[58] A Sketch of The Life of Edward Courtney, Sr.

My favorite biography I’ve ever read was that of my great great grandfather, Edward Courtney, Sr. I wrote about him here. Here’s Edward’s life, in his own words. Also included is an obituary published in the Dubuque Herald on December 29, 1880. A SKETCH OF…

My favorite biography I’ve ever read was that of my great great grandfather, Edward Courtney, Sr.

I wrote about him here.

Here’s Edward’s life, in his own words.

Also included is an obituary published in the Dubuque Herald on December 29, 1880.

A SKETCH OF THE LIFE OF EDWARD COURTNEY, SR.

I was born in the Parish of Killmore, County Cavan, Ireland. All my work in my youth was on a farm. When I was about nineteen years old a great many of the neighbors made up their minds to go to America, and being in an adventurous spirit, I thought I should like to go with the rest. I left home and went to Liverpool, where I engaged passage to New York. After a long and stormy voyage of over nine weeks, in mid-winter, I reached New York early in the spring and being anxious to make money I went to work the next day to dig out a sewer at a dollar a day, which I thought were splendid wages. I thought I would be rich enough in six months to go home to Ireland and live independently. Then I went to piling lumber, and finally three or four young men and myself hired to work on a railroad that was being built between Brooklyn and Hempstead, on Long Island, at $16.00 a month, which I then considered a great deal of money for a month’s work. A good friend of mine, hearing that I was in the country, came after me and brought me up to Albany, and had me bound out for three years to the bricklaying and plastering trade. Being of a roaming disposition, I wanted to see the whole country, and started from New York for New Orleans. After a stormy voyage of ten weeks, I arrived at New Orleans on Christmas day, 184~, and went to work at my trade [the] next day. I worked until July, and then finding it getting too warm to work I left there and went up the Mississippi River to St. Louis. My idea in leaving New York was to make a circle by New Orleans, up the Mississippi, and back to Albany by way of the Lakes. I worked in St. Louis for a while, and then went up the river as far as Davenport, which was just being staked off for a town, and being offered employment for two years I went to work on what was then called the Le Claire House, the first hotel of any note in Iowa.

I was married in 1843. My wife, who is still living, proved to be a good and faithful woman.

Harry Leonard, the man I worked for, came up to Dubuque and contracted to build a hotel to be called the Waples House, the present Julien. In May, 1845, six other bricklayers and myself came up and did the brick work. In the meantime, having taken a liking to Dubuque, I went back to Davenport and brought up my family, which consisted of my wife and one child. I had the contract for plastering the hotel, and that established me in Dubuque. I worked steadily at my trade until 1850, when, taking the California fever, I settled up all accounts and started for the Far West in the spring with what was called the great Dubuque company of thirty-two wagons. After a long and toilsome journey of over four months we arrived at Hang Town, and being in good health I went to work in the mines the next day after I got there. I worked steadily in the mines two years, when, getting homesick and anxious to get back home, I went to San Francisco and took passage in an old vessel. During the voyage the provisions became very scarce. The captain had enough for himself and officers, but the passengers were obliged to go without until they appointed a committee to force the captain to give them some of the provisions he had locked up. He soon consented, and gave the keys of the storeroom to them. All on board, numbering 1,400, had to live on short allowances, each one being allowed one moulded sea biscuit and half a pint of water every twenty-four hours. The voyage lasted twelve weeks, and during that time 400 of the passengers died and were thrown overboard. Of those who survived, one-half could not cross the Isthmus of Panama when we landed. I finally reached Chagres, where I got on a steamer that was carrying passengers from there to New York. I thought I was in a perfect Paradise on that steamer, for I got a good bed to lie on and plenty of good victuals. The vessel sailed pretty near all around Cuba, and so close to the shore that we could see the people cutting grain. In May we entered Havana to take in coal. I considered it the handsomest place I had ever seen.

I reached New York after a very pleasant voyage, and made no delay there but started for the West by way of Albany, Buffalo and Lake Erie to Detroit. There was only one railroad to the West at that time, the Michigan Central, the terminus of which was on the Lake opposite Chicago. There was no railroad running west from Chicago, at that time, farther than Elgin, so I had to stage it from there to Galena, which took me over four days. I soon reached Dubuque, and was very glad to get home once more. Times were then very good in Dubuque for my business. I worked at my trade and was very successful up to 1859, when I traded nearly all my property for the farm on which I am now living.

Thank God, I never suffered any great misfortune. I was always very successful in all my undertakings, and believe it is the result of dealing honorably with my fellow men.

EDWARD COURTNEY, SR.
Vernon Township, Dubuque County, Iowa, 1880.

OBITUARY

From the Dubuque Herald, December 29th, 1880.

The funeral of the late Edward Courtney took place last Monday. The remains were followed from the family residence in Vernon Township to the Monastery Cemetery by a large concourse of sorrowing friends who knew deceased when living to honor and respect him for the many virtues of head and heart. Among those present from this city were John Nagle, G. Fleming, Samuel and David Kennedy, Mrs. John Lynch and daughter, and others, who braved the bitter elements to pay the last tribute of respect to a dear friend. He was 62 years of age, and a better man never lived. He was honest and upright, possessing all the noble traits of character a neighbor or friend could desire.

Mr. Courtney was a native of County Cavan, Ireland, and emigrated to America when a mere lad to eventually find himself in the West. During the years 1855 and 1860 he was the owner of property back of the Diamond House. During his residence in this city he followed the occupation of a plasterer, a trade he was skilled in. Among other buildings in the city, he plastered the Julien House. Some fifteen or twenty years ago he made a trade of his city property for the Dixon farm, in Vernon township, near Julien. The farm was run down, but by his industry and energy he soon brought it up to a high state of cultivation, draining low lands and erecting substantial barns and buildings. Several years ago he revisited Ireland and the place of his birth, and more recently Bridgeport, Conn., where lives a sister he had seen but once in forty years, the family becoming separated soon after landing in America. He frequently recalled those visits abroad with pleasant recollection, and the trip appeared to do him much good. For several years he has been in poor health, but not until recently did he consider his end near. Becoming convinced of that fact, and receiving no encouragement from the attending physician, he arranged his worldly affairs by ordering his bills settled up and paid, to leave the estate as clear as possible for his wife and family, all of whom are at home except George, a rover in the west, and a daughter in Davenport, married to a man named Germain.

Thus has passed away a good man, whose virtues and good deeds will keep his memory green long after men of greater distinction are forgotten.

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[57] Legacy in Motion: The Story of My Great-Great-Grandfather

While I enjoy reading stories in many forms, there's nothing quite like a biography.

Munger described reading biographies as gathering wisdom from the "eminent dead". Not only is it entertaining but also enlightening. You get to glean first-hand experience without having to go through

While I enjoy reading stories in many forms, there’s nothing quite like a biography.  

Munger described reading biographies as gathering wisdom from the “eminent dead”. Not only is it entertaining but also enlightening. You get to glean first-hand experience without having to go through the tribulations. And you end up learning a lot about what not to do, versus finding a story to try and emulate.

More recently, I’ve read biographies about prominent Americans who helped shape the country: Franklin, Washington, Lincoln, Grant, Eisenhower, LBJ, James Baker… 

And also financiers and businessmen: Jay Gould, Aristotle Oanassis, Lee Iococca, Walt Disney, J. Paul Getty, Rockefeller, Mark Rich…

And global figures: Mandela, Churchill….

And of contemporaries: Elon Musk, Steve Jobs, David Goggins, Gary Stevenson, Andrew Wilkinson, Andre Agassi, J. Prince…

All these biographies gave me a spark, and imparted some wisdom. These stories of interesting men who I’d heard so much about, and then ‘got to know better’ by reading their biographies. 

I found some of their stories inspiring and admirable. Others were cautionary tales. Most were a mix of both. 

Somehow we all share the same story, each woven into the complicated tapestry of the collective human journey. These ‘interesting men’ are like me – and I, them.

Some years ago, I was fortunate enough to come across the biography of another ‘interesting man’ – this one from my own family. Someone from my own bloodline who had an inspiring tale – a life full of lessons & wisdom. 

And that someone was Edward Courtney, Sr., my great great grandfather.

——-

Edward Courtney, Sr. was born in County Cavan, Ireland around 1815. County Cavan, like much of Ireland at the time, was in the throes of economic blight after the end of the Napoleonic Wars in Europe. Poverty was rampant, opportunity scarce. The Great Famine loomed over the next generation.

As a 19 year old with an “adventurous spirit”, Edward set out for America to make some money. (~1834) The crossing from Liverpool to New York took nine weeks. 

Upon arrival in New York, he worked at a sewer digging site as a shovel man for $1 a day, and he was damn happy to have the work. Notably, he started work “the next day” after landing. No time to waste, just pick up a shovel and go.

He started moving up the ladder, taking odd jobs. He soon found steady work helping build part of the Long Island Railroad for $16 a month – a strong wage for a motivated young man from Ireland. 

Before long, a friend invited him up to Albany to learn the bricklaying trade. After 3 years of building his skillset, having a “roaming disposition”, Edward started traveling. 

First, a 10 week “stormy voyage” to New Orleans, where again he started “to work … the next day”. 

Then, a trip up the Mississippi to St. Louis, where he stopped for a stretch. And then up to Davenport, Iowa, which was “just being staked off as a town”. There he did masonry for “the first hotel of any note in Iowa” – his first big job – and got married. (~1843)

A few years later, he won the contract to plaster a prominent hotel up the river in Dubuque – where he moved with his new family and established himself. He built himself up for the next 5 years.

In 1850, like many others at the time, he got the “California fever” and headed West to look for gold. In the company of “thirty-two wagons”, he crossed the western half of the continent – “a long and toilsome journey of … four months”. He landed in present-day Pacerville, California – then known as Hang Town – to work in the mines, starting work “the next day” true to form.

Ready to return home to his family after a few years of trying his luck at gold mining, he booked passage to sail out of San Francisco. (~1852) In those days, one had to sail down the west coast to Panama, cross the isthmus over land, and then sail back up to New York – all before heading inland towards Iowa. Needless to say, it was a long journey for Edward – and one that he nearly didn’t survive.

The voyage from San Francisco to Panama took “twelve weeks” on an “old vessel”. 400 of the 1,400 passengers died due to malnourishment and other maladies. The dead bodies were thrown overboard. There was a near mutiny before the captain reluctantly gave the passengers access to food stores. On that leg of the journey alone, the death rate was nearly 3 in 10.

After arriving in Panama, only “one-half” of the remaining passengers were healthy enough to make it across the isthmus. 

1,400 original passengers- minus 400 who died on the ship- minus 500 more stuck in the jungle = a mere 500 of the original passengers who made it across Panama. Edward was one of them.

On the steamer from Panama to New York, he was in “Perfect paradise” no doubt relieved to have a “good bed to lie on and plenty of good victuals”. The ship stopped to take coal in Havana, which he considered “the handsomest place [he] he had ever seen”. (Amazing how quickly things can change thru life’s ebbs and flows.) 

He made it to New York and headed West towards home with “no delay” – taking the Erie Canal to the Great Lakes and navigating his way to Chicago. From there, he took a stage coach to Galena, Illinois – birthplace of Ulysses S. Grant, who was lying in wait before staking his own claim to history.

It’s quite likely Edward walked the final 15 or so miles from Galena to Dubuque.

He had a wife – a “good and faithful woman” – and several children. During the Civil War, he sold all his “city property” and bought a down-trodden farm outside of town. He rehabilitated it successfully and lived out his remaining years there.  

By my math, Edward traveled at least 27,000 miles during his lifetime – most by ship but several thousand across land. 

He died in 1880 in his mid-60s. Those who knew him spoke of his “many virtues of head and heart”, a man of “industry and energy”.

———–

The first time I read Edward’s autobiography, I got goosebumps.

This ‘great man’ from my own family had so many attributes for me to admire. I wondered: Am I biased to think that maybe we’re alike? To think that maybe some of his traits were passed onto me? 

Take, for example, his “roaming disposition”, and his “adventurous spirit”. Certainly I can relate to these, having traveled the world over and lived in several countries. Whenever I sit still for too long, I get the itch to move around and see something new. I can imagine Edward with the same underlying restlessness, as he meandered up the Mississippi.

How about work ethic? Edward always started work “the next day”, even after a long and tiring voyage. My grandmother Ellen – Edward’s granddaughter, born in Dubuque in 1923 – called this “stick-to-it-iveness”. I’d like to think that I got some of that from Edward (and Ellen) as well.

Edward was unafraid. Unafraid to roam and explore, but also unafraid to take risks. He had no rational reason to risk traveling across the Western frontier on a wagon train after having already established himself in Dubuque. But he wanted to see what this gold rush thing was all about – so he went for it. In my own way, I can relate – having chosen a life path filled with adventure, often sacrificing stability.

And yet, despite all the roaming, Edward seemed grounded and responsible. His obituary – published in the Dubuque Herald on December 29, 1880 – detailed his last days, when he knew he was in poor health and nearing death: “he arranged his worldly affairs by ordering his bills settled up and paid, to leave the estate as clear as possible for his wife and family.” 

What could be more noble than that? I intend to live my last days as Edward did.

At the end of his autobiography – found at the Indiana State Library some years ago by a family member – Edward summed up his life: “Thank God, I never suffered any great misfortune. I was always very successful in all my undertakings, and believe it is the result of dealing honorably with my fellow men.”

Dealing honorably. That was the balancing mechanism for Edward’s life – his core principle. And as an adventurer, his insurance policy. 

The lesson: No matter what path you take, and whatever life throws you, be decent with everyone and somehow it’ll all work out.

Edward started out destitute in Ireland and lived through the American Civil War. Remarkably, he mentioned neither of these severe times of hardship in his life sketch. In fact, he never mentioned any hardship at all. 

I think he focused on life’s possibilities and shied away from dwelling on life’s frustrations. That’s an ethos we all can embrace.

Cheers to Mr. Edward Courtney, Sr. for a life well-lived. I hope my own story will carry the same weight for my successors, as yours has for me.

Here is a link to Edward’s life sketch, in his own words: A Sketch of The Life of Edward Courtney, Sr.

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[56] The Creative v. The Administrative: My Level-Up Strategy for the Video Game of Life

A friend told me recently, “a vision without a plan is a hallucination.” I like that. It got me thinking. I’ve spent a lot of time in my life fighting a quiet friction. An internal tug of war. A pendulum that swings back and forth….

A friend told me recently, “a vision without a plan is a hallucination.” I like that. It got me thinking.

I’ve spent a lot of time in my life fighting a quiet friction. An internal tug of war. A pendulum that swings back and forth.

On one side is the Creative. The flow state. The lifeblood of joy. 

On the other side is the Administrative. The mundane tedious work required to keep the machine running.

The pendulum swings, back and forth, in tune with life’s natural cycles. From Creative to Administrative, and back again. 

When it swings far to one side, the other loses sharpness and feels neglected. This makes me nervous, since I know I have to use both sides to build momentum. I’m afraid I’m going to lose whatever side I’m not working on. 

But that’s all in my head – the swings from the Creative and the Administrative are normal. And those swings are required to generate momentum.

For me it goes something like this: 

Life gives me a new problem. A new level in the video game. Could be moving to a new city. Could be a career change, or a big project. Or it could be finding a life partner, and starting a family. Or getting older and trying to maintain vitality. Throughout life’s arc, there’s always a new challenge at each level.

When a new level starts, I need the Creative. I need my wits, and to apply my perspective from past experience. I need to openly question what I want the future to look like, and how I’m going to feel within it. I need my imagination, and my ability to dream.

So I go into my creative artist’s layer, and I paint the painting. Or write the song. Or book. Or sketch. I get into a flow state and visualize. I create something new, something that feels like me, like it’s coming from deep inside.

My inner creative artist puts my vision on a page – or canvas, or recording (choose your medium).

Then the Administrative takes over. The pendulum swings from imagination to execution. I map out a plan.  I make lists. I take action.

This is the day to day grind. The robot-like consistency. The training; the practice. It’s sometimes boring and repetitive. 

The Administrative is where skill development happens. And those skills help me gather speed and overtake the challenges. The Administrative requires consistency.

And, then… I break through. I defeat the dragon at the end of the level. I find the hidden token. The background music changes in the video game, and I progress to the next level. 

At that point, the Creative and the Administrative have merged to give me ninja-like powers, and I use them to take the final steps and conquer that particular set of challenges.

But as natural as the sun setting, new challenges emerge.

Time to go back to the Creative. Back to the artist’s studio. Time to conjure up another vision, and ideate a new plan. The process starts all over again.

And on and on it goes, the internal tug of war between the Creative and the Administrative – both required for personal forward momentum.

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[55] Mr. Story Teller and Me: Getting To Know My Inner Voice

All I am is the story I tell myself.  Everything I feel, think and experience is based on my personal narrative, spoken to me by my inner voice. We all have an inner voice. Our personal narrator laying out our story for us, moment by…

All I am is the story I tell myself. 

Everything I feel, think and experience is based on my personal narrative, spoken to me by my inner voice.

We all have an inner voice. Our personal narrator laying out our story for us, moment by moment. Our one-of-one internal radio announcer, reciting the day’s events.

I call mine Mr. Story Teller.

It’s a strange thought – that I’m walking around all day with this voice in my head. An incessant broadcast from my own personal radio station. 

Who is this Mr. Story Teller?

Ekhart Tolle gave me insight when he encouraged me to ask myself: If Mr. Story Teller isn’t me, who is he? Aren’t we the same person? 

According to Ekhart, as I understand it: Mr. Story Teller is me, but not exactly. He’s my inner critic – a voice from my consciousness. Ekhart breaks it down further here.

Or take the perspective of Yuval Noah Harari, who wrote a book called Sapiens. In it, he contends that what sets humans apart from other species is our distinct ability to craft and embrace shared stories. 

Both of these gentlemen helped me realized that Mr. Story Teller is built in. He’s an essential part of what it means to be human – a fundamental part of my operating system.

Aside from Mr. Story Teller, what about the Story itself? 

The Story itself is really powerful. It gives me the guidebook on who I think I am, and who I will become. 

The Story is the color on the canvas of my human journey. This makes Mr. Story Teller more than my narrator; he’s my animator. He broadcasts the Story onto a big screen in my brain, and that broadcast is the lens through which I see everything. 

The Story, as told by Mr. Story Teller, shapes my external vision of the world.

There was a period in my life when Mr. Story Teller was pretty hard on me. He sounded stressed. His voice was edgy and frantic a lot. The Story he told me everyday was discouraging. 

And naturally, my external life reflected the Story. It tinted my lens – I saw the world as heavy, and scarce. And that made it hard for me to connect with other people’s Stories – and share my own with them. 

Around this time, I was single and traveling around a lot – living nomadically for a few years. I started meditating frequently. 

Meditation helped me turn down the volume on Mr. Story Teller. Not to make him go away, but so that I could listen more easily.

As I got to know Mr. Story Teller better, I realized our communication went two ways – that I could converse with him, and resolve things. 

I asked him why he told me negative Stories in the past.

His tone mellowed. He apologized and told me that he just wanted to support me the best he could – by trying to push me. He felt like he wasn’t getting through to me, so he pushed harder.

And I realized that, like me, Mr. Story Teller operates on a vast emotional spectrum. He’s another version of me, with his own ups and downs. His tone can change from time to time, but his intentions are always good. He wants to help me.

We developed a compassion for each other. I promised that I’d always be honest with him, and that I’d trust him to guide me. He said he’d always encourage me to follow my pursuits with vigor, but more like a cheerleader and less like a drill instructor.

That’s when Mr. Story Teller became my best friend.

I look around at our family of 8+ billion human souls, each of us walking around with our own individual Mr. (or Ms.) Story Teller.

Sometimes, I close my eyes and try to think about what everyone else’s Story sounds like. 

I imagine 8 billion internal radio announcer animators, broadcasting Stories both good and bad. 8 billion podcasts on every topic, all running at the same time. 

It strikes me how much our internal Story defines our external experience.

I see that people who have better Story Tellers have better journeys. Stories that instill confidence and enthusiasm are more enjoyable to play out. 

And the opposite is of course true: negative down-trodden Stories lead to negative down-trodden lives. People who tell themselves Stories of victimhood, their own personal tale of woe, stumble along. They end up tired and lonely.

These days, the relationship I have with Mr. Story Teller is the best relationship I have, and certainly the most important. 

Because if I can’t get right with myself, I can’t write my best Story. 

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[54] Mental Ninja Training – My Journey with CBT – Part 1

There was a period in my life when I felt really low. My thoughts turned negative more than positive, which wasn’t my norm. I had trouble falling asleep and would stare at the ceiling for hours at night, my mind wondering. I felt tired. I…

There was a period in my life when I felt really low. My thoughts turned negative more than positive, which wasn’t my norm. I had trouble falling asleep and would stare at the ceiling for hours at night, my mind wondering. I felt tired. I was in my mid-30s.

It was the first time in my life that I developed a pattern of emotional lull that I couldn’t work myself out of. 

There were a lot of things going on with me then. I had just finished a business venture that ended with a whimper and had taken a lot out of me – both mentally and financially. I was living abroad and, while I loved my international life, I wasn’t sure where my path was leading to next. 

I was also dealing with really heavy situations with both of my parents at the same time – both suffering from incurable diseases. It was agonizing. I didn’t know how to process it. 

Day by day, it felt more and more like I was pushing a boulder up a mountain with no view of the summit. All I felt were headwinds. I needed some momentum.

I decided to look for a therapist in Amsterdam, where I lived at the time. I called a close friend who told me that in the Netherlands general psychotherapy is offered through your primary doctor’s office. If you ever needed to “talk to someone”, you just called your doctor’s office and they set you up with an appointment. And everything was booked on an anonymous basis, so they didn’t register the appointment under your real name, just in case you felt embarrassed about wanting to see a psychologist. 

But I didn’t feel any embarrassment. I never attached a negative stigma to therapy. I just hadn’t ever felt the need for it, until then. It felt like my emotions were “injured” and I wanted to talk to a doctor to help me heal.

So I called my doctor’s office and booked an appointment. 

I remember my first therapy appointment quite well. The therapist was a young man, around my age – let’s call him Emil. Emil had a calm demeanor, listened intently, and spoke in a measured cadence. 

He started by asking me why I wanted to speak to someone, and what types of problems I was experiencing. He asked me about my lifestyle and my work, and about my living situation and personal habits. He gracefully sized me up in about 20 minutes.

Then I started going deeper into the backstory of my parents’ respective illnesses. I explained that whenever I thought about them, I would lose my concentration and become quiet and withdrawn. 

Then, somewhat abruptly, he said, “Do you ever think about killing yourself, or harming others?”

Me: “No, no. Nothing like that. Why?”

Him: “I didn’t think so, but I’m required to ask – just to make sure. If you answered yes, I would need to stop seeing you and refer you to a psychiatrist…. Anyway, let’s continue. I want to show you something.”

He took out a blank piece of a paper and started writing across the middle of the page:

ACTION → PERCEPTION → INTERPRETATION → EMOTION → BEHAVIOR

Him: “You seem like a bright guy. Let me walk you through this and see if it makes sense.”

He traced his finger across the paper and started explaining what I would later learn were the basics of Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT). He talked through each word:

  1. ACTION: Something happens. Could be anything. I hear someone say something, or read something, or a situation comes up. Or, maybe I run into a certain person who always makes me feel the same way when we discuss certain subjects.
  2. PERCEPTION: My brain takes in information about the action, categorizes it, and aligns it with a familiar story that I have about information from that category. 
  3. INTERPRETATION: Now my inner voice gets to work and starts to read the story to me – a story based on something that’s happened in the past related to the same category. 
  4. EMOTION: As I listen to the story, I start to feel emotional. I might feel some reaction in my body, or my thoughts start to race. I experience discomfort. 
  5. BEHAVIOR: I react, outwardly. I say something, or get worked up physically. If I’m in the middle of a conversation, I try to redirect or change the subject. I do something to try to feel more comfortable.

Then he went back through each word again, walking me through an example:

  1. ACTION: Let’s say you’re working hard on a business deal and you’re almost done – everybody is about to get paid. You’re on a late night phone call with your client and when you find out the deal’s delayed. Your client is really stressed – he sounds pissed.
  2. PERCEPTION: Your client’s tone surprises you. He’s normally cordial but this time he’s really upset. You categorize this as risky. 
  3. INTERPRETATION: Your inner voice starts to tell you a story about loss: “Your client wants to run away from you. You made him very upset. He thinks less of you now. This whole thing is your fault. You failed him.”
  4. EMOTION: You tense up, physically. You clench your jaw. You feel panicky and fearful. 
  5. BEHAVIOR: When you try to talk to your client, your tone of voice is strained and you’re talking faster than normal. You try to comfort him and take the blame for the delay, even though it’s not your fault. You go to great lengths to overly assure him that everything will be fine. Don’t worry, you say, I’ll fix it.

“See what happened there?” Emil asked. “Has anything like that happened to you recently? Or something similar?”

He was spot on. “Yes”, I replied. “Yes, that definitely resonates.”

He continued: “First of all, all that happened is the deal was delayed and your client was stressed about that, which is normal. Delays happen. Nobody loves it, but it’s part of life. Happens in business all the time, right? This is a normal life occurrence.”

I nodded and kept listening. 

“But your perception wasn’t that this was a normal life occurrence, your perception was that this was risky. Why?”

He kept talking, explaining it all the way through: My perception when my client got stressed was that I did something wrong and now he wouldn’t want to work with me any more. Loss. I interpreted it as a loss. Why? Why was that the story I was telling myself?

Because I was experiencing the deep trauma of losing both of my parents, I would conflate and catastrophize an otherwise normal situation with my client. I would tell myself this dramatic story, and I make the story into a really big deal in my mind – until it became a Hollywood drama where everyone dies at the end. 

I was telling this story to myself that was completely detached from reality.

I’m living my life in a delusion, I thought. 

I had become overly sensitive to conflict as a way to appease my fear of more loss.

I sat back in my chair and looked at Emil with a focused look in my eyes. “When can we meet again?” I asked. “I want to do more of this.”

“Let’s meet next week.”

We shook hands and I left.

I was on the other side of town from my flat but decided to walk home. My thoughts were racing, but productively for the first time in forever. Positive, clarifying thoughts. I wanted to take a long walk to let my mind wander.

I scanned my mind for recent memories that felt disjointed or “off” – where I acquiesced to something uncharacteristically, or avoided conflict. There were too many to count. Holy shit, I thought, I’m doing this everywhere.

And then realized, I don’t have to do this any more. Emil just showed me the jedi mind track handbook for how to change my thoughts. 

I was excited. I felt a huge emotional weight lift off of me.

That day was the beginning of my CBT journey, and a turning point in understanding my own mental-emotional framework. I was about to begin the adventure of observing myself. I couldn’t wait for the next therapy session.

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[53] Enough With the Lawyer Billboards: An Ode to the Legal Profession

I didn’t grow up wanting to be a lawyer.  Most of what I heard about lawyers when I was younger was from lawyer jokes.  Then, I took a Contract Law class when I was in business school at the University of South Carolina. I was…

I didn’t grow up wanting to be a lawyer. 

Most of what I heard about lawyers when I was younger was from lawyer jokes. 

Then, I took a Contract Law class when I was in business school at the University of South Carolina. I was about 20.

That Contract Law class was taught by a self-described “old country lawyer” from nearby Calhoun County. He was performative, spoke slowly with a pronounced drawl, and was full of folksy Southern charm. 

He rose to prominence in his rural community by helping his fellow countryfolk solve their problems. He wasn’t a specialist at first: he drafted Wills, set up trusts, settled disputes, and litigated small civil cases. 

Eventually, he drifted towards what interested him most: business. He ended up representing several large farming companies in his area and built up a law practice. 

He decided to do some teaching in the twilight of his career, which is where our paths crossed.

On the first day of class, he started by talking about how his career path required him to be a self-learner.

Self-learners are naturally curious – people able to apply new ideas and concepts quickly. A pretty handy skill for a lawyer. I suppose everyone can be taught to be a self-learner – and there are certainly habits that help form the skill. But some are more naturally suited for it than others, like the “old country lawyer”.

He talked about the process of being able to learn a new piece of information, array it against a framework of legal knowledge in your mind, and then fire back with the right question or advice. He was describing an everflowing process for acquiring knowledge, with a framework – a legal framework. 

The best lawyers are lifelong students, always processing info and adding to their knowledge base.

I recognized that same trait in myself, when I met that “old country lawyer”.

I watched him diagram the various aspects of business law on the whiteboard that summer, and the concepts clicked for me immediately. I easily understood what he was talking about without much effort – usually after hearing him describe things only once. It all made sense to me, naturally. I felt this light bulb go off inside – “ping”.

That’s why I became a lawyer – I followed that “ping” feeling. 

I had already decided to seek more education after undergrad, but I didn’t want to get an MBA. I wanted something more practical – a skillset, a trade. I wanted what the “old country lawyer” had, so off I went to law school.

Only then did I grasp just how vast the legal profession is – all of the different forms of practicing law. It’s like an amoeba, touching all areas of society.

Family or personal matter? Check, lawyers are involved. Business or money matter? Check, lawyers there, too. Property issue? Check. Natural & environmental concerns? Check. Government and politics? Double check.

I started seeing the world through the lens of the law, imagining myself as a practitioner in all of these different ways.

Like the “old country lawyer”, I followed my natural drift. I followed that ‘ping’ that lit me up when I learned about contract law. That ‘ping’ led me to study the subjects I found interesting: business/finance, technology, human systems, intellectual property, international transactions, investing. And those studies, and then years and years of repetition as a practitioner, led me to have the law practice I have today.

Today, I’m fortunate enough to help my clients solve problems that I already enjoy solving. The stuff in my wheelhouse never gets boring for me. I’m the lifelong student type for my preferred subjects, so the knowledge compounds.

And that’s a big part of what being a lawyer means to me – the opportunity to help others by providing knowledge, judgment and strategy. I chose the business/finance law arena since it’s the game I enjoy playing the most. 

But when I look around, the legal profession looks worn down – and sometimes sleazy. I don’t like it. 

It seems like every billboard on every major highway in America is an advertisement for personal injury lawyers. 1-800-LETS-SUE in bold glossy font, screaming at me. (I don’t have anything against PI lawyers and actually think they serve a great function in some cases. But when the legal pursuit itself becomes too much of a commercial enterprise, I’m not sure that we’re all better off… anyway, I digress.)

So I try to remember the “old country lawyer” and focus on other lawyers that I admire. There are plenty. I often stumble upon these ‘recovering lawyer’ types who found a second act, typically landing in business, investing, writing or politics. I’ve made a list over the years.

Charlie Munger is at the top of my list. He had a brief legal career: he graduated Harvard Law School in two years (instead of the typical three), spent some time as a law clerk, and practiced general/business law for several years before going into investing.

The business world is full of other examples: Sam Zell (real estate tycoon, went to law school), Brad Gerstner (investor, former M&A lawyer), Herb Kelleher (corporate lawyer, founded Southwest Airlines), Bruce Karsh (corporate lawyer, co-founded Oaktree Capital Management), and numerous others.

And then there are lawyers who used the law to shift history and grind the gears of human progress. These lawyers are higher up the totem pole, morally speaking. They make the rest of us look like paper pushers. 

People like:

Nelson Mandela – started South Africa’s first black law firm, often helping fellow black citizens fight against apartheid discriminatory policies in the courts, served decades in prison for his activism and was eventually freed to become the first democratically elected President of South Africa.

Mahatma Ghandi – also worked as a civil rights attorney in South Africa before later returning to India and catalyzing the movement for independence from British colonial rule.

Thurgood Marshall – quickly recognized the power of using the law as a tool for social justice – one of his first cases was suing the University of Maryland law school for previously denying him admission (he ended up at Howard) – and was the first black Supreme Court Justice in the United States.

Ruth Bader Ginsburg – struggled to find a job as a female lawyer in the 60s, which led to her legal work as an advocate for women’s rights, and also ended up on the Supreme Court.

James Baker – worked for many years as a corporate lawyer before getting into politics & government, and later served as White House Chief of Staff and eventually Secretary of State, using his formidable skills as our nation’s top diplomat.

There are many many others.

So when I hear all the lawyer jokes, I smile. I get it. I understand why people have become frustrated with lawyers. I recognize that a lot of people see the lawyers on America’s billboards as the ‘main character’ of the profession – it’s our loudest archetype. 

I’m just sad that more people don’t meet lawyers like that “old country lawyer” who jazzed me up about Contract Law back when I was just a pup.

I choose to think about the lawyers who pushed things forward, who blazed their own trail. I try to emulate the ones, like Charlie Munger, who used their legal knowledge & training to develop a code of ethics for their own life and business. That’s my camp.

Using the law to change the world, first by changing myself.

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