As a child, I always hated being told what to do. Even if it was for my own good, as my parents would remind me.

It’s something visceral with me, even today. I don’t like the word should. As in you should do this or you should(n’t) do that.

I want to do what I want to do and I don’t want anyone telling me I shouldn’t.

We hear the words should and shouldn’t a lot, don’t we? Spoken by skunks with evil intent, but also by well-meaning people who care about us.

They might tell us what to do because they know more than we do about the subject. Or think they do. Or because they’ve done it themselves and want to justify (to themselves) having done it.

I’m not a bandwagon kinda guy. How about you?

What if they’re right? They might be. We might be on the wrong side of the issue. We might be doing ourselves a big disservice by refusing to listen.

I don’t care. I want to do what I want to do.

When I was a pup, my dad told me I should go to law school. I didn’t want to go, not because I had any material objections, but because he told me I should. I had other ideas, other plans, and didn’t want to be told what to do.

Of course I went, but it was my decision, made after exploring my other options and finding them wanting.

Okay, I’m a rogue. Stubborn as hell. Maybe a bit crazy. And I don’t understand why so many people buy what others are selling.

But I’m not going to tell anyone what they should or shouldn’t do.

Okay, that’s not true. I also have a big mouth and often tell people what they clearly don’t know or correct them when they’re clearly wrong.

Especially when someone says I shouldn’t.

I was willing to wait for the results to come in the mail but my father (attorney) wanted to know if his son had passed and didn’t want to wait.

He drove downtown, to the Daily Journal newspaper office, where the results were posted in a street-level window.

I remember getting his call, telling me the good news. I think he was more excited than I was.

Actually, I felt relief more than excitement. Relieved that all my hard work had paid off, relieved that I didn’t have to study for it again or take it again. Relieved that I could move on to the next phase in my career.

With such a low pass rate in California, it was a big deal and I’ll never forget how it felt.

The other day, I saw a video of a young man in front of his laptop, logging in to get his results. His mother stood behind him, hands on his shoulders, looking at the screen, waiting for the results to be displayed.

As you can see, mother and son have different reactions to the news.

We all handle important news differently. How did you react when you got your results?

Remember that girl in school who sat in the front row, took copious notes (with excellent penmanship), and raised her hand so often the teacher stopped calling on her?

She always turned in her homework on time. And she always got an A.

I hated that girl.

If you were that girl, sorry, I didn’t really hate you. I was jealous of you. You were so organized. You made everything look easy. You made the rest of us goof balls look bad.

You followed the rules and never got in trouble. I didn’t like following rules and looked for loopholes. You behaved. I made jokes in class and threw spit balls at the teacher in the lunchroom.

You got awards. I got sent to the Principal’s office.

I thought you were a goody two-shoes. You thought I was a loser.

We were both given the same set of rules. You followed all of them, I followed some of them. You worked hard. I looked for shortcuts. You behaved. I acted out.

And yet. . . we both turned out okay.

We both became lawyers. Had successful careers. Made a contribution. We just took slightly different roads to get here.

You followed GPS. I winged it. You got here on time. I got lost a couple of times (I’ll never admit it–I’m a guy), but here I am.

Let’s drink a toast to the past and celebrate our differences. And give thanks that school’s out for summer. Oh, right, you’re taking summer school. Figures.

I watch a lot of Evernote videos. Even when you know as much as (I think) I know, you can always learn something new.

In one video, a young woman starts out by telling her Evernote story–how she got started in 2013, how she has “so many” notes and how “it takes a lot of effort to keep everything organized”.

I’m closing in on 11,000 notes. I’m always interested in what others do to organize their notes.

Anyway, about midway through the video, the woman says that she has around 240 notes.

For her, that’s “so many”. That’s “a lot to keep organized”.

I got to thinking. I do that sometimes. I thought about how one person’s “so many” is another person’s “so what?”

I thought about how when we’re speaking to a client or witness and they tell us they’re in a lot of pain or they missed a lot of time from work or someone owes them a lot of money, we don’t write down “a lot” on our legal pads, do we?

We ask questions.

We are in the clarity and precision business. We assume nothing, ask lots of questions, and nail things down. Then, just to make sure, we go back and ask the same questions again.

A lot of people think we’re a big pain in the ass.

It’s ironic. Attorneys value clarity and precision and yet are often unclear and imprecise in their marketing and in answering a client’s questions, such as when the work will be done or how much their case is worth.

Because we don’t want to be pinned down.

Hey, we may be a pain in the ass but we’re not stupid.

How to get “a lot” of referrals

I heard that the face of Star War’s Yoda character was loosely based on the visage of Albert Einstein. I don’t know if that’s true but I’ve seen photos and there is a resemblance. 

Anyway, like his face-sake, Yoda is a smart guy who said a lot of wise things. But there’s one thing Yoda got wrong. 

“Do or do not,” Yoda said. “There is no try.” 

Nice try, Yoda, but no cigar. (See what I did there?)

Of course, there is “try”. Without trying, there can be no doing. 

You can’t find an idea that works without trying out ideas that don’t. You can’t find a date or a mate if you never play the field. 

In fact, the power is in the trying. Doing is nice but often anticlimactic. And not doing doesn’t deserve its bad rep. Not doing, i.e.,  trying and failing, is how we learn and get good enough to do. 

Didn’t Joseph Campbell, whose work inspired Lucas to create the  Star Wars story, write about the value of The Journey? He didn’t rhapsodize about the value of The Destination.

And didn’t Luke fail a lot before he was finally victorious?

How ’bout them apples, Yoda?

Okay, I’ll probably hear from a Star Wars scholar who will set me straight. Tell me why I should kiss my sister or something.

Until then, I’m going to try to do some more writing.