Brian Cuban's Blog, page 5

How Reading Helps Me Stay On The Beam

Fiction and non-fiction reading, as well as audiobooks, are an essential part of my mental health maintenance program. Like many lawyers, much of my reading focused on academic works within my profession. Educational and vital but not exactly mind-expanding outside of that world.

There was a time when I was into some fiction. I read John Grisham’s early works and was a big fan of Michael Crichton. Somewhere along the line, I stopped. The paradox is that my mental health struggles played a role in that. Why would I pick up a book when I can’t get out of bed? Why would I pick up a book to read through tears when I have no idea why I am crying? Why would I pick up a book when I don’t think I will be around in a year? The sum total of the common depressive thought:” What’s the point”’

When I began my recovery, writing played more of a role then reading. I blogged my anger, pain, and trauma. It helped, and that’s for another column. I, however, still had no interest in reading until I decided to write my fiction two years ago. Because I had written two non-fiction books, I was arrogant in my approach. It’s easy! Anyone can do it. I was so wrong and gave up because, like walking into a courtroom to try a case for the first time, I realized I was not yet borne, when it came to writing fiction.

Several people recommended that I read “About Writing” by Stephen King. In that book, he stressed that it is challenging to learn the art of fiction without reading it.

I began to read and listen to audiobooks nonstop, and not just Grisham type stuff. I read contemporary, classic, romantic, thriller, comedic. I listened, will I jogged. I listened while I drove. I read while I lounged with my cat sleeping on my stomach.

There was no mental health epiphany but a gradual comfort with reading and enjoying fiction for the sake of itself.

Reading temporary takes me out of my world of intermittent worries, obligations, and stress. It allows me to be present in a new uninterrupted reality for a set time every day. I connect and empathize with characters and stories. I have even found myself crying for a character or feeling good when he or she beats the odds. I self-reflect on my own issues when I encounter a character that reminds me of me. Even in the context of a fictional world, characters I identify with allow me to feel part of something more significant at times when I may be questioning my purpose, which is not uncommon as we grow older. This, of course, pulls me back into my world but often with a comforting feeling that many of the things I feel are a universal experience. I don’t feel as isolated.

That is not to say that books should be looked at as an evidence-based treatment modality to pull out of a depression. If I couldn’t get out of bed, I could not be expected to open a book. What I can say is that reading is helpful as a means of diversifying my thought processes rather than fixating on something that can trigger me into a depressive episode.

Think about how reading outside of your comfort zone and professional life may be able to benefit you. Pick up a book. Pick up a Kindle. Give on a listen — just one book. My passion for recovery started one day at a time. My love for books began one book at a time.

By the way, as I write this, I am reading “The Border” by Don Winslow.

A Letter To My Siblings

When we were kids, our dad said to us often in one form or another to always stay in touch. He said that no matter where our journeys took us, we should pick up the phone to check on each other. We should let each other know we are there for them. We should be sure we each know that we will love and support the other.  His views in this regard were no accident.

Dad was the middle of three boys and while no sibling relationship is free of conflict, I think he really got this gift and made sure he handed it down to us. The greatest gift there is. It cannot be bought or artificially created.

Decades later, over a thousand miles from the house we fought it, played Nerf football in, wrestled in and damaged in ways only three large boys can, the gift continues. It is no accident that we all live basically walking distance from each other and until dad passed, he was within that grid. When you think about it, for over thirty years, that has been the case more or less.

We are truly privileged to have that gift. I know many siblings who don’t speak to their brother or sister. I know those who have no relationships with one parent or both. People live difficult lives and I don’t judge any path; I am just happy that ours has been one of love and support. It is a privilege not all enjoy.

A story I have never related to either of you(believe it or not)  is about one of the first speaking presentations I gave. I thought I had bombed. I saw glassy eyes and drool.  I returned home, depressed and wondered if public speaking was for me. I could not connect. I told the story about that gift, no one seemed to care.

I opened my twitter. There was a tweet to me from a young girl. It read:

“You don’t know me, but my dad was at your talk today. We are having dinner together for the first time in a year. Thank you”

 A person had accepted the gift that I try to pass on with every talk.

Of course, it has gone well beyond that. I would be dead if you both had not come into my house that summer day in July 2005. I had a weapon on my nightstand. The drugs were everywhere. I felt like I was doing everyone a favor by ending my life. I was an embarrassment. I would erase the blotch on the Cuban name. I would end my pain.  That gift again.  You wouldn’t let that happen. I am here. I am loved.

I remember telling dad for the first time about my struggle after I looked into the abyss again Easter weekend 2007. His response was that I should move in with him and he would help me get through it. The love. The gift.

I watch how you treat your children and I have no doubt you are living the words of our father. Living the love and the gift.

Thank you both for that love and support without which, I would not be able to pass on what our dad gave us. I would not be able to do a little bit in part of the world to change the world with acts of kindness, also known as Tikkun Olam.

I love you both with all my heart.  I know dad’s words are always alive in us.  His bill to us was in part to pay that gift forward,  It has been paid and will continue to be.

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Embracing The Cusp Of Senior Sober

In less than a year, I turn sixty-years old. Not quite senior, but certainly approaching the cusp. I have reflected on words my father spoke often to my brothers and me growing up in Pittsburgh.

“Today is the youngest you will ever be, live like it.”

This was a mindset that escaped me when I began recovery at forty-six years old. I sat in the 12-step room and listened to men and women who had twenty and thirty years sober. They had begun their recovery years and decades before me.  It honestly depressed me. I wasn’t sure if I even had that many years in front of me with all the damage I had done to my body. It caused intense depression and loneliness.

I lamented the loss of a way of life and uncertainty about a projected future free of the bonds of booze and blow. I was terrified of looking at myself in the mirror, stripped naked, having to love the person I saw without an expensive but ill-fitting suit of cocaine and booze.

Beginning recovery at any age is difficult.  It often involves some sort of loss. Loss of family. The loss of self-respect and the breaking down of self to ground zero before the slow re-build begins. Sometimes the loss of freedom. When it happens at a later stage in life, there is a lot more room to engage in looking back at all that destruction. I certainly did that quite a bit in those early days of recovery.  I obsessed over the years I had “wasted,” convinced that I might as well have lit a match to them. I felt the shame, regret, and contemplation of the uncertainty and fear of “middle age sober.’

Starting out, it ripped me apart that I had two successful brothers who I compared myself against and never came out feeling good about it. I engaged in the most self-destructive kind of reflection on the past. I call it “revisionist recovery.” Going over every moment in my past and wondering how things would be different if I had only not taken that drink or done that snort. Would I have been a better law student? A better husband. A better brother. A better son. A better lawyer.

I eventually realized that this was not going to help my recovery because it boiled my life down to moments in time rather than viewing it as a fluid chain of events that make me the person I am today. Do I have regrets? Sure. I will always regret the collateral damage, but that is what making living amends and doing my best to change the world with acts of kindness is all about for me. I can’t change the past, but I can control how I respond to it and do my best to stay in the present, trying to do the next right thing every day.

I had the epiphany that, for my recovery to truly move forward, I could no longer obsess about “wasted years.” How things could have been different or what I could have done in my life if I had gotten sober earlier. I embrace who I am today. Today is the youngest I will ever be, and I will live like it one day at a time in my recovery. That’s what I hope. Next year I will turn sixty. When the time comes, I will embrace the cusp of senior sober, hopefully looking forward with verve and purpose. Senior sober will be a wonderful place to be.

 

Brian Cuban   (@bcuban)  is  The Addicted Lawyer . Brian is the author of the Amazon best-selling book, The Addicted Lawyer: Tales Of The Bar, Booze, Blow & Redemption (affiliate link). A graduate of the University of Pittsburgh School of Law, he somehow made it through as an alcoholic then added cocaine to his résumé as a practicing attorney. He went into recovery on April 8, 2007. He left the practice of law and now writes and speaks on recovery topics, not only for the legal profession but on recovery in general.

Want Brian To speak at your law firm, bar association or general recovery event? He can be reached at brian@addictedlawyer.com .

 

 

Give Dry January A Try!

Disclaimer: For someone who has a severe drinking problem, the sudden stoppage of alcohol intake can cause serious health issues. Please consult a qualified addiction physician before doing so.

 

What do you feel like the morning after a couple of drinks the night before? Have you ever considered trying a month without booze as a social experiment and note the changes, if any? This is the perfect month to do it.  It is “Dry January”

Embibers across the country are checking out what it feels like to abstain from drinking alcohol for thirty days.  While it’s always a good idea to evaluate alcohol intake and how it impacts your life, you can be part of an ever-growing, sober curious movement, if just for a few weeks.

We are already well into the month but there is still time to give Dry January a try. Thirty days sound daunting?  Try for two weeks.

It’s not about being an “alcoholic.” It’s not about addiction — it is about merely evaluating lifestyle.  We need to move away from associating abstinence from alcohol as something that means problem drinking.

For me, it’s admittedly a dry lifetime by choice. It started as my awareness of a severe drinking problem. Today, however, it’s a lifestyle.  I do not consider myself an “alcoholic’. The term, while important as a tool of self-awareness starting out, no longer has meaning to me as a self-label. As a lifestyle choice, here are the benefits, I have found:

 

I enjoy a higher quality level of sleep. Even when I was not getting hammered, a couple of drinks became a sleep aid, and it was never a deep sleep. I woke up with that pressure in the head that comes with a lack of real rest.

 

The mornings are lovely without the distraction of even a minor hangover or just the “blechs” that a couple of glasses of wine can bring. I am more alert mentally acute. This allows me to get right into the day rather than “ease” into it.

 

My eating habits are more balanced. Even a few drinks would invariably lead to choices more towards more “impulsive munchie” food choices. Don’t get me wrong, I am a big believer in “eat to live” not living to eat, but I also believe in balanced options and alcohol skewed that for me.

 

My morning energy level is much better and overall more balanced throughout the day. That does not mean I don’t get the “sleepies’ like everyone else but without the low level, alcohol disruption, I can get my workout in more consistently. I am more focused on the work I do.

 

Without question, my personal relationships have improved. Even a low-level hangover can make a person irritable, causing conflict that would not otherwise be there.

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This month or any month, consider a timed reset on your relationship with alcohol.  No judgment. No stigma.  If you decide it’s not for you, have a drink for me.

Brian Cuban   (@bcuban)  is  The Addicted Lawyer . Brian is the author of the Amazon best-selling book, The Addicted Lawyer: Tales Of The Bar, Booze, Blow & Redemption (affiliate link). A graduate of the University of Pittsburgh School of Law, he somehow made it through as an alcoholic then added cocaine to his résumé as a practicing attorney. He went into recovery on April 8, 2007. He left the practice of law and now writes and speaks on recovery topics, not only for the legal profession but on recovery in general. He can be reached at brian@addictedlawyer.com .

Have You Had A Good Cry Lately?

I am the “crier” in the family. I wear it all on my sleeve. I shed tears at movie trailers. A few notes of music can turn me into a blubbering mess.  Anything that takes me back to a specific memory of growing up with my brothers or a moment with my late father, is a sure thing to open the spigot. A mental video of walking my late beagle, Peanut. A dead animal in the road.

It is who I am. It is who I have always been.  More recently, bi-weekly trips to my father’s gravesite have turned into “cry-therapy” for me. At first, it was loss and the grief missing him. That, of course, is still present, but, is now, more than that.  It is quiet. It is secluded. It is a safe place to reach down deep into my childhood and let that little boy cry.  I am not talking about little whimpers.  I unleash gut-wrenching howls of the past that could wake the dead. It is therapeutic for me.  Crying is a form of self-care for me.  Studies tell us that it can be a good thing as a mood enhancer.

For a therapist viewpoint, I reached out to Maeve O’Neill, MEd, LCDC, LPC-S, CHC, CDWF/CDTLF. She says:

‘As a therapist, we learn to hold space and sit with people deep in emotion and often that includes crying tears of joy or sadness.  I remember early in my career, I would fight back tears of my own as I sat with people crying, thinking I needed to be stronger and not emotional for them.  After 30 years of working with people in need, I have come to believe that crying tears is a therapeutic process in itself.  Allowing others and ourselves to let the tears flow rather than holding them back is much more helpful.  There is therapeutic value in crying. 

The value lies in the fact that crying is a release of emotions that our body is best to process rather than hold inside.  I discovered this true value when I started meditating on a regular basis and often times found myself tearful and crying while meditating.  I didn’t at first understand why I would cry during mediation but when I shared it with others, I found they also experienced the same things.  When we slow down enough in heart and minds the tears flow freely as our brains process all the emotions we have felt or even more likely repressed.

The act of crying is a natural response to our body feeling some emotions.  It is our cultural response that shuts down tears by telling children not to cry or to quickly giving someone a tissue to stop their tears the second they start.  But the physical and mental benefits of crying have been documented by research to include its soothing effects, it lets others know we need support, releases tensions and can improve our moods. 

In my years of clinical practice, I was able to see these benefits in patients at all levels of care.  Often, we would see the person breaking down into tears as the point they opened up to the therapeutic process. I have a clear memory of a young person in treatment for addiction who started crying in a group and the counselors saying “welcome to treatment” as it was an indicator that the person was now engaged, less resistant and more open to all the good stuff to come.

As people not in treatment and as professionals, we are often not as open to letting the tears flow but perhaps, we could also benefit, and it would open the door to our own therapeutic benefit of more joyful lives!

When was the last time you had a good cry? Do you feel better afterward? I’m off to a safe space to shed some tears.  I know I will.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

‘Legally Mocktail’ Your Holiday Event

It’s that time of the year again. Holiday Parties. Spiked eggnog and lampshades against the backdrop of a legal profession replete with problem drinkers. Along with that, the increased holiday risk of impaired driving, sexual misconduct, and the general, alcohol-fueled stupidity that escalates each holiday season.

It makes sense now, more than ever, to re-evaluate how holiday parties are implemented from Biglaw to small law.  Balance is crucial. The good news is that equilibrium can be established in a way that adds to the festivity, rather than “grinching it” with a limited alternative selection of few liters of soft drinks and bottled water.  Think hard about ‘Mocktailing’  your upcoming event. To provide a “blueprint” for your new, incredible, mocktail bar, I reached out to  Tanya Pitch, a long-time Dallas, event bartender Here is her take with recipes!

“Mocktails, or zero-proof cocktails, are gaining quite the following these days. Many restaurants are finding that their patrons prefer more options than just mundane sodas, juices, and water. Mocktails also are making their way into the private party scene as well. There is a misconception that nondrinkers are such a minority group that it isn’t worth the effort/investment to create viable options for them.

Providing a mocktail bar at your next party is an opportunity to surprise and delight your audience while making you the BEST host this holiday season. The easiest way to build your holiday party bar is to create a cocktail menu with the catering company you’ve hired.

Don’t assume that guests who want a non-alcoholic beverage, have unsophisticated palates. Ask the catering company you hired to help you get creative when it comes to both drink menus. It’s usually best to build the cocktail and mocktail menus off of one another. This will cut down on costs because the ingredients can be used in both the non-alcoholic and alcoholic drink recipes.

If you stock your bar properly, the experienced bartenders will be able to make some unique off-menu drinks as well.

Also, please don’t skimp on glassware. Oftentimes, non-alcoholic drinks are served in flimsy plastic cups, while other guests enjoying their martinis sip out of polished glassware. Without even trying, your holiday party could make the non-drinkers feel like outliers of the crowd. But if you create a full bar just for them, that includes nice glassware, the feeling of inclusion will abound. Holding a drink in a plastic cup may make one feel like a kid at an adult party. But holding a drink in nice stemware that looks different than everyone else’s can give your guests an automatic conversation starter that could help their networking game, as well as lead to interesting discussions about alcohol in general.

A few other additional costs you may possibly incur while providing a separate mocktail bar, besides glassware, are: additional bar staff, extra ice, additional table/bar rentals and, extra linens. The zero-proof/mocktail bar is a great tool to encourage responsible drinking while still participating in the cocktail culture. After all, why should alcohol have all of the fun?  Here are a few potential legal themed, recipe, options for your upcoming holiday bash. They are yours to use. Feel free to create your own fun drink names!

Mocktail zero proof cocktails (and of these can have alcohol added to them for those who wish to have an alcoholic version.

 

Objection Over-Yuled!

20 fresh mint leaves. 3 tablespoons lime juice.  4 ounces cranberry simple syrup.  Ice cubes.  4-ounces soda water.  Garnish (optional): fresh mint leaves, fresh cranberries, lime slices. For the cranberry simple syrup:  8 ounces fresh cranberries. 1 cup of water. 1 cup granulated sugar

 

Subordinate Santa

2 oz. cranberry simple syrup 2 oz. vodka 1/4 c. lime juice, plus extra for garnish 3 oz. ginger beer 1 Handful fresh or frozen cranberries for the cranberry simple syrup:  8 ounces fresh cranberries .1 cup water.  1 cup granulated sugar

 

Fa Law Law Law Law

1.5 oz. Black Tea .75 oz. Fresh Lemon Juice .5 oz. Simple Syrup .25 oz. Grenadine .25 oz. Raspberry Vinegar Shake ingredients together and then pour into a rocks glass over ice. Garnish with a lemon wheel.

 

Vested Remaindeer

Middle thumb-sized nub of turmeric 1 oz lime juice 1 oz Agave Syrup Shake and strain into a high ball glass. Top with soda water and a lime garnish

 

Elf Defense

2 ounces blackberry and raspberry puree 2 ounces cinnamon simple syrup 1/4-ounce fresh lemon juice 4 ounces Ale-8-One or Ginger Beer Orange peel garnish Combine all ingredients in a shaker and pour over ice into a highball glass. Garnish with fresh orange peel.

 

Litigation Libation

4 ounces orange juice ½ ounce heavy cream ½ ounce honey syrup (1-part honey, 1-part water, mixed well) 3 dashes vanilla extract 3 squirts salt tincture 3 drops orange flower water 6 drops pistachio extract

Combine all drink ingredients in a small cocktail shaker. Fill with crushed ice, then shake for 3 seconds. Pour into a large Collins glass. Top with crushed ice. Garnish with an orange peel rosette and sprinkles of powdered sugar and ground cinnamon.

 

 

 

 

 

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Wait Until You Get My Bill

We allowed our father to pass with as much dignity as is possible under the relentless assault of advancing dementia. There was no debate over whether to stop the clock and restore what was possible. He would be allowed to complete his journey on his terms.  We had no choice but to come to grips with the nature of death and dementia. The vibrant, charismatic, funny dad in words and actions would not return.

That is not to say there were no debates over ongoing palliative care. I remember being selfish and demanding over medication that could prolong alertness. That was not about comfort and quality of life. It was about me. There was an uptick, but it did not last long. It was as the doctors and the hospice care team told us it would be, a gradual roller-coaster downward. A series of plateaus and declines until there was only deterioration.

I, however, became obsessed with each stage of the process. I googled mottling of the skin and learned that it is generally a sign of impending death. I asked about it each time I visited. I wanted to see the mottling. I wanted to know at what point swallowing became impossible. There would no longer be food. No intravenous feeding. Only morphine. The caregivers assured me that the body also compensates. It produces its own form of opiates. There is no pain.

I sat and watch the morphine drip as the wasting process continued with the lack of food. The dad of my past now relegated to memory. The man I loved in the bed, features unrecognizable. I researched and researched as if that somehow, would give me the ability to turn back the clock. I would be the expert, not the doctors and nurses. The Dunning-Kruger Effect borne of not wanting to let go.

If successful in my search, he would once again be sitting with us at dinner. Coaching me in little league and teaching me to drive in Schenley Park. There were so many times I wanted to scream to the nurses what I had learned an tell them what we should do differently to prolong his life. Life?

How should I define that? His chest moved up and down. His heart pumped blood. He sporadically blurted out names from the past. He spoke with his deceased brother and parents. He was alive as science defines it.

For the most part, it was tears and quiet. The smell of the various liquids and lotions used to ease the transition. Kisses on the forehead. Whispering in his ear. Letting him know that his greatest fear in death would not be true in life. His sons would continue to love and take care of each other. We would also take care of the people he loved.

In the end, that was his concern. All he wanted was to know was that the people he loved would be ok without him. He did not want science to prolong the inevitable. We knew that. He did not have to tell us.

Each morning his vitals declined a bit. When I left for a July business trip, I knew that any day could be the last. I walked out of my door, crossed the street, over to his place. I again sat in the chair. I asked if this would be the day. The caregiver told me he was stable. My sister-in-law and her sister came by. I rested my head on his shoulder. I whispered that it was ok to let go. We would take care of each other. He had done a great job with his sons. I got up to leave, and to my surprise, he said,

“Where are you going, stay longer”.

I didn’t remember the last time he spoke that much to me. I said, “just stretching dad”. I sat back down and held his hand. I got up to leave again. He said, “I love you, Brian.” I can only speculate that he knew the end was imminent, mustering up every ounce of strength to vocalize his love. For me, those last words will always be the voice of the dad telling me to hold the steering wheel with both hands.

I went on my business trip. He hung on. The next Wednesday, early afternoon, I got the text from my brother. “It’s happening Brian, get over here”. I got dressed and ran faster than my artificial hip had ever permitted. I burst through the front door. He was gone. We hugged. We cried. I kissed him on the forehead one last time. I spoke in his ear one last time. It was not a pretty death. It was not a movie. It was brutal to watch and be a part of.  Our love of our father demanded that we do so. It was not about us.

This coming week, the entire extended family will get together for the first time since his passing for the “unveiling,” as is the Jewish tradition. We will not talk about the awfulness of dementia. We will talk about the laugh. The charisma. The driving lessons. We will recite my dad’s favorite saying when he picked up the check for every single meal or pushed casino chips over to me when I went bust at the blackjack table.

“Wait Until You Get My Bill”

Dementia is ugly. We dealt with it the best we could. We allowed our dad to live his final months on his terms. That is what he wanted. That was his bill to us. We paid it the only way we would, with love. Always love.

I love you, Dad.

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Lawyer Wellness: The Elephant In The Room

I recently got together for lunch with a long-time friend. He is a senior partner at a very respected, mid-size firm in Dallas-about sixty lawyers. In the course of catching up, we discussed my work/advocacy with regard to wellness in the legal profession.  I asked him if he or his firm had taken notice of the push for more awareness.  Here is what he had to say:

1.     He cares that his collogues and friends are doing well as individuals. If they are struggling with substance use or problem drinking issues, he hopes they would come to him.  He, however, does not care about lawyer wellness as a profession-wide initiative.

To the best of his knowledge, his firm as a whole, does not care. He is not aware of anyone at any level, ever broaching the topic.
He has had not heard of the ABA/Hazelden Betty Ford study on the subject.
He had no idea what the Texas Lawyers Assistance Program (TLAP) does.
He cares intensely about the following: a) His family b) Servicing firm clients 3) Maintaining his lifestyle
If a client project requires a ninety-hour week, so be it. This is the nature of the profession we chose.

As he ticked through his viewpoints, I could feel the tips of my fingers begin to tingle. The temperature at our tiny table, in a small, crowded restaurant, seemed to rise ten degrees. Sweat formed behind my ear lobes. I was angry.

I had no reason to be angry.  He was being honest. Did I expect him to lie about the realities of the profession beyond my bubble of confirmation bias? The echo chamber of fellow warriors of wellness?  He articulated the elephant in the room when we talk about such things. Other real-life priorities of diverse individuals. Mary Meditation, Millie Mindfulness, and Joe Yoga are great, but they don’t bill.

Whether this seems short-sited in the face of the mental-health crisis the study lays out, many don’t know or don’t care regardless. This seems to be especially the case outside of Biglaw.  Work, family and other priorities don’t leave much time for Mary, Millie, or Joe. Time is a prime asset that cannot be recovered. Within the billable and client-responsive realm of our profession, it must be rationed to maintain the prime directives of day to day life. For my friend, family, clients, and lifestyle. Mortgage, rent, car payments, massive school debt, a sliver of social life. All threatened by any hint of not being a team player.

It becomes more complicated when we drop below Biglaw. A lawyer may not have an EAP.  He/she/they/them may know about their lawyer’s assistance program but assume it’s only for “alcoholics and addicts”. I know many who don’t trust their LAP despite messaging that it is confidential.

The lawyer may not have health insurance or have such a high deductible that for anything major, they are defector uninsured. All of this can add up to the fear, insecurity and drive to put money in the bank that makes the high hour work-week an acceptable reality.  We get the resulting vacuum in which the practice of law is pretty much what it was ten years ago in terms of priorities and views on wellness. I asked my friend to expand on our irritating lunch discussion He graciously agreed.

When I first started practicing law in 1985, no lawyer I knew had a computer.  

I worked for a large downtown law firm, which had a Word Processing division — but secretaries were obligated to type any document shorter than eight pages long (which meant re-typing for any significant changes that could not be corrected with Whiteout).

Longer documents were put in your secretary’s outbox to be picked up by the intra-office mail person, who would take it to the Word Processing room.  A document that went in intraoffice mail at, say, 4:00 pm in the afternoon would be delivered back to your secretary’s inbox at around 10:00 am the next morning.  You would hand mark your changes — and then put it back in intraoffice mail.

As a result, trading documents with attorneys for the other side in litigation or a corporate transaction was slow, and delays were expected.  In other words, the turnaround cycle for legal work matched the rhythms of life, and you could leave the office for dinner and socialization at a decent hour.  A large corporate transaction might take five or six months.

Now, with ubiquitous computers and tablets, with editable Word documents that can quickly be duped and revised, cut and pasted by the attorneys themselves, documents have doubled and tripled in length, and the complexity has increased correspondingly.  With e-mail and texts, documents can be zipped around the world in different time zones with the click of a Send key, so the turnaround time for large corporate deals has shrunken to sometimes 60 days or fewer.

And now with ubiquitous WIFI and cellular hotspots, you can work anywhere, on a plane, in your car, on a dock by the bay — so clients, with compressed deal times, expect you to.  

Frequently, you’ll see a client’s name pop up on your office phone.  When you don’t answer, your cell phone will ring.  When you don’t answer that, they text you.  The expectation is that you’re always available.  If you’re on vacation, great — but that just means that they expect you to get the document out before your wife and kids get up for breakfast.  And if you’re not willing to be always accessible, you’ll lose the client to another lawyer who will.  We’re all in a race to the bottom to ruin our lives.

And by the way, partners expect associates to be always on, too, so if a client needs something at 10:00 pm on a Sunday night, the partner expects the associate to hop right on it.  We don’t care where the associate is.  We’re feeling heat from the client, so we need always-on responsiveness from the junior attorney.

So, we drink to calm down at the end of the day.  For some of us, every day.  For senior attorneys who are in the later stages of our careers and are making a bunch of money, we can look at our brokerage statements and gut it out for the five or six years to retirement — as we grind the junior attorneys who work for us.

For the junior attorneys who work for us, life is miserable — and they’re looking at a long career of misery in front of them, so I can understand why they are likely depressed or have substance abuse problems.

But we don’t give much thought to that (and, at mid-sized or smaller firms, are not trained to look out for or give any thought to it).  As noted above, clients are bombarding me with demands 24/7/365.  I need my associates to be responsive in the same timeframe.  If they are slow in responding or are slow in turning workaround, or turn in inadequate work, I don’t have time to counsel them.  I move on to another associate.  Too much emphasis on billing and collecting to add counseling services to the mix.  It’s very Darwinian.  

There you have it. It’s anecdotal, but don’t kid yourself. It’s not an outlier. Those who advocate are doing great in getting the message those in the rarified air of Biglaw. We have a lot of work to do below that, where the majority of the profession resides.

Xanax, Blow & A TRO

Last night is a blur. The bars, the booze, the blow. No memory of last-call or the journey home.

My fingers feel swollen and clunky as I try to open the cellophane bag on the nightstand, ultimately tearing it, sending Xanax bars flying across the bed. I scoop one off of the down comforter like a shovel before my beagle takes an interest. I spy a half-full glass of shitty “Brian Cuban” label red wine I had made at some place downtown. After an eight-ball of cocaine and the need for sleep, it’s not a matter of taste; it’s a matter of necessity. It washes down for dream time. The phone. Why oh why do I answer it.

Mr. Cuban? It’s is the court clerk of the **** District. ; we have a plaintiff down here on case nuber****.  A petition for a Temporary Restraining Order. He says he did not try to contact you first, so we want to make sure you are aware. Can you come down for a hearing? “

The words have the effect of stepping into a cold shower to sober up (as if that works). I am instantaneously more alert than ten seconds ago, even with the Xanax bar starting to work its magic.  My mind searches its fragmented hard drive for the case.

“Can you tell me who the plaintiff is?”   Shit, that guy, I mutter to myself as bytes of information coalesce.  ‘’What time do you need me there?”

“The judge would like to hear this at 10 am”

Two Hours.  My brain strains to its reduced limits. Need a good lie.   I wasn’t given notice. Just tell the truth. I can’t make it. Reschedule.

 “Yes, I will be there. 

My stomach churns with a mixture of panic and nausea. I stagger to the shower with a quick veer to the toilet. I drop to my knees and using the skills of a long time bulimic, wretch the remnants of stale wine and cold pizza.  I will never make it to the hearing. The only reasonable option to counteract the Xanax is more blow. The baggie with less than a gram sits on the marble bathroom counter amidst toothpaste stains and mold fragments.

Two lines and a shave instill confidence that I can bluff my way through the hearing with a pro-se plaintiff.  A pressed custom suit, shined, one thousand dollars shoes, and a gargle of Scope close out the routine of masks. Masks for the courtroom Masks for the clients. Masks for relationships.  Brian is no-where to be found. I can’t remember when I last saw him. Maybe it was years ago before the bullies beat me up and stripped me almost naked a mile from my house. What I see in the mirror is artificial, temporary, and necessary for the next few hours.  Except these hours need to be functional on a different level — a very different mask of the high functioning lawyer.  This morning I will settle for surviving.

The walk through the metal detector with cocaine is something I’ve done before.   The difference this morning is that I’m sweating like Niagara Falls.  Projection becomes a reality. They know. They can see it in my eyes. I’m done.  The walk of shame and career implosion, handcuffed, out the front door of the courthouse for the quick ride to the basement of the criminal courthouse. I’ve been there before.

“You forgot your belt sir”.  I made it.

It’s 9:30 — plenty of time for a bathroom stall stop.  I need to up my confidence and further offset the Xanax, which mercifully has not incapacitated me.  A high tolerance, maybe?

Check the nose and the grid for residue; head to the courtroom. I see my client and the plaintiff seated, chatting as if there is no animosity between them.   I am the last hearing before lunch. I didn’t check my fax for a copy of the pleading before I left. My client gives me his. I am naked before the bench.  The judicial gods take mercy once more.

Her honor scans the pleading and asks the plaintiff why he needs this type of relief. His answer is as incoherent as my drug-addled response would be.  I don’t have to say a word.

Motion denied.

My client shakes my hand for a job well done. The plaintiff is still arguing his case as I thank the judge and beeline out the double wooden doors, wondering when the last time these nights were actually fun. I can’t remember.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s Good To Get Help

I am honored to have participated in the making of this important video put out by the State Bar of Texas and The Texas Lawyers Assistance Program(TLAP). I have been on the TLAP committee for the last year. Regardless of what state you practice law in, the message is the same, and universal. It’s Good To Get Help!