I sat in the doctor’s office recently because my daughter needed a physical exam for college — one of those “where did the time go?” moments that reminds you life keeps moving whether you’re ready or not. As I looked around the waiting room, I saw a face that was oddly familiar. He was staring at me the same way. Then the nurse called his first name, and it clicked: a partner from that fakakta law firm from nearly two decades ago.
Seventeen years ago, that meant something to me. Back then, I was hustling for business, believing cross-selling my ERISA work to their clients was the golden ticket. I even had a buddy, a salesman with a local TPA, take us out to lunch at the old Legal Seafood back when they were still a Long Island staple. I thought I was networking with power players. I thought if I impressed the right partner, doors would open.
But that firm was built by merging in solo practitioners who guarded their clients like the secret formula for Coca-Cola. Nobody shared. Nobody collaborated. As a former partner once told me, it was a glorified real estate tax grievance firm wrapped in the illusion of a full-service practice.
So there we were, two people in a generic waiting room, not peers, not rivals, just parents getting paperwork done. And I realized how much perspective time gives you. The people you once viewed as gatekeepers to your future may not have been guarding much at all.
When I wrote Full Circle, this is exactly the kind of moment I meant , when life loops around and hands you a clearer picture than the one you had when you were younger, hungrier, and running harder. The only difference is now, I don’t look at those encounters with bitterness. I look at them with clarity.
Because sometimes, the only thing that changed between then and now is how much you’ve grown — and how much smaller those giants look when you finally stop looking up.
