When I was younger, I didn’t say much. I figured keeping quiet was the best way to avoid trouble. I didn’t want to create waves, and truthfully, I thought that was how you earned respect, by keeping your head down and working hard. I thought if I didn’t make noise, people would notice my effort and appreciate it. Turns out, silence doesn’t always command respect — sometimes it just gives fools more room to talk.
When I was at Boston University for my LLM, our classes were at night, so I decided to get a part-time job at a law firm. I landed one at Bernkopf Goodman, a medium-sized Boston firm with about thirty lawyers. The place was split between litigation and real estate, with one lonely negligence attorney floating around.
One afternoon at lunch, that negligence lawyer and one of the real estate partners started goofing on me. I don’t even remember what about — probably something stupid. I just sat there, said nothing. They were partners, and I was a $23-an-hour law clerk trying to build a résumé. At that age, you assume anyone older, especially a partner, must be smarter and wiser. You think success automatically equals intelligence.
Here’s the punchline: they weren’t. The negligence guy ended up leaving to hang his own shingle, and the real estate guy had to tag along with a senior partner just to keep clients. In the end, they weren’t anything special, just two insecure lawyers trying to make themselves feel bigger by cutting someone else down.
It took me years to learn that lesson, that title and experience don’t equal competence or integrity. The law is full of people who confuse volume with knowledge and seniority with wisdom. Sometimes the loudest voices in the room are the ones who know the least.
And me? I kept quiet then because I didn’t know better. But life has a funny way of teaching you when to speak up. Today, I don’t stay silent when I see something wrong, whether it’s a bad plan design, a fiduciary mistake, or some self-proclaimed expert making it up as they go. Because I’ve learned that being quiet to keep the peace only helps the people who don’t deserve it.
Those two partners at Bernkopf Goodman? They probably forgot that lunch. I didn’t. Because in the end, they weren’t better, they weren’t wiser, they just got there first. And years later, when I built my own practice and my own voice, I realized something important: I was never beneath them. I was just still becoming me.