I recently accepted an in-house position as Intellectual Property Counsel.
The hiring attorney at the new company started a months-long conversation to make this happen. He was really interested in working with me and advocated for me within the company.
Initially, we were exploring ways for me to bring them on as a firm client. But this process stalled when a partner made a stink about a possible conflict that wasn’t there and eventually stopped responding to my efforts to engage them.
Then, the hiring attorney suggested that I interview with the company directly. If he couldn’t work with me as a client, he would find a way to make me the client.
Over time, he sold me on the company and convinced the company to create an open position tailored for me.
He saw many other candidates who were better qualified on paper. 150+ applications. PhDs. Graduates from Ivy League schools.
But he said they wouldn’t be me. He didn’t want just any attorney who could “do patent prosecution.” As a former customer of my bar exam preparation program, he valued my diverse skill set. Testimonials—including one from the daughter of a VP who used my materials to pass the bar—solidified me as the talent he wanted on the legal team.
On the other hand, I was comfortable (albeit stressed) being Of Counsel at my firm where, as the managing partner admitted, the reality was that you were supposed to “stay busy.” Some of the partners were itching to have me join the partnership.
Making partner vs. making an intentional choice
I had reservations about becoming a partner.
Did I really want the successful version of my career? The one that law students lusted after while watching Suits? Was it worth being able to post a sexy humblebrag on LinkedIn about becoming a ~law firm partner~?
I went the other way. The toll would have been too high if I kept flying closer to the sun.
Separately, during this whole process, I had also been invited to interview at a national patent firm. One of its partners had been wanting me to join his practice for years. I gave up that process in the middle as well. He still wants to introduce me to industry folks and possibly have me as a client. We respect each other’s hunger.
Leaving firm life to go in-house (or leaving the law altogether) is also another way for lawyers to “make it.” They choose themselves and reclaim their life back.
As the CEO of your own life, you have to balance the sheets—not just financially but also mentally, emotionally, and psychologically.
Too much ambition comes with a deep cost to your personal life. I don’t regret what I built in my career and business. We have one life, and it’s a beautiful thing to leave an impact on the world. I wouldn’t trade what I’ve done because what is (and who is) meant to support that will be there. But it helps if you can foresee and avoid the bumps along the way.
After a series of interviews with the company, I eventually received an offer. I was even prepared to accept a pay cut if it meant I’d be able to get my soul back in shape.
“The three most harmful addictions are heroin, carbohydrates, and a monthly salary.”—Nassim Nicholas Taleb.
My firm pay was often erratic and unstable, fluctuating based on my billables and how much of that the firm billed out. Sometimes I’d see 3+ consecutive pay periods with the base salary, which is quite demotivating and exasperating to see after weeks of slaving away. Variable rewards are a bitch, and the house always wins.
So, despite the anticipated pay cut, being able to expect the same paycheck every time would actually be an upgrade for me. A stable salary would be reliable and allow me to plan for the future without financial anxiety.
Correcting course
During this process, I was examining the roots of my behaviors in my personal life:
Why was I so uncertain about the future? What was holding me back from having an exciting vision about life, the future, or a family?
Part of it was uncertainty about the present. I was perpetually chasing quotas and stability—a mirage I chased incessantly, leaving me feeling inadequate and overwhelmed. Impatience to get to a financially secure, safe place actually led me to feel more scarcity.
I was mentally poor and time-poor. My attention would get stretched thin in a hundred directions. It was overcooked and shredded like pulled pork, not enough to devote to other things in life.
Simply put, I didn’t have my shit together. A picture-perfect swan desperately paddling under the surface.
So I decided to shelve the path to partnership. I called four different partners individually to let them know that I had accepted an offer elsewhere.
One partner said, “I really wanted you to be my partner.” That stung. It was hard to deliver the news (four times), but they were supportive and kind about my decision. And there was a track record of people returning to become partner. I’d always be welcome back.
Closing the door on partnership seemed like a big sacrifice at first, but it turns out the new opportunity came with many perks I’d forgotten existed:
- PTO, holidays, shutdowns, RSUs, paternity leave, tech reimbursements, emphasis on fun, and even a 401(k) match!
- I’d also be welcome to realize the entire spectrum of my skill set. The hiring attorney suggested that half of my role would be to explore areas other than patent prosecution to support the company’s mission, possibly in educating scientists and marketing (my side business has been the only outlet for that). Truly the peak of Maslow’s hierarchy.
- The hiring attorney also helped me push for a higher TC to satisfy my expectations. In fact, even though I expected a pay cut, my estimated TC was going to be higher than any of my previous salaries. Sure, the stock’s going to fluctuate, but I’d need to maintain the cycle of stress and bullshit to keep my firm salary.
- The most liberating aspect might be a real 9-5 schedule that promises much less pressure to overwork. Wow! I’d become attached to the long hours and overtime, so my worry now is whether I’m going to feel restless after shutting the laptop “early” at 5.
You really never know what will sprout if you plant seeds by putting yourself out there.
Perhaps now I could turn the dial on my business, projects I’d put off, fitness, hobbies, or relationships. Or I could simply learn how to linger in the present. The web of future possibilities has branched out.
I wasn’t giving up on my aspirations. I was chartering a different course that had calmer and clearer waters.
A new chapter is starting
One where I’ll have the time, energy, and attention to nurture myself and unlearn mental blocks that no longer serve me.
One where my fallback scenario would be the pinnacle of aspiring lawyers.
One where I can remember to breathe.
One where my mental and emotional availability can blossom.
One where I won’t feel strained by the idea of being present in the moment.
One where I can finally see a vision of taking my hypothetical children to the park on a slow weekend and lifting them into the air.
One where I refuse to be a burned-out lawyer.
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