W.H. Auden, during an interview at Swarthmore in 1971, described a point in writing poetry when you have to turn down an idea for one of two reasons, “I am sorry, no longer; or I am sorry, not yet.” Gina Barreca, a professor at UConn, herself a prolific writer, recently used that line to illustrate that point in the life of a professional when you reach the pause between what was and what will be. That's where I am.

Since announcing my sabbatical, I've heard from many who share my situation. (I am always surprised to learn that others share the exact same fears, hopes, challenges and experiences I think make me so unique. There's comfort in that.)

Mike Bowler, statewide bar counsel, and Fred Ury, Connecticut's legal futurist, share data that shows that the bar is aging, both here and nationally. The issues I, and as I am learning, many of my colleagues are wrestling with are going to be current for at least a decade. To the extent that I stay involved in bar affairs, I think it'll be working on helping make information and resources available to others staring over the edge of the cliff.

My colleague Pat King, possessed of a wealth of wisdom that I am forever thankful for, explains that it's not the intellectual challenge that burns professionals out, it's the endless bullshit that comes with any rules-based enterprise. One day you wake up and really cannot imagine another minute of demanding clients, supercilious functionaries, needless roadblocks, institutional inefficiency and wasted time. I used to wonder why old people were so crabby. Now I'm amazed that they're so sanguine.

One problem many face is wrapping up the many loose ends after four or five decades of practice. There are few IOLTA accounts that old without a bunch of unallocated money that can no longer be identified. Many don't know what to do with it. Ditto wills and other original materials. And other stuff too.

We had a case at disciplinary counsel's office a few years ago that illustrates the point. A lawyer died, leaving a mess of an office. He'd been appointed a few years earlier to handle the affairs of another lawyer who himself had died without wrapping things up. Part of the first lawyer's detritus were two urns of ashes of clients who had died. Two dead lawyers and still no resolution of the ashes issue! We were at a loss as to what to do with them. My biggest concern was that lawyer No. 3 would herself die, also without figuring it out. Luckily, I retired before having to address that probability.

CBA President Jon Shapiro recently proposed a rule that a few states have adopted, requiring solo lawyers to designate a successor/trustee/conservator. It's a great idea and is already in the commentary to Rule 1.3. Disciplinary Counsel's office has been overwhelmed with the problem of finding trustees for dead, disabled, disbarred and disappeared lawyers for the 15 years I've been involved in the process. Even if they find a willing soul to do the work, tasks such as cracking password-protected firm management software, e-banking and other records are beyond the ken of most. Add in business records and paper files moldering in a barn or basement and it can be an overwhelming task, one for which there's no compensation.

Shapiro's board of governors wasn't impressed with his suggested solution however. A few thought the rule was a good idea, but the model rule chosen wasn't the best answer. Others didn't like the idea of another “unfunded mandate” like MCLE. (Lawyers generally don't like to be told what to do, and many really, really hate the idea of adding any more rules, breach of which could get them hauled before the grievance committee.) His initiative remains a work in progress.

Some of us just ignore the issue until it becomes someone else's problem. A lawyer I knew well called me when I was disciplinary counsel, asking me to appoint a trustee so he could retire. He had over 50 years of files and records and was overwhelmed with the work attendant on putting his affairs in order. I explained that it wasn't until he died or was disbarred that I could do such a thing. He grumbled and, after trying unsuccessfully to sell his practice to a younger lawyer, got himself grieved. His response to the disciplinary complaint was so contumacious, and the result was so career-ending, that to this day I suspect it was all just a ruse to get a trustee to take over the closing of his office. Either way, I think he's happy now.

Stay tuned. I'll check back in on occasion when I have more updates on this process. As I've learned, getting old is pretty common. And as my mother used to say, it beats the alternative.

Mark Dubois is a former Connecticut chief disciplinary counsel.