!,” and although I send him my resume as soon as I can, he writes back to tell me that the job has already been filled. Irritated, I notice that I have also missed a call. When I check my voicemail, there is a message from a former colleague. “You didn’t respond to the Evite, Roxana,” she says. “I hope you didn’t forget about our reunion dinner tomorrow night.”
The dinner she is referring to is a yearly gathering for alumni of a Big Law Firm where I once worked — which, in fact, I forgot about. But, while I usually look forward to the event, I find myself regarding it with dread. How many times will I have to announce that I was laid off? How many questions will I have to answer about my job search? What if I’m the only person there who is unemployed?

Continue reading “Notes from the Breadline: To Be On Your Own (Part II)”