The loss of ambition

Or is it the accumulation of peace?

Straight out of law school and for the better part of five years, I was a family law solicitor.

I was ambitious in the way 23-year-old “professionals” usually are. I turned up early to work, often catching the tram down Brunswick Street, Fitzroy into my office in Melbourne’s legal district in the pitch black of winter’s pre-dawn. I wanted (desperately) to make a good impression on my boss, Jim. Which, somehow, despite my nerves in court and my alarmingly overconfident attitude about matters I knew very little about, I think I did. He was at our wedding in April, a decade after that chapter of my life and was mentioned in more than one speech, such was the magnitude of his impact on me. 

Eventually I left family law for reasons that feel too knotty to untie neatly in this article. But suffice to say, I was out partying on the weekends like it was my second full time job (hot tip: not helpful for managing stress) and the nature of the work was literally giving me hives. At the time I couldn’t seem to connect this to anything, I simply thought to myself: I have a rash AND I feel like my head is about to pop off, weird! Looking back, it seems obvious that it was my body trying to tell me: hey babe, this work doesn’t really suit you. And the funny thing is, I don’t think it was the stories of my clients and their ex-spouses that stressed me out, despite how harrowing their situations usually were. I think it was the pressure of court deadlines (especially when running a trial), the tightly wound emotions of my clients transferring over to me and, largely, the enormous amount of pressure I placed on myself to be the best. 

Me and Jim (March, 2013) on the day he moved my Admission in the Supreme Court, arguing over how to get my scroll back in its packaging. Classic.

I was on every extra-curricular committee available to me for “networking” purposes. I was getting myself profiled in legal industry magazines (yes, I reached out to them, not the other way around). I signed up to take my specialisation in family law a year after I started practising (ridiculous!). The little girl in me was tap dancing for approval like her life depended on it. Harder! Faster! Tap tap tap tap tap! And in the end, I walked away from the whole thing within five years. I just sort of lit a match, threw it on my family law career and walked.

Without digressing too much, I actually think that represented a bigger pattern around attachment. The very avoidant part of me got too close to something, felt suffocated and reacted without any chill, whatsoever. What I did to family law, looked a lot like what I had done to close friends and boyfriends over the years. For the longest time, I was inclined to just call this ‘the impetuous part of my personality’ – but as I understand myself better, I believe it runs a hell of a lot deeper than that. I also believe we have the power to change these parts of ourselves if we pay enough attention to them. It’s not comfortable – like staring straight into the sun. But if you’re willing, you can burn your retinas a little and see things differently. You can see the stories for what they really are – stories.

Until relatively recently, I’ve been plagued with the idea that I left the one job that ever really gave me meaning and purpose. Not at all dissimilar to the ways one yearns for an ex who provided excruciating highs and abominable lows. I would forget the rashes and the stress and remember walking to court with Jim, coffee in hand, feeling triumphant over the affidavits we had filed, hopeful to get gold stars from the presiding judge. Tap tap tap tap tap! 

I am still occasionally approached by people I know for ad hoc bits of advice on family law matters, which I’m always happy to give, with the caveat that my bank of knowledge is a dimming bulb. Yesterday I jumped on a call with an acquaintance in the thick of court proceedings and we talked for over an hour about a contentious parenting dispute. As they talked me through the details, I felt the edge of my skin prickle like little magnets were pulling me back to a past life. 

I got off the phone feeling two things: really pleased to have been able to (maybe) help ease their anxieties a little and, let’s be honest, to have dusted off my legal expertise. The ‘ol razzle dazzle. The second thing was a deep sense of relief that this was not my job anymore. It beamed me back into the courtroom full of lawyers trying to “win” cases that, by definition, have no winner. I felt the relentlessness of not just the family law system, but of the world of Law itself. I was reminded of what being exposed to handling conflict every day did to my nervous system. 

I’m sure there are plenty of emotionally healthy lawyers out there but the law is also a honey trap for those of us who love to don a pair of tap shoes and work up a sweat. It’s a high like any other– one you can get addicted to and convince yourself that you need, when what you actually need is rehab. 

For the last four years, I’ve worked for myself in the creative industries, offering copywriting and brand strategy (soon to add education - stay tuned). It’s afforded me not just the ability to live in Mexico, but the space to move more slowly and more intentionally. Sometimes, the little tap-dancing gremlin inside me wonders if it is “enough” (read: am I enough?). Sometimes, I yearn for family law (read: to feel important). But with time, those feelings are fading.

But it’s not just time doing its magical work of putting space between me and the past. It’s time stretching out and making space for the person I really am. That is a person who isn’t obsessed with approval or ambition for ambition’s sake. It’s a person who has the space and the willingness to pay attention to the things that really matter (like rest, connection, joy). 

The end of a working day with new friends (March, 2022), when I first arrived in Mexico

None of that is to say that I don’t still have ambition for myself. It just no longer feels guided by the invisible and amorphous hand of approval-seeking. I’m ambitious for work that makes me feel human and whole. Mostly, I’m ambitious for a peaceful life. One of the best and hardest parts of self-employment (and hell, self-development) – is journeying through it without anyone to give you a gold star, except yourself. I can’t recommend it more highly.