We lawyers like to talk. I know that I do, anyhow—just ask anyone who knows me. In fact, I think that the natural inclination of most attorneys is to speak, not listen, and this is particularly true where our clients are concerned. We tend to interrupt, to finish other people's sentences, to tune out what others are saying while we frame our responses. We speak because we are the debaters, the light-shedders, the problem solvers. We see no need to listen because we think we already know what will be said. The trouble is that, on an emotional level, our clients want us to do more than just solve their problems. Our clients want us to hear them. They want us to listen, to empathize, and to be patient. Our clients want more than just a zealous advocate; they want a counselor, too.

Frequently, I believe that the inability to actively listen to clients—or prospective clients—leads to under-earning. This is a lesson I learned in a dramatic fashion. A prospective client called my office and asked the receptionist if we had a file for her late husband. Subsequent file review indicated that we did not and that the decedent had never been a client at all. I almost had my receptionist call back and give a standard, "Sorry, but we don't have a file," response, but out of curiosity I decided to call myself and ask the woman how she had received my name. It turned out that she had been going through a local phone book's attorney listings and gotten all the way down to the W's before calling me. I was busy, with clients waiting, and after hearing how many of my colleagues had already rejected her, I almost said goodbye and wished her the best of luck. Instead, though, on a whim I took a moment to go just one step further: I asked why she was calling, and then I listened. She had a solid legal claim worth at least several hundred thousand dollars.

That woman had spoken with dozens of attorneys' offices before mine, and she had been dismissed time and time again without anyone taking a few minutes to simply listen to her. By asking one basic follow-up question—a question I almost never asked out of a misplaced sense that it would be "wasted" time—I landed a huge potential case. Since then, I have spent a lot of time fighting the urge to cry over spilt milk, to think back about how many cases I might have missed in the past by simply speaking instead of listening.

Instead, I have tried to internalize a simple lesson: clients are rarely inclined to pay you to talk at them, and active listening will earn you far more than talking ever will.