When high school varsity tennis season starts each spring, I block my calendar around my son Joe's match schedule first.
I've done this since his freshman year. Every match, home and away. I move client calls, reschedule candidate screens, shift meetings. Because I can.
The first time I cleared my afternoon to watch him play, I noticed how hard it felt. The logistics were easy; meetings move. The discomfort was palpable, though. Like I was breaking a rule I'd spent twenty years following.
For most of my career, my calendar was shaped by everyone else's needs. Client urgency. Candidate availability. Management expectations. I was responsive, reliable, always there when needed. That responsiveness earned my reputation. It also taught me that my time belonged to other people first.
Blocking those match times meant drawing a line I wasn't sure I was "allowed" to draw. The work still mattered. The clients still mattered. I just decided that for two hours on a couple of weekday afternoons from mid-March to mid-May, I wasn't available.
What surprised me: nothing collapsed. Clients rescheduled. Searches kept moving along. The work that felt urgent at 2:30 p.m. was still there at 5, and it got done.
Many of the lawyers I work with have spent years succeeding by never saying no, by being indispensable at every hour, by proving they can always make room. At some point, that success becomes its own constraint.
Financial security is supposed to buy choices. Most never use them.
Joe's a graduating senior now. He earned the #1 singles spot this year, the position he'd been chasing since sophomore year. His fourth and final high school season is just about to wrap up. I haven't missed a match. He doesn't make a big deal of it. He's focused on winning and helping his team. But I notice.
There are only so many spring weekday afternoons left. The meetings will always be there. These afternoons won't.
I've done this since his freshman year. Every match, home and away. I move client calls, reschedule candidate screens, shift meetings. Because I can.
The first time I cleared my afternoon to watch him play, I noticed how hard it felt. The logistics were easy; meetings move. The discomfort was palpable, though. Like I was breaking a rule I'd spent twenty years following.
For most of my career, my calendar was shaped by everyone else's needs. Client urgency. Candidate availability. Management expectations. I was responsive, reliable, always there when needed. That responsiveness earned my reputation. It also taught me that my time belonged to other people first.
Blocking those match times meant drawing a line I wasn't sure I was "allowed" to draw. The work still mattered. The clients still mattered. I just decided that for two hours on a couple of weekday afternoons from mid-March to mid-May, I wasn't available.
What surprised me: nothing collapsed. Clients rescheduled. Searches kept moving along. The work that felt urgent at 2:30 p.m. was still there at 5, and it got done.
Many of the lawyers I work with have spent years succeeding by never saying no, by being indispensable at every hour, by proving they can always make room. At some point, that success becomes its own constraint.
Financial security is supposed to buy choices. Most never use them.
Joe's a graduating senior now. He earned the #1 singles spot this year, the position he'd been chasing since sophomore year. His fourth and final high school season is just about to wrap up. I haven't missed a match. He doesn't make a big deal of it. He's focused on winning and helping his team. But I notice.
There are only so many spring weekday afternoons left. The meetings will always be there. These afternoons won't.
