What kind of law do you practice?

I must ask that question five times a day.

Only rarely do I get a straight answer.

The straighter your answer, the busier you’ll be.

How Not to Answer This Question

Today’s answer was this:

Mostly family law, but some real estate when that’s busy. So about half family law and half business, but then the real estate will bump up, and it’ll be more like 25 percent real estate and the rest business and family law. But what I really like is being the go-to guy for whatever problem people have—especially the clients I really like. For them, I do whatever they need if I can figure it out. I like solving problems.

Then he gasped for air because he’d been talking for so long.

Look, I just wanted to know what kind of law he practices.

Simple question. Simple answer.

No one cares about him. No one cares about you. No one cares about me. People just don’t care about anyone other than themselves. (Don’t go all Mother Teresa on me, okay?)

Where This Answer Went Awry

We want an answer when we ask that question. We want to file you away in our brains for when we need you, and we don’t want to hear your life story right away.

We especially don’t want to know how you’re:

• Confused about what you ought to be focusing on,
• Afraid of alienating someone because you gave us the wrong answer,
• Hesitant to commit to one thing because it means giving up another, or
• Suffering from an inability to make decisions about your life and your work.

Of course, I can’t leave well enough alone and drop the subject after absorbing your long-winded answer.

That’s why I point out that you didn’t really answer the question (as I’m apt to do because, as you know, I’m kind of an asshole), and you launch into this thing about how that’s not what you really say to others when they ask and how you only said that to me because you knew I’d understand.

To that explanation, I call BULLSHIT.

(I went ahead with “bullshit” because I’d already used “asshole,” which means that my friend Jim Calloway won’t circulate my filthy language article in his state anyway, so why not take it to the next level?)

The answer you gave me is in the zone of what you say to everyone who asks.

Most of us have a limited number of answers to the questions we get asked.

Your answer to me likely resembles the answer you give everyone.

It’s true: own up to it. You’ve got one damn answer.

And, therefore, no one walks away from you with a clear sense of what you do.

The Right Response to This Question

I had lunch with an attorney who does “animal rights” law. She didn’t tell me how she did three things, how she was shifting, or how she sometimes did something else. She said “animal rights.” Her passion came through. I understood when and how she can help.

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I don’t have much need for an animal rights lawyer (we don’t even have a cat anymore), but I can tell you that she’ll get my referral when the need arises. I’ll never forget her, her answers, or the kind of cases I can refer to her.

When you answer the question, you need to actually answer it. It needs to be simple, clear, powerful, and passionate. You need to say it so I’ll know which referrals to send your way.

You need to say it without ambivalence, without reservation, without waffling, and without backpedaling. Tell me what you do. Tell all of us. We’d like to help you, if only you’ll get of your own way and let us.

What kind of law do you practice?