Sufficient - Alin Capisizu-Cincă

When I finished college, one of my professors, a renowned lawyer, told us how important it is that any success or failure should not be celebrated or mourned for more than a day: the day it happened. "The next day, back to work!" he said.

It was something I had heard before from Gică Hagi, when he analyzed Romanian soccer as lacking ambition. In other words than my professor's, arranged unconventionally, Hagi said that "Everything I did yesterday is no longer valid today, I start from scratch, I prove that I am the best again."

But let's get back to my professor. He also taught me that a lawyer is a lawyer 100% of the time, not just eight hours a day. That was the only way to be successful. Only then could I "prove that I was the best" every day. I felt that I had what it took: I spent my student years with my nose in books rather than in glasses, and my mind always on cases. I lived every day with the thought that if I didn't succeed, that is, if I didn't perform well and secure my professional future as a lawyer while still in college, then I would be a failure. I only did what was necessary for my future and only if I saw benefits in it. Either I won, or it didn't happen.

That's how four years went by: with thoroughly prepared exams, entire books rewritten as outlines with a pen, my hand raised even in class, and internships everywhere they would take me, with the expectation of finding a place that I would truly enjoy and that would make me the best lawyer - or at least feel that way.

But my plan was falling apart. My grades were high, but they weren't always A's. Some of my classmates still answered faster than me in seminars, despite my carefully colored diagrams, and during my internships, no one welcomed me as if I were a descendant of Cicero, but rather as "Student No. 4”, without an elevator card, for several weeks.

When I realized that Bucharest was full of aspiring lawyers eager to make a name for themselves, I stopped nitpicking every law firm that had accepted me as an intern. I actually felt lucky when my last internship eventually turned into a job. I was using what I had learned in college, going to court, writing better and better documents, and my colleagues and some of my clients came to see and appreciate me, trusting me more and more. Good things were coming my way and everything made sense. It didn't matter that this was all I was doing. After all, wasn't this what I wanted: to be the best lawyer?

Then the pandemic hit, bringing with it less work, less time in court, fewer interactions with clients, and therefore fewer sources of happiness. I loosened it a bit without meaning to.

Suddenly, my life was about me too, and it wasn't all about law or being the best anymore. It wasn't clear what it was about anymore. I started asking myself questions and realized that my college years and some people I naively chose as role models had made me lose myself in law.

I found another meaning in Hagi's words: "Everything I did yesterday is no longer valid today." And it wasn't. I began to detach myself from my work and find joy in the time I freed up and in all the good things in my personal life. Just as nature was reclaiming its rights once the world was forced to take a break, it was as if my soul was knocking on the door, asking to come back home, when I was finally less of a lawyer.

I'm not saying it was easy - for years, I had conditioned myself to believe that fulfillment could only come through work, and if my work wasn't 100% perfect, I couldn't be happy. But I became increasingly aware of the problems: I didn't work until a certain time, but until the document was ready – whatever that meant; I was wasting, without exaggeration, dozens of hours a week in court hallways or on phone calls with clients; and over time, I came to believe that I was not being properly appreciated and paid for my work. My place was no longer there.

So I took it step by step, on my own.

I was very confident and believed that if I was a good lawyer, that would be enough to make me successful. I quickly realized that I couldn't prove how good I was at my job unless the client hired me, and the client wouldn't hire me unless they knew me, liked me, or simply had the money.

I oscillated between successes in court and failures in fee negotiations. Sometimes, it was the other way around. The problem was that I couldn't live each success and failure for just one day, as my professor had taught me. I lived them to the fullest, for days on end.

When I won cases, I felt great, but if time passed and I didn't secure the income I expected, there was no point in calling myself a lawyer. Not to mention all the frustrations related to how slow the justice system generally is in our country, or the feeling of helplessness when I really couldn't help a client, when they did something stupid on their own, or when the court handed down a decision that was difficult even for me to understand.

I measured how good my life was based on how well I was doing in law: all or nothing. Except that, more often than not, it was nothing. And so, I came to believe that law wasn't really for me.

The feeling of inadequacy came with the thought that I had worked in vain for so many years, that I had failed, that I had not performed well enough or for long enough. I felt that I had lost my compass and could not find peace. I felt like I was down and couldn't get up, that I was wasting time, that I wasn't getting things done, that I was spreading my attention and resources in too many directions, without doing anything well, anything 100%.

I felt fear, shame, doubt, envy, and darkness coming toward me, all at once and in constantly changing proportions. Time passed, and I found myself comparing myself more and more often to my colleagues and friends who seemed to have everything well organized and predictable, and whose lives were taking off, while I was stagnating. My plan had worked out for them.

This story doesn't have a happy ending, because I haven't gotten there yet. But today, more than ever, I believe that's where I'm headed.

The road no longer seems so difficult, nor does evil seem so bad, because I am fortunate to be loved and understood at home, where I can truly be myself, and where every day begins and ends peacefully and quietly.

Today, I no longer want to prove that I am "the best again." Nor do I want to let my life become just about law. I no longer measure myself by how many clients I have, how much money I make, or how many cases I win in court, because none of that is within my control.

I grew up believing that either I do something perfectly or I don't do it at all, and because of that I lost a lot of happiness over time. Today, I accept doubts and opportunities and I am no longer afraid to be myself, even if that sometimes doesn't fit the image of a successful lawyer. I don't wear a suit every day, I don't work in a glass tower, and I don't drive an expensive car. But I don't lose sleep working late, and I don't let myself down when the phone rings. I still have doubts and emotions when I speak in court or when someone asks me for legal support, but that doesn't mean I'm not doing well, it means I'm doing my best to do as much good as I can, even if it can be quite difficult at times. With this new compass, I give myself space and time to try, to make mistakes, and to succeed, and I do justice to myself, not just to others. And I'm fine with that, even if everything isn't perfect, even if the plan doesn't work out 100%. I'm not a legal services salesperson. I'm a lawyer. I'm a human being.