A Paralegal in Paris
“Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel.
”
My paralegal went to Paris last week. Our associate appellate attorney went to the Bahamas. It was just me and an appellate practice. How did I let that happen? Was I the world’s dumbest boss, or the coolest? I really couldn’t tell.
During that week, I had to build and paginate a table of authorities for a brief. I had to put things in the mail. I had to draft letters. I had to organize my case list. I had to think about marketing!
You may want to sit down for this one – I had to look at my own calendar!
(Cue Marlon Brando rubbing his bald pate in Apocalypse Now. The HORROR.)
I pictured my paralegal roaming the streets of Montmarte, laughing in French, playing the accordion, noshing baguette as he gleefully imagined me running amok in my office.
Je suis en train de m’effondrer! (Use a translator. I did.)
I used to do this stuff all the time. I was a one-man show. I did all the things. For years. What happened to me?
I came to realize the value of a great support staff.
I finally learned that, not only did I not have to do this alone, but that it was way more fun when I didn’t. An appellate practice is far more than the practitioner. It’s the beloved team that runs alongside you and shoulders the minutiae so you can get down to the substantive work.
I’m happy for these guys to traverse the globe. I’m even happier when they come back. It’s just not the same without them.
Vive la Paralegal!
(Disclaimer: My paralegal, Brandon Boyd, may or may not have drafted this Bard of the Bar post as penance for flitting about Paris like Henry Miller on spring break.)
