On Second Chapters
"From Strength to Strength," by Arthur C. Brooks.
Well, I’m back. I finished my law school teaching at the end of March, attended the American Bar Association’s National Institute on Class Actions in Austin, Texas the second week of April, and decided to wait until after Easter to begin writing again. Teaching a complex subject, developed and learned over decades, to law students in the space of a few weeks is both challenging and rewarding. It is challenging to decide “what to leave in” and “what to leave out,” to quote Bob Seger’s famous song, “Against the Wind.” It is rewarding to connect with students and see them pick up the themes of the subject matter. Every student I taught in my small class was smart, engaged, and respectful both to me and to each other. Young people like them sustain my hope for this shambles of a world.
Now I’m back to my normal life, still practicing law after all these years and trying to decide when and what will be my next chapter. I’ve read a few books recently about that latter topic, none more helpful than the one I read this week - “From Strength to Strength” by Arthur C. Brooks. The subtitle, “Finding Success, Happiness, and Deep Purpose in the Second Half of Life,” pretty well sums up what the book is about. It’s not the first “second half of life” book I’ve read, another being Richard Rohr’s “Falling Upward.” Both books are excellent, but where Rohr’s is told from a religious mystic’s perspective (Rohr is a Franciscan priest), Brooks’ book relies heavily on social science research and should appeal to a more secular audience (though he also draws from religion and philosophy). Another book I’ve read along the same lines is David Brooks’ “The Second Mountain,” which I also would recommend to anyone interested in this subject matter. I’m beginning to think I should start a book group to dive into all three books. Maybe I will.
Besides the coincidence that two of the three books are written by people named “Brooks,” I also am amused by the thought that people of my vintage are entering the second half of their lives. Maybe I got started late, but if the second half of my life is just beginning, I will live to a ripe old age indeed. Even if the authors mean the second half of one’s adult life, I will easily live to be a centenarian. I suppose I shouldn’t take the phrase so literally.
If there is a theme to all three books, it’s the theme of letting go. Arthur Brooks (the only Brooks I’ll refer to from here) says that many people begin their careers on what he calls the first curve. Think of professional athletes. They typically start in their twenties, reach their physical peaks by age 30, begin to decline in their 30s if they make it that far, and are usually finished before they reach 40. Sure, there are some notable exceptions, but very few athletes are still performing in what for the rest of us can be described as early middle age. That first curve goes up quickly, reaches its peak, and then descends, as curves do. No matter how hard you try to keep climbing, gravity will inevitably prevail.
Of course, most of us can keep working longer than athletes because our careers do not depend on physical strength and agility. Yet Brooks says we are all climbing or descending that first curve; the only thing that’s different is the age at which we peak. He cites studies that show that people in different careers peak at different ages. What surprised me is that the descent begins much earlier than I would have thought.
Brooks distinguishes between “fluid intelligence” and “crystallized intelligence,” terms he attributes to a book published by British psychologist Raymond Cattell in 1971. Fluid intelligence is defined as the ability to reason, think flexibly, and solve novel problems. This is the intelligence young professionals rely on in building their careers. Apparently it begins to diminish in our 30s and 40s. But Cattell also identified another type of intelligence called “crystallized intelligence” whose curve is different. It is defined as the ability to use a stock of knowledge learned in the past. Brooks translates Cattell’s findings into this: “When you are young, you have raw smarts; when you are old, you have wisdom. When you are young, you can generate lots of facts; when you are old, you know what they mean and how to use them.”
The beauty of that second curve of crystallized intelligence is that it begins and peaks much later in life than the first, fluid intelligence curve. And the secret to happiness later in life, Brooks says, is to get off that first curve and get onto the second one. In other words, don’t be one of those people who in their later years keeps trying to succeed doing the same things they did when they were younger and their brains operated in a more fluid manner. (Stop doing what Bob Seger was doing in that song, “still running against the wind.”) Rather, get off that first curve and find ways to put your more mature, crystallized intelligence to work. Two ways you can do that are to teach and mentor those behind you. But at some point, trying to continue along that first curve becomes a fool’s errand that will only lead to frustration. Brooks sums this up early in the book by describing some of the wisdom imparted by the ancient Roman philosopher, Cicero:
Cicero believed three things about older age. First, that it should be dedicated to service, not goofing off. Second, our greatest gift later in life is wisdom, in which learning and thought create a worldview that can enrich others. Third, our natural ability at this point is counsel: mentoring, advising, and teaching others, in a way that does not amass worldly rewards of money, power, or prestige.
There is a great deal more in Brooks’ inspiring little book, and I highly recommend it to young and old alike. My takeaway is this. At some point in the course of our careers, we simply are not as effective doing what we have always done. That does not mean we lack value; it just means that we have a new store of gifts acquired through the experiences we have accumulated (including lessons learned from the mistakes we have made) over the years. We need to learn to let go of our ambitions and our instinct to keep ascending our own career ladders and assume a different role - that of counselor and teacher to those who are still ascending theirs.
For a litigation attorney like myself, that means leaving it to younger lawyers to take the depositions, draft the briefs, argue the motions, and try the cases. I’m still capable of doing all those things, but now some of my higher and better uses are to let others have the hands-on opportunities I had early in my career, to coach them in the development of their skills, and to guide them in formulating case strategy, seeing the big picture, understanding the clients’ interests, making the tough decisions, and viewing the case, the evidence, and the arguments from the judge’s point of view. In other words, using the lessons I have learned and the wisdom I have gained in my past to help those who come after me build their futures.
There no doubt are analogies in many other walks of life in which that same crucial shift takes place, when the doer becomes the teacher. Most important in any context is the ability and willingness to pass on the skills and values learned throughout a long and even modestly successful career to those who follow. Making that transition requires letting go of one’s former way of doing things and embracing a new way. It requires wisdom, self-knowledge, and a spirit of generosity, and carries with it its own set of abundant, intrinsic rewards. And the sooner one makes the transition, the more time one has to enjoy the intrinsic rewards it delivers.
Perhaps continuing to work in one’s chosen field but in this different way only moves us partially towards that second curve, though. Eventually we may choose to make a bigger leap by getting off that first curve entirely and jumping wholly onto the second; in other words, combining the leap from the fluid intelligence curve to the crystallized intelligence curve with a more radical departure from one’s chosen field. Brooks would advise those of us who are at or near retirement to consider new avenues of service and generosity that may be largely or entirely unrelated to our past careers.
I’ve been doing some of that this past year too. It’s what has led me to teach, to write this newsletter, and to start my own podcast, none of which are designed to advance my now fully realized career as a lawyer. (Someday I may need to change the title of the newsletter too.) I see other people also making that leap - people who began serving as adjunct professors of law long before I did, or who either while practicing law or after they “retired” have followed new paths designed to give back to the world and not just to continue to feather their own nests. Some of the guests for my podcast are second-curve people, people who have found their “Higher Callings” and, by pursuing them, have made themselves happier and the world a better place.
In the end, that’s what Brooks says will bring the greatest happiness in our second chapters. It’s not to keep striving for the almighty dollar, or to wallow in our past triumphs or faded glories. Rather, like Cicero, Brooks says once we find the courage to jump to the second curve, we will find happiness in service to others, in relationships, and in spiritual pursuits. Such endeavors provide intrinsic rewards that more than compensate for the extrinsic rewards we inevitably must forego.
Brooks ends his book by encapsulating its message in the following formula:
Use things.
Love people.
Worship the divine.
If we do that, he holds, we will have found satisfaction in a life well lived.
I think he may be on to something.
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Here is a link to Bob Seger’s classic song, “Against the Wind.”