On a recent plane trip, I noticed my seatmate flipping through a dog-eared copy of a book about surviving the first year of law school. A lengthy conversation about practicing law followed; for me, it was a little akin to talking to a past version of myself — wielding how-to books and tort class outlines, oblivious and idealistic at the same time and woefully unprepared yet overconfident in spite of all objective data to the contrary.
My seatmate appeared in much better shape: better LSAT scores, an Ivy undergrad degree, with extracurriculars that would make admissions departments type acceptance letters so fast that they wouldn’t even bother to spell-check the name. He asked pointed and incisive questions as to how to write an exam essay that I doubt I could have even conceived of — in short, he had all the pedigrees for the beginnings of a stellar legal career.
