A few months ago, I ran across some journal entries from summer 2004. It was the summer after my second year of law school, and Jared was barely six months old. We were then living in Irvine, California, where I worked as a summer associate at a relatively small litigation firm.
The Clark Family -- Summer 2004
Like
almost everyone in my position, I hoped the summer gig would yield an offer for
permanent employment after graduation (the following summer).
In
those journal entries, I wrote about feeling nervous about an upcoming
mid-summer performance review. For several reasons, I’d had more difficulty
than most of my friends landing a summer position. And unfortunately, the
difficulty of that experience only added to some nagging feelings of
self-doubt. Also, in the first month or so of that summer job, I knew I had
apparently failed at least one research assignment for a senior associate: I
hadn’t been able to find any cases on point for the proposition he was looking
for, and he wasn’t shy about expressing his disappointment with me.
All
of that left me feeling particularly vulnerable, and I was desperate for some
positive feedback and reassurance.
Whatever
I’d hoped for, though, I wouldn’t find it in my performance review. I sat with
a senior partner for about 1/2 hour as we reviewed feedback from attorneys on
my assignments thus far. At least a few of them noted that I seemed to lack
confidence in myself and that I needed “hand holding” on some projects. Some
relayed that I seemed to be afraid to try new arguments.
The
most positive feedback I got was that the partner described my reviews as
“about average” for a 2L summer associate. And yet, he also observed that it
seemed I was “not meeting [my] potential.”
It
did not feel like an encouraging meeting.
That
performance review would gnaw at me for weeks, if not longer. It kept me awake
some nights at 3 am, followed me on morning runs, and left me even more quiet
than usual on family car rides.
All
these years later, the incident had mostly faded in memory. But as I reviewed
those journal entries, the same feelings I confronted then rose up again. And
for a time, it felt like I was wrestling anew with all the same insecurities. I
wondered how much different I could possibly be now from that nervous summer
associate 18 years ago.
It
took me a few days, but I was able to work through those feelings all over
again. And in the aftermath, I've wanted to write a letter to that younger
version of me. It wouldn't surprise me, after all, if a future version of me
just might need the same reassurances all over again.
Dear Aaron,
I ran across your journal
entries a few months ago. I know about your mid-summer review at the firm. I
know about the trepidation you felt beforehand, and then the feedback you
received during that meeting. I know about the sleep you’ve lost over those
comments, and I know about the many, many hours of fretting and stewing that
will follow you in the weeks (if not months) to come.
I’m sorry. I know those comments
hurt. I know they touched on some of your deepest insecurities.
For whatever it’s worth, I have
been sitting with you in the difficulty of that experience for some time. I’ve
been trying to understand it (and you) better.
All these years later, I still
don’t entirely know why you struggled so much with self-confidence in law
school and your early years of practicing law (you certainly didn’t feel that
way at BYU). Frankly, though, I’m not sure you had it entirely wrong. You
really didn’t know what you were doing, and you were terrified of making
mistakes – of not measuring up to expectations.
You also weren’t someone who was
any good at pretending otherwise.
For better or worse, we tend to
lead with our insecurities and perceived shortcomings when we feel nervous. My
best guess is that we do this to try to keep those shortcomings in front of us
— an almost tactical decision to try to confront and disarm them. It might also
be part of an awkward effort to live with integrity.
Sometimes, too, this approach
has yielded needed reassurance from others. But for some people — especially
those who don't know you well enough — that approach can be unnerving. And the
fact is, it doesn't really inspire confidence.
With time, you will learn to do
this better (or at least a bit less awkwardly). You will even sometimes sense
that a healthy recognition of (at least some of) your shortcomings might be a
super power. And with experience, including the guidance of encouraging
mentors, you will progressively find and project the confidence you lack now.
Which isn’t say there won't still be plenty of days ahead when you’ll
feel like you don’t know what you’re doing (even for me now), but they’ll come
less often. And when they do come, you’ll feel confident enough that you can
figure it out.
Often that will (still) mean
asking for help.
I can say this about you: you
seem to be very good at learning from your mistakes. And you’ll manage to avoid
the big mistakes (at least so far) that you’ll worry about making for years to
come – the kind that make your stomach tighten just about every morning before
work.
I also want to offer you this bit
of encouragement: You’re going to figure this out. Despite your worries,
you will end up getting an offer from the firm for full-time employment.
And, less than a year out of law school, you’ll somehow land your dream job –
the job you’re now hoping to get “someday” – and you’ll spend at least the next
16+ years feeling like you’ve won the lottery.
Granted, you probably won’t ever
“arrive” (at least you haven’t so far). And you will always, always be in awe
of the talent, intellect, and dedication of so many of your peers. But you’ll
also learn that you can hold your own – that you really do have something
meaningful to contribute to the work, in just the way you do it.
Aaron, there are lots of
challenges in the years ahead. Some you vaguely anticipate now, and some you
don’t have a clue about. But you’ll meet them – you always have. And there will
be many, many days ahead when you will feel like you’ve done good, satisfying
work. In fact, I can even promise you a handful of transcendent days – days when
you will have the distinct feeling that you are doing exactly what you
were meant to do with your life.
But for now, if I can whisper
anything that will reach back through the years — the thing I know you need to
hear most right now from someone who knows — it is this: It's going to be ok.
You are enough, and you’re eventually going to figure that out for yourself.
Keep after it.
Aaron
PS – Please tell Dad one more
time how much he means to you.
