Thinking about these things today, I could not say precisely when I first began to check out from my work. However, I still vividly remember warming to the notion of retired life with Lee, who had bailed from her own work as soon as practicable.
When she retired, Lee was not counting on falling deathly ill, then dying. I think life cheated Lee. It still feels unfair. I feel sad even to write these words.
Now, I am certain there are folks who hunker down in their work as a buffer against grief. Yet, the truth is that, when Lee died, work lost its luster for me. And this admission from one who has loved practicing law for almost fifty years. I am proud to say that I worked hard to build a successful law practice.
Lee’s death was not the sole reason for my attitude change, a part of it is age-related, too. Yet, Lee’s death shocked my system. The shock forced me into prompt action concerning the same set of career choices I previously had been weighing. The shock illuminated like a sudden bolt of lightning, revealing in sharp relief a future for me that did not include a full-time profession. I announced to my colleagues that I intended to take a step back long before I fulfilled my last major commitment as lead trial counsel. And, when that trial concluded, I did step back from work.
Of course, I am not officially gone. I not only retain my law license, but the concomitant responsibility to continue my legal education. I maintain my professional memberships and most affiliations. However, whenever anyone asks what I am doing these days, I unhesitatingly reply that I am “semi-retired.”
Despite this self-imposed job status, my firm retains a healthy inventory of significant cases that Eric and I brought with us to the venture. The cases are likely to proliferate so long as there are eager opposing lawyers able to follow a well-trod path to the courthouse. At the same time, based on my recent meagre billings, it is difficult for me to imagine another semi-retired lawyer who has performed less gainful work than I have performed during the past months.
Keep in mind, I feel not the slightest qualm, nor least twinge of guilt, about taking this significant step off my chosen career path. I feel fortunate that I have Robyn, family members, long-term friends, even newer friends, who keep me feeling energized and positive as I go about living. And, of course, there is my close companion and occasional sounding board, the indefatigable Lola the pup, who makes me smile.
I continue to play and study music, as I have done for years. I write more since semi-retiring from work. I exercise regularly, however, unless it involves a game of some kind, exercise feels like a chore that is sheer drudgery. Also, I volunteer.
In the past I have written here about these things, but even this abbreviated list underscores that semi-retirement is not the least bit boring. To the contrary, time flies!
***
Recently, Eric unexpectedly recruited me to help on projects that have been stacking up over the summer. I agreed.
One project will require me to work downtown two or three days per week over the next weeks, reviewing government tape recordings for potential evidence.
From past experiences, Eric and I feel sure this endeavor will turn out to be a colossal waste of time. Nonetheless, due diligence demands that we listen to 185 CDs, lest we overlook a golden needle that might be hiding in this legal haystack.
The night before venturing downtown for the first time in months, I feel as anxious as a kid anticipating his first day of school. I picture myself bidding a farewell to Lola before stepping outside into the warming morning air. I lock the front gate, then the familiar, brisk walk to the train station. Down the stairs and into the tunnel, I know that I am going to have to scramble for a seat on a noisy, rush hour subway facing off against younger, more nimble competition. I know no one on my crowded train will pay the slightest attention to the prominent posted signs that state “Priority Seating,” reserved for senior citizens like me. If I were to display the temerity to demand one of these precious seats, in the end I would expect my fellow passengers to respond with scowls, quizzical looks, even perhaps a few choice, 4-letter words, leaving me standing in the aisle, hanging on and struggling to maintain my balance while the train lurches into downtown.
Before I turn off the lights and close my eyes to sleep, I remind myself to pack a small bag lunch in the morning if I want to avoid multiple passes through Homeland Security checkpoints. What a world!
***
The next morning, as I emerge from the subway into bright sunlight, the wide downtown sidewalks are less crowded than I had expected. Likewise, the street traffic is less chaotic than I was used to when I was working full time. More artifacts of the pandemic, I suppose.
I walk to a building that is part of the federal government complex. I make it through security, but not before a Barney Fife wanabee, hands on hips, an enormous, dark gun protruding from his holster, flexes his security muscles by demanding that I show him my lunch.
Once upstairs, I locate the tiny room containing four uncomfortable, government-issue plastic chairs, two computers, each with two small speakers, that the government has designated for our review. Although it is nice to see colleagues whom I have not seen in months, the room feels crowded. I keep my mask on my face most of the time.
We dig into two tall stacks of disks. The review of the recordings is as tedious and unproductive as we anticipated. After six hours, I depart. We have unearthed a couple nuggets of potential evidence but did not get much bang for our buck.
This first day back on the job is sufficient to remind me that being a trial lawyer was not always glamorous. It takes hard work and effort to make things appear easy in a courtroom.
Despite clearly facing the prospect that my future income is about to be drastically reduced, I depart downtown today convinced that I made the right decision to step away from my formerly hectic professional life. My crowded train chugs along slowly, and I can hardly wait to get home and resume writing this week’s blog.