A Queen’s Gambit: Career Lessons on Landing Where You Belong
It all begins with an idea. Maybe you want to launch a business. Maybe you want to turn a hobby into something more. Or maybe you have a creative project to share with the world. Whatever it is, the way you tell your story online can make all the difference.
Using the chessboard as an analogy for the law firm, it was the fall of 2019, and it was a new game of chess. It appeared to be my opponent’s turn to make an opening move. At this point, the agitation had set in. While I tried to ignore it, selling myself on the idea that I was happy, I was miserable.
Toward the end of my time at big law, I had my own book of business and clients, and was working with partners in other offices. These mentors were certainly more forward-thinking than most and shared my vision of alternative and agile ways to deliver services to clients. Unfortunately, on my “home turf”, it appeared that no one really understood my area of practice, and I often sensed that many were plagued by myopic thoughts on what the practice of law should and could look like.
At a never-ending rubber chicken dinner for the benefit of the firm, my mind began to wander. I looked around the table and contemplated the hierarchy of each person within the firm, perhaps likening them to chess pieces. Most were pawns – the expendable, powerless, nameless pieces, who may, if actions are brave, become queens. Unfortunately for most, the “chess master” (or was it a patzer?) would too often make decisions leaving pawns poorly placed, resulting in limited movement. For most, “Queening” would be difficult, at best.
But like chess, it wasn’t all pawns at the table. We had a bishop – less predictable, more mystical, who would eventually launch his own firm. From there a few knights would follow (why break the wall when you can jump over it?). My opponent’s king (senior partner) was obviously still standing – invisible until threatened and not the most efficient piece, but for reasons still unknown to me, he’s a big deal because his implied capture ends the game. For me, my queen had been captured (appointed to the bench) and when she left, I knew I was not long for that firm. I also sensed that my home office may not be long for itself. Checkmate?
Accepting my firm, dinner, and chess for what they were, I finally locked eyes with my opponent who sat across the table with his wife. As I studied this couple, I could only surmise that they were descendants of the people pictured in “American Gothic” by Grant Wood. Sad, beige people.
I was sad, but I was certainly not beige. Something had to give.
Several catalytic events happened next. Some were serendipitous happenings and others were risky moves thought out with the intention and precision of a move in a chess game. Gambits, as it were. The end game? I was ending the game. I left big law in 2020.
However, it did not end that quickly or simply.
As the saying goes, strategy requires thought, and tactics require observation; and I required both. Piece by piece, I plotted the details to move forward with my departure (including taking as much of my book of business as possible, because it’s the client’s choice, right?). My opening move in this new game was fresh. My model was a virtual firm, a model that aligned with my values and which was built with respected guidance from another pawn who quit the game, was loving life, and was loving the law again. Thank you, JS.
The model was to create a firm that could serve clients more efficiently through the use of technology and alternative practice models, leveraging additional support as and where needed. This model reduced unnecessary overhead and allowed me to focus on meaningful and strategic guidance for clients rather than constantly worrying about padding the senior partner’s wallet. The focus was on people, not profits, because profits would always come by serving people properly, and part of that required being innovative.
As I quietly faded out of my last days of practice, on February 3, 2020, at 5 p.m., my phone and connection to the firm went dead. At 5:01 p.m., I launched Lunova Law. By the next morning (in between meetings where I handed off firm devices to the Vancouver office), I was negotiating a licensing deal and drafting documents for a new client. The following day, I left the country, continuing to serve my clients without skipping a beat.
Then, the pandemic happened.
Unpopular opinion: the pandemic was a gift, at least for me. While so many scrambled to adapt to a new practice style, many aspects of the new model were my model all along (minus the pandemic). It reaffirmed what I knew: I was the best version of myself when I honoured myself, where a better “me” meant I could serve my clients better. Additionally, the pandemic normalized hybrid models of practice, where traditional firms were seeing their largest profit margins ever. The pandemic also acted as a catalyst for innovative change in the industry, where I now get to act as counsel for other law firms and alternative practice providers while still maintaining my own book of business. For me, the opportunities feel endless.
In Netflix’s “The Queen’s Gambit” final episode, the protagonist opens with “Queen’s Gambit Accepted”, defeats her archrival and, the next day, she skips her flight home to spend time with a group of adoring chess players. Why? Because she wanted to, and now she could. Many argue that the symbolism of this moment is clear: the protagonist has become a queen with the power and confidence to move freely in an often hostile, rigid, and male-dominated field.
I love clever shows. I love allegories. I’m still learning chess…
