When I logged into Facebook this past weekend, I saw the following post in my “On This Day” reminder from 2010. This one felt particularly poignant. It read:
Dear Opposing Counsel,
Sending me idiotic emails like this is not going to get me to settle.
::snip:: “I also note that you graduated law school in 04 but only recently passed the bar. I can only assume you have failed the bar numerous times… I hope that in light of these factors, you will reconsider our offer.”
That snippet was part of a very long email (the kind that makes you want to poke your own eyeballs out) going on and on about essentially how stupid my complaint was and how dare I bring the lawsuit. The irony was that I failed the New York bar in 2003, but passed the Florida Bar and practiced there from 2004 – 2009, and then was admitted to the California Bar in May 2009. I’ve been very open about failing the New York Bar on my first try, but considering the low passage rates in NY, FL, and CA, it’s quite childish to rub someone’s face in it. Especially, when it’s your opposing counsel.
Needless to say, we didn’t have a very good start to our working relationship and I looked for every opportunity to kick his a** up and down in bankruptcy court. It was especially delightful when I looked him up on PACER and saw he had ZERO cases under his belt. I won’t go through all the details of the case because, frankly, it’s boring, but when I re-read my Facebook post, I was flooded with all the memories of how angry I was and the amount of mental energy I expended on looking for 1,001 ways I could make sure he looked like a fool in court.
When he threatened to file a motion to dismiss for improper service (because I served his client via First-Class mail), I was delighted with joy at the idea of filing my response, which in short was RTFM (i.e., “Read The F***ing Manual”). (Pro Tip: FRBP Rule 7004 says you can serve the complaint by sticking a $0.49 stamp on it and dropping it in the mailbox.)
As I retrace my steps, I feel mostly embarrassed by my behavior. The case turned into a GIANT mudslinging fight. I was determined to prove how stupid he was and he was apparently determined to do the same. Except, in this instance, I had a rare case where I had both the law and the facts on my side.
I re-shared the post from 2010 and it sparked a lively discussion. There was a lot of, “OH MY GOD, I can’t believe he said that!” and I tend to agree. But I couldn’t help but think I didn’t handle the situation well — at all. You see, I felt perfectly justified in my anger and scorn but I don’t think my reaction (A) served my client, (B) was consistent with who I wanted to be as an attorney, or (C) was consistent with who I wanted to be as a person.
After many months of motion practice, the plaintiff finally hired new counsel. The new attorney called and said, “Look, I think you may have gotten off on the wrong foot with the previous counsel but my client wants to settle.” We settled two days later.
Last week, I received an email from a 2L who said, “One of the things I get stressed about the most is not being really sure of what I want to do with my life as a lawyer.” As I reflect on this inquiry, what I know is this: there is no way to know what type of law you’ll practice in your 30’s, 40’s, 50’s, etc., or where you’ll be working (or if you’ll even want to practice law for that long!). But what you can know is what kind of lawyer and human being you want to be.
Look, the practice of law can be like entering war or like a knife fight. It’s intimate, it can be violent, and really messy. Yet, the only thing you have control over is your response.
“I learned long ago, never to wrestle with a pig. You get dirty, and besides, the pig likes it.”
~George Bernard Shaw
I’ve seen some despicable behaviors in my 12 years of practice — including being asked to fetch coffee, being mistaken as the secretary, being called “sweetheart,” and the partner at the firm suggesting I always wear FMPs. Yet, these are the precise moments where I have a choice. I can choose to enter into the mud pit and wrestle with the pig or I can take a deep breath, collect myself, and find clarity. This ability to find clarity, especially when I start fantasizing about 101 ways I can harm the opposing side is precisely where I can practice aligning my actions to my highest intentions. That includes showing up as my authentic self: with compassion, kindness, love, nurturance, creativity, and femininity. And doing so on behalf of my client’s best interests.
So, I want to pose these question, my dear readers: what are your highest intentions? What type of lawyer do you want to be? What are the challenges of following your intentions? Drop me an email and let me know either on Twitter @jeena_cho or via email at [email protected].
This article previously appeared on Above the Law.