I'm on the tail end of my third year in law school. It's funny, when I first started, I often pictured my future self at this point, predicting that I would think, "Wow! Only one year left! How time flies!" Now that the future has indeed become the present, what I actually find myself thinking is "Wow! I can't believe I have to do another whole year of this. Will I ever be done?" The notion that fantasy is often a thousand times better than reality often proves true. Another unexpected phenomenon has been the difference in my past and present self. I'm not the same person I was three years ago. Obviously, I now know a lot more about the law than I did when I started, but that is not what I refer to in this article. Law school has changed me in many ways having little to do with the law. Nevertheless, I would argue that these lessons I refer to are equally as important in molding decent attorneys as knowing the law. I would even venture further to say that these lessons mold decent people in general.
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1. I learned how to lose. Since law school is challenging, it often attracts applicants who have historically been over-achievers. Growing up, their parents might have told them daily how "gifted" and "special" they were. Their teachers might have reinforced this parental adoration with daily praise and exemplary grades. In fact, a lot of them probably continued to enjoy this treatment throughout undergraduate school. However, law school is a whole different ball game. Here, you are not special, you are not gifted, and you are not always right. In fact, you're probably hardly ever right. You are subjected to humiliation on a daily basis. Your grades become wildly unpredictable. I've walked out of a final exam thinking I aced it, only to find out later that I got a 57. On the other hand, I've also been convinced I was going to fail something else, only to later find out that I got a B+. If anything, law school has taught me how to cope with failure. I've learned that I can and will often fail. But I've also learned how to continue on in failure's wake. In fact, I have even come to believe that failure is a better teacher than success. Unlike success, failure forces you to reflect more deeply on your actions, and with deeper reflection comes a more complete understanding. As an attorney, I know that I will likely lose more than I will win. Obviously, I want to win as many cases as I can. However, on the occasions that I don't win, instead of feeling defeated, I will embrace the losses, because I now know that the professional growth I gain by losing will vastly outweigh that which my opponent achieves by winning.
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2. I learned to "woman up." In addition to learning to embrace failure, I have developed a much thicker skin since starting law school. Based on my outward demeanor, people tend to think that I'm cold-hearted and unemotional. In reality, I am a highly sensitive soul. For example, unlike most of the bloodthirsty general populace, I can't stand to see people physically fight. Literally, it makes my heart race and my stomach sick. I'm also extremely sensitive to rejection. I take most things way too personally. I often think everything bad that happens is my fault. I over-analyze other people's behavior to the extent that I sometimes convince myself that everyone hates me. Obviously, this level of sensitivity does not combine well with the practice of law, which is adversarial by nature. The first time I got blasted in front of everyone by a professor, I cried in the car on the way home from school. The second time, my eyes watered up a little, but instead of crying, I called a colleague on the way home to complain about how mean professor X was. The third time, I felt briefly embarrassed, but had forgotten it by the time I left school, and the fourth time, I just gave professor X the "Stone" stare and shrugged my shoulders. Do I harbor ill will towards any of these professors? Of course not. I am forever thankful for their conditioning. In the future, when I get blasted by a judge in open court, (and trust me, it WILL happen) I'll be ready to handle it. That, my friends, is something you cannot learn from a textbook.
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3. I learned that competitiveness has a time and a place. Many lawyers are familiar with the commentary made to CNN last year by Yvette Hoorigan, head of the Kentucky Lawyer Assistance Program, where she addressed the stress of the legal profession: "Being a physician has stress. However, when the surgeon goes into the surgical suite to perform his surgery, they don't send another physician in to try and kill the patient." In my opinion, Hoorigan hits the nail on the head with this chilling truth about being a lawyer. It's incredibly stressful, incredibly adversarial, and incredibly competitive. And it starts in law school. From day one, the grading system pits you against your classmates. The most important thing isn't your actual numerical grade, but rather your grade when compared to everyone else's. Grades can determine who gets the best academic opportunities, the best internships, and ultimately the highest paying jobs. Being ultra-competitive in law school can translate to success in these areas. Unfortunately, it also can turn you into a real asshole. Why does that matter, you ask? It matters because regardless of how well you do in law school, when you start practicing you will have no idea what you're doing, and you will need to ask for help. Since I've been working as a certified intern, many assistant district attorneys and law enforcement officers (who are technically my adversaries since I work in criminal defense) have extended professional courtesies to me (thereby saving my ass) because I am nice to them up front and I admit that I don't have a clue what I'm doing. You catch more flies with honey than vinegar. Sometimes submission is the best form of advocacy. Save the ruthlessness for trial, where it belongs.
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