Are You the Tom Brady of Lawyers?

If you’re a “small pond lawyer,” like me, you’re probably tired of the question, “when are you going to retire?” It’s a vicious rumor that I passed the Bar exam around the time ball point pens were invented. I used to think that my friends who put that question to me were concerned about my well-being. That was until I read Ann Patchett’s, These Precious Days. Her take on retired friends who pepper her with this question belies a gnawing sense of guilt, and they seek approval for their absence from the workforce. Depending on her response, Patchett suggests some people feel they are being judged. Usually, I’m asked, “are you still working?” Being the funny guy that I am, I say, “I’m going to work to make sure my pensioner friends get their social security checks.”  Most of the lawyers I’ve rubbed shoulders with say they don’t plan on going to court when they reach a certain age, but for many that day comes and goes. Why?  Because many of us are defined by our license to practice law. There is no line separating the lawyer winning the day and the lawyer coaching a girls soccer team. For many of us, our professional identity is tattooed on our forehead.  Frankly, many of us grew up in in anonymity, other than recognition in the local newspaper for the winning free throw at a high school basketball game or praise for a stirring performance of Anne in Anne of Green Gables in the senior class play, we were unknown outside a small circle of friends in high school and college. We worry about losing our professional identity and slipping back to anonymity—nobody special.  Self-esteem is not so easily discarded. True, there is a general distrust of lawyers that pervades the conscience of Americans until, of course, one is needed. Like it or not, we solve people’s problems, we clean up messes, and occasionally we can right a wrong. Is there anything that boosts the ego more than having a former client stand up at a social gathering and say, “here’s the lawyer that saved my life.”? Can you fault lawyers for refusing to voluntarily relinquish their identity and respect? Our legal skills give us strength, even when we’re the villain. Yes, you’ll miss the intellectual stimulation, but you’ll miss more the feeling of respect and power. It’s why we fear “flunking retirement.”

Probably the most dramatic example of flunking retirement is the NFL quarterback Tom Brady. Tom Brady owns a record seven Super Bowl rings, holds the record for career passing yardage, and is the first quarterback to throw 600 touchdown passes in the NFL.  Brady said he would play until his performance declined. He retired on February 1, 2022, at the age of 44. He unretired 40 days later. He returned to the game he loved, his wife said. She divorced him six months later and left with their children. He played another year, then retired again a few months ago. So, it wasn’t the money but the love of the game, or was it his burning desire to win, win, and win? Brady gave no excuses when he retired, “the time was right,” he said. Yet NFL analysts, ball players, and his father have shared a few facts and observations. He played well but he wasn’t going to the Super Bowl with the team he played with; after his divorce, his personal life became stressful; he lost 15 pounds during the football season; and according to his father, the physical punishment was taking a toll. As one former NFL player said on a morning talk show, “you know when you know.” Brady knew before his first retirement.  

Are you the Tom Brady of lawyers? Did you get the gift of historic longevity? Maybe, but letting your ego drive retirement decisions while ignoring your age-related limitations and burn out is a slippery slope.

How do lawyers know when it’s time to quit? I’m not talking about slowing down, unless you are a sole practitioner, part-time salary is difficult to configure in a law firm. For older lawyers burn out is a composite of aging, intellectual exhaustion, and physical fatigue. Going to work every day dotting I’s and crossing T’s after thirty years may become boring. Or possibly your compensation package is not worth the time and effort anymore. If you continue trudging to the office, don’t assume meeting the minimum responsibilities of your craft will go unnoticed. The business world has coined a new term for “actively disengaged employees”—quiet quitters. If you desperately need the money or health insurance, I understand.  

If you’re a “small pond lawyer,” like me, you’re probably tired of the question, “when are you going to retire?” It’s a vicious rumor that I passed the Bar exam around the time ball point pens were invented. I used to think that my friends who put that question to me were concerned about my well-being. That was until I read Ann Patchett’s, These Precious Days. Her take on retired friends who pepper her with this question belies a gnawing sense of guilt, and they seek approval for their absence from the workforce. Depending on her response, Patchett suggests some people feel they are being judged. Usually, I’m asked, “are you still working?” Being the funny guy that I am, I say, “I’m going to work to make sure my pensioner friends get their social security checks.”  Most of the lawyers I’ve rubbed shoulders with say they don’t plan on going to court when they reach a certain age, but for many that day comes and goes. Why?  Because many of us are defined by our license to practice law. There is no line separating the lawyer winning the day and the lawyer coaching a girls soccer team. For many of us, our professional identity is tattooed on our forehead.  Frankly, many of us grew up in in anonymity, other than recognition in the local newspaper for the winning free throw at a high school basketball game or praise for a stirring performance of Anne in Anne of Green Gables in the senior class play, we were unknown outside a small circle of friends in high school and college. We worry about losing our professional identity and slipping back to anonymity—nobody special.  Self-esteem is not so easily discarded. True, there is a general distrust of lawyers that pervades the conscience of Americans until, of course, one is needed. Like it or not, we solve people’s problems, we clean up messes, and occasionally we can right a wrong. Is there anything that boosts the ego more than having a former client stand up at a social gathering and say, “here’s the lawyer that saved my life.”? Can you fault lawyers for refusing to voluntarily relinquish their identity and respect? Our legal skills give us strength, even when we’re the villain. Yes, you’ll miss the intellectual stimulation, but you’ll miss more the feeling of respect and power. It’s why we fear “flunking retirement.”

Probably the most dramatic example of flunking retirement is the NFL quarterback Tom Brady. Tom Brady owns a record seven Super Bowl rings, holds the record for career passing yardage, and is the first quarterback to throw 600 touchdown passes in the NFL.  Brady said he would play until his performance declined. He retired on February 1, 2022, at the age of 44. He unretired 40 days later. He returned to the game he loved, his wife said. She divorced him six months later and left with their children. He played another year, then retired again a few months ago. So, it wasn’t the money but the love of the game, or was it his burning desire to win, win, and win? Brady gave no excuses when he retired, “the time was right,” he said. Yet NFL analysts, ball players, and his father have shared a few facts and observations. He played well but he wasn’t going to the Super Bowl with the team he played with; after his divorce, his personal life became stressful; he lost 15 pounds during the football season; and according to his father, the physical punishment was taking a toll. As one former NFL player said on a morning talk show, “you know when you know.” Brady knew before his first retirement.  

Are you the Tom Brady of lawyers? Did you get the gift of historic longevity? Maybe, but letting your ego drive retirement decisions while ignoring your age-related limitations and burn out is a slippery slope.

How do lawyers know when it’s time to quit? I’m not talking about slowing down, unless you are a sole practitioner, part-time salary is difficult to configure in a law firm. For older lawyers burn out is a composite of aging, intellectual exhaustion, and physical fatigue. Going to work every day dotting I’s and crossing T’s after thirty years may become boring. Or possibly your compensation package is not worth the time and effort anymore. If you continue trudging to the office, don’t assume meeting the minimum responsibilities of your craft will go unnoticed. The business world has coined a new term for “actively disengaged employees”—quiet quitters. If you desperately need the money or health insurance, I understand.