My dad was a criminal lawyer for 43 years. He spent Monday through Friday between court and the office, escaping every Friday in summer to the lake, and every Friday in winter to the mountain. This highly privileged life (by most accounts) is traditionally appealing, but I feel panicked at the thought of replicating it.
The bust-your-ass-for-five, enjoy-life-for-two routine served my dad for those 43 years, as a similar version may have served your parents. Still heavily influenced by their parents’ trauma from the Great Depression and WWII, our parents sought the safety and security that accompanies a respectable profession such as law