Lately I’ve been burned out at work. Yes, I realize that being a lawyer is the most fulfilling profession known to man, blah blah blah. But lately I’ve been feeling like I’m missing something and maybe there’s another profession out there that’s better suited for me. Don’t get me wrong, I love arguing and getting paid for it, but part of me wonders if I wasn’t meant to do something else. Surely there’s a job where I can work as a professional food taster, right?
In light of these recent thoughts, I decided to not work this past weekend. Instead, I embarked on a home improvement project with my husband, or as I like to call it “a marriage tester.” My husband and I decided to take on the easy project of insulating our attic. I’m not sure why we thought it was going to be easy, but we have been delusional about other home projects, so we figured we wouldn’t break the trend.
The videos online made it look simple, and the photos on the packaging of the insulation showed a drawing of a woman loading insulation into the hopper of the machine wearing a huge smile on her face (along with gloves and eye protection). If this cartoon woman was having a good time insulating her attic, I knew I would too. Again, I was delusional.
Saturday morning we went to our local home improvement store. I found an employee and gave him my list of what I needed. He pointed me to several aisle numbers to get each item in a very passive aggressive way. What?! Did he expect me to fetch these items myself? Didn’t he know I was a super important lawyer with many assistants and I couldn’t be bothered with the mundane task of foraging for materials? Obviously he didn’t read this column to know my significance.
I was feeling charitable, so I located the necessary equipment, paid for it, and headed home with my husband to begin. The biggest part of the process was using the insulation blowing machine, which is a large machine that is heavy and blows lots of hot air (kind of like yours truly in the courtroom). My job in the insulation installation was to feed the insulation into the hopper. (Doesn’t “Insulation Installation” sound like the name of a really bad 80s cover band?)
We hooked up the hose to the machine and my husband headed to the attic while I prepared to use the blower. I turned it on and immediately noticed how loud it was. Obviously this wouldn’t do. I looked around for someone to complain to about it and realized there was no one. If I was at my office and someone was being too loud, I would complain about it immediately so it could be fixed. I realized that in the insulation installation world, there was no one to complain to … mostly because no one would hear you over the loud machine.
I began feeding the insulation through the machine and started sweating. It was 90 degrees and quite warm, and it wasn’t long before I was in desperate need of refreshment. I looked around for my assistants, but found no one. How was I supposed to stay hydrated if I didn’t have someone to bring me water? Was I expected to get it myself? Not in my legal world.
Because I’m a trooper, I forged ahead, thirsty and dreaming of water. After a few hours (okay, it was a few minutes), I noticed I was tired and wanted to sit down. Where was my chair? Was I expected to stand for hours and hours feeding insulation into a machine? That seemed ridiculous. I wanted my soft leather swivel chair, but it was nowhere to be found.
As I continued to feed the machine (and my face with the crackers I snuck outside in my pocket), I realized I was going to have to do some math. I had to calculate how many more bags I needed based upon the square footage of the house. I’m a lawyer, not a mathematician. The only arithmetic I do is the counting of billable hours, which is in 0.1 increments. How could I be expected to calculate square footage? That’s a lot more thinking than I was prepared to do on a Saturday.
I also realized I was tired and my back and neck hurt. Is this what manual labor felt like? I was hot and crabby and didn’t want to do anymore work, but I wasn’t even halfway done with the insulation. Wasn’t there a law clerk I could call in to finish this project while I relaxed with a cold one?
Despite my complaining and aching body, I finished the project, no thanks to my assistants or law clerks. As I was picking insulation out of my hair, I realized that manual labor wasn’t something I was cut out to do, not because I’m better than the work, but because I’m a big baby and prefer a cushy chair and air conditioning. It made me realize that maybe being a lawyer isn’t so bad after all. Although it gets stressful at times, and I get tired of being a punching bag, it beats feeding insulation into a machine.
So for all of you lawyers out there contemplating another profession, insulate your attic this weekend and see if you have a change of heart. If you don’t, come to my house. I’ve got an attic fan that needs repaired.
©2012Under Analysis, LLC. Under Analysis is a nationally syndicated column of The Levison Group. Lisa Henderson-Newlin is a member of the law firm McAnany Van Cleave and Phillips. Contact Under Analysis by email at comments@levisongroup.com.