“Giving up”
A little over 10 years ago, I was told it would be the biggest mistake of my life: I’d regret giving up law to become a teacher.
A decade later, it has got me wondering: Why do we say we “give up” careers?
In “giving up” we don’t quite make it to a theoretical finish line. We stop halfway. We halt our progress. We don’t reach our full potential. The what could have been supposedly haunts the what is. But how do we frame the stories of those who actively choose alternatives? Who affirm those alternative paths every day?
Have they still given up?
Careers are rooted in professional degrees that are hard fought. For many, blood, sweat, and tears go into earning them. The talents and skills we earn by pursuing professional degrees stay with us forever. I may not be a practicing lawyer but law shapes who I am and what I do. It shapes how I see the world. It underscores how I problem solve. It always has. It always will.
In choosing to be a teacher, I didn’t stop being a lawyer.
Over the last decade, I’ve come to realize that you can’t really unlearn thinking like a lawyer. Whether it’s always (annoyingly) reading the fine print, or demanding the utmost professional conduct from line managers, or advocating for peers in tough situations, or calculating as many worst-case scenarios as possible to mitigate chaos, or simply having the confidence to go my own way, it doesn’t feel like I’ve given anything up.
This is particularly true with curious students. Whether it’s (jokingly?) preaching the mantra, “call a lawyer before you need a lawyer,” or discussing the histories of legal documents or international courts, having seen a glimpse of that world allows me to paint a more nuanced picture in the classroom.
After all, the skills are translatable.
Intake interviews with trafficking victims prepared me for safeguarding disclosures. Sparring with opposing counsel prepared me to lead during contract negotiations. In legal research and writing, I was told to keep sentences simple. Say what happened. Use evidence. Don’t embellish. Avoid adjectives. Funny, I tell my students the same thing when they’re writing history essays.
Perhaps I substituted the stress of big law for the stress of teaching. Perhaps I substituted billable hours for late night lesson planning. Perhaps instead of pouring over legal treaties I obsess over academic monographs. But at no point did these substitutions feel regrettable.
In fact, each day of teaching brings a profound sense of joy. Student questions constantly inspire a search for answers. This led to Origins.
For a decade now, I’ve waited on the regret that was foretold. Nothing yet. Just joy.
Perhaps it is time to give up on the waiting.
