A Bowl of Stupid

I left the practice of law almost nine (9) full months ago now. The line I threw out to people, and one which has been echoed elsewhere (including the sidebar of this blog), is that I did it “in a desperate attempt to reclaim my soul.” That is only partially true. In actually, I simply did not feel comfortable practicing law. Although I was very good at it, the practice is by definition a contentious career-path, and one which eventually turned me into a bitter, angry sycophant. As a result, I wound up “burning-out” on the practice of law every few years. The latest of such occurrences taking place a little over a year ago.

Luckily, I prepared for this eventuality. Modeling myself after the Count of Monte Cristo, I spent long nights planning my eventual escape.

For that reason, I have had the luxury of being able to pursue several other business ventures over the past year without having to return to the practice of law.

Sadly, all of these business ventures have now gone the way of the dodo – either due to unfortunate partnerships, failed markets, or otherwise. Such is life.

I have done similar things before.

When I left California for Florida almost seven (7) years ago, I did not have a job awaiting me here. Then too, my move was ostensibly for the same reason as my recent bout with under-employment – to leave the practice of law for another, more fulfilling, career. But after shuffling around from one legally-related job to another for several months, I eventually capitulated and returned to the full-time practice of law, which I continued in for the next six (6) years until I again reached another burn-out point.

From what I understand, this is a fairly common occurrence among lawyers – with burn-out periods typically taking (like mine) between 2-3 years to manifest. Indeed, many other lawyers with whom I have spoken also want to quit. These attorneys also grew to hate their jobs, and to hate the people they had become. Several even much more so than I.

Proving Thoreau correct, however, many of those attorneys either were not in a position to actively quit their jobs, or to passive-aggressively throw themselves into a position almost certainly resulting in their departure – both of which I have done.

Some of those lawyers were encumbered with wives, children, extended families, a vaulted place in the community – something requiring them to do that which they ultimately did not wish to do.

But not I.

I have not stayed in any one community long enough for me to make connections significant enough to require my continued presence.

I similarly have not been able to maintain a healthy romantic relationship long enough such that I too have been forced to choose my family over my career (and personal happiness). Indeed, perhaps my underlying distaste for the practice of law was a contributing factor of such romantic failures. I honestly don’t know.

Regardless, what I do know is that, due to my being selfishly unencumbered, I am responsible only for myself. Tumbling quickly towards my 40′s, I have no mouths to feed, no wife with whom to coordinate schedules, and no business venture requiring my presence.

I am alone.

This role carries with it obvious disadvantages – loneliness, regret, no true home, an ever-revolving circle of friends. I will not lie – these things pain me on a daily basis.

However, I made a conscious decision to trade such things for a life of relative solitude. So be it.

And now, here I am again.

Alone.

Unencumbered.

Desiring nothing more than a change in the status quo.

I have come to despise all that Miami stands for – the corruption, the gluttony, the vapidness, the obsession with money and celebrity. It is beyond redemption. Moreover, for me, Miami has also come to represent a microcosm of what has gone wrong in the United States over the past several years.

So, in what seems an almost certainty at this point, I am once again planning my exit strategy.

This week, I reached a deal to sell my condo in South (Miami) Beach. And if everything goes according to plan, in May, I hope to be moving to Singapore, with stops in Malaysia and Indonesia, for the next several years.

I refuse to live a life that no longer makes sense to me – one in which money, power, beauty, and fame are the ultimate aphrodisiacs. I don’t know if I can find something better in the Far East. But I’ll be damned to fucking-hell if I’m going to stay here any longer without at least trying to find out.