Sliding Doors, Sector Shifts and Specialising in Crime – Reflections on Transitioning Careers in Tasmanian Criminal Law

Rethinking the legal path – in Tasmania’s legal profession, career trajectories often appear well-worn: graduate, secure a government or firm position, and slowly rise through the ranks. But what happens when lawyers leave the predictability of those paths? What does it take to walk away from security and step into the unknown – whether that’s shifting from public to private, Northern to Southern Tasmania, or employee to sole practitioner?

In this candid piece, we (Jess and Luke) share our personal reflections on two very different yet unexpectedly parallel transitions. We have both recently opened our own criminal law firms. To do this, one of us left an eleven-year policing career, including time as a police prosecutor, and the other returned to private practice after more than a decade practising across both sectors and both ends of the state.

Our stories explore the human side of legal career change: imposter syndrome, community support, laughter, doubt, and ultimately, the clarity that can come from trusting your instincts. From Boags and the Gorge to time recording and courtroom steps, our experiences reveal not only the realities of change but the surprising joy of finding where you’re meant to be.

Jess Lyndon. From Prosecutor to Practitioner – A Sliding Doors Moment
My path into legal practice started in an unorthodox way – not with a courtroom, but with a badge. After completing the Tasmanian Legal Practice Course (TPLC) in 2013, I joined the Tasmania Police Academy as a trainee officer. It wasn’t the standard trajectory for a new law graduate, but at age 25, the thought of sitting at a desk all day was not my idea of a healthy lifestyle. The Police Academy offered movement, structure, purpose – and, yes, a better salary than most entry-level legal roles.

I applied for the Academy during a Family Law lecture (I was definitely ‘actively listening’!), and I was accepted for the September 2013 intake. When handing in my resignation for a graduate position at a law firm, and before I’d even started, I passed a fire truck, full of firefighters. That strange, serendipitous moment became symbolic – a real-life “sliding doors” experience that set me on an entirely different course.

Over the next eleven years, I worked across multiple areas of policing, finishing as a Senior Constable Prosecutor. The work was complex, relentless, and occasionally psychologically draining. But it also gave me insight into the justice system that textbooks could not. I worked closely with lawyers from both sides of the criminal bar and built a quiet but deep knowledge of court procedure, advocacy, and the experience of vulnerable defendants.

I met my co-author Luke Brett in 2014 while stationed in Launceston Uniform Division. The Launceston criminal law crew included prosecution and defence solicitors, and it was a very social time in life. Star Bar, anyone? Fortunately, I was invited to events, even though I was a ‘cop’, and met a lot of amazing legal practitioners. Luke and I lost touch, until recently when I saw his name in the Law Society newsletter –he had just opened his own criminal practice. Coincidentally, I was in the process of opening my own. That reconnection sparked a supportive friendship as we navigated the process of starting solo practices.

Becoming a criminal defence solicitor wasn’t in my career plan. As a prosecutor I distinctly recall repeating the line “I could never go to the dark side!”. Well, whoops. I didn’t study criminology or sentencing at university, and I always felt like a bit of an imposter in legal circles. But late last year I realised my experience and knowledge of criminal procedure and government processes. I also appreciated the bigger picture about how the world works, particularly for our low-socioeconomic clients. I recognised that I was stronger than I gave myself credit for, and I began to realise just how much I had been underestimating myself.

My decision to leave police and transition to sole practitioner wasn’t made lightly. It occurred organically through a series of decisions to take accountability for my own health and future, coupled with the incredible support of my professional networks. Full disclosure: as someone who is resistant to change, I have not been immune to dizzying moments of “what the hell am I doing?!”

I was lucky enough to have long service leave and a property sale behind me, which allowed me the financial breathing space to start my own business. What tipped me over the edge, though, was the support of the Hobart legal community – particularly the incredible Philippa Morgan. I am incredibly grateful to the Law Society, and Philippa and other female criminal law practitioner colleagues who have supported my transition to a sole practitioner this year. When I told Philippa that a family law position that I briefly took post-policing was not my forte, she extended not only an olive branch, but the whole tree – roots included – and gave me the confidence to take the leap to becoming a criminal practitioner. And I haven’t looked back!

Philippa offered me not just advice but the self-belief I needed. She is an incredible mentor, and now friend. I would not be doing this without her. I could name others, but my ‘Criminal Law girls’ – they will know who they are – have given me a circle of support and encouragement that I have never experienced before.

Since opening my practice in February 2025, my mindset has transformed. I now get to shape my work, set my pace, and live according to my values. That clarity has been deeply liberating. Gone are the frustrations of uneven workloads or institutional inertia; in their place, autonomy and professional satisfaction.

Practising defence work has also enabled me to re-engage with the feeling of empathy, which I had somewhat lost along the way in the desensitised policing environment. Working with vulnerable clients, some of whom are navigating extraordinary challenges, has reminded me why I studied law in the first place. And, I happily walk to court most days, clocking up over 10,000 steps in my work day, using that time to think and plan, and stop for countless coffees – at Pilgrim, aka my second office.

Criminal defence isn’t easy, but it’s fulfilling. It’s chaotic, often hilarious, sometimes heart-wrenching, but always purposeful. I work harder than I ever have, but I feel more motivated than ever. I’ve learned to trust my instincts, value my experience, and, most importantly, ask for help when I need it.

My key takeaways are:

1. Leaving the public sector can feel risky, but with the right support, it can be the best decision you make. And, you are more competent than you think you are!
2. The saying ‘there’s no money in Crime’ fails to account for plenty of laughs and camaraderie.
3. A strong network and a good mentor are worth their weight in gold.

Luke Brett. Public, Private, North, South – What Really Matters
Criminal law has been my career anchor since completing the TLPC in 2012. Aside from a very brief detour into family law, it’s the area I’ve committed to – and the area I genuinely love. Over the years, I’ve worked in both public and private sectors, and in both Launceston and Hobart. These shifts – geographic and institutional – have taught me that there’s no single “right” way to practise law, only the right way for you.

My career started in Launceston, where I also grew up. Aside from a brief stint on the North-West coast (I won’t elaborate here because as we all know, what happens on the North-West coast stays on the Nort-West coast!), I spent the better part of a decade working in northern Tasmania. In 2020, I made the move to Hobart – a shift that, predictably, reignited the age-old “North vs South” rivalry.

Conversations with my peers over time have tended to follow the same pattern:

“Hobart is better – it has so much culture”

“ Yes, but Launceston has Boags and the Gorge”…

“But Hobart has Mona and more employment opportunities”

“Yes…but Boags and the Gorge”…

“But Hobart occasionally has test match cricket”

“But Boags and Gorge”

“But Hobart is the centre of our government and our State’s capital”

“Sorry…I didn’t hear that one…I was too busy drinking a Boags red at the Gorge”.

Having worked in both cities, I’ve come to the conclusion that there is no perfect city, no clear winner. Each has its strengths and quirks. Each has excellent lawyers, great courts, and a distinct professional rhythm. And both are excellent places to practise criminal law. The trick is making the most of wherever you are – and appreciating the diversity in our State’s legal landscape.

The other divide I’ve crossed is the public–private line. I started in private practice, moved into public roles with Tasmania Legal Aid and the Office of the Director of Public Prosecutions for over 12 years. Now, I have defected back into the private sector. In a similar way to the North v South debate, I have, over the years, come to realise that there is a Public v Private divide within our legal profession. And with this comes, perhaps, some misconceptions and myths about what working on the “other side” of that divide is actually like.

There is an assumption that the public sector is all cruisy hours and no pressure. That’s not my experience. The public sector is full of hardworking, committed lawyers – many of the best I’ve worked with. And yes…in my time in the public sector I may or may not have worked with a practitioner (who shall remain nameless) who was known to have a nap, in the middle of a workday, on the ground in front of their office door so no one could open it and catch them in the act! Yes, you don’t have to record your time or chase clients for invoices, but that’s balanced by the inevitable drawback of more rigid role definitions and fewer opportunities to innovate or diversify your practice to become a well-rounded practitioner.

On the flip-side, private practice gives you freedom – but also forces you to face your limits. You record every minute. You chase payments. You make business decisions on the fly. But you also get to grow, specialise, and shape your career without the red tape. That freedom, for me, has been worth the adjustment. Practising criminal law in the private sector is not without its challenges, but the ability to focus on learning and specialising in your craft, free from the bureaucracy (and endless meetings) that so often plagues government institutions, is well worth finding ways to overcome and minimise any perceived drawbacks.

Time recording, often the thing public lawyers dread, turns out to not be as bad as it sounds. Like anything, it becomes habit. And the trade-off is real: in private practice, I’ve been able to deepen my skills, build meaningful client relationships, and enjoy the challenge of building something from the ground up.

Returning to private practice has made me more connected to my work and more satisfied with my day-to-day. It’s not about choosing the “better” path – it’s about choosing the one that aligns with your goals, values, and strengths.

Ultimately, what I have learned about this throughout my career can be distilled down to three major truths:

1. Public and private practice both offer great careers – neither is better, just different. The way to find career satisfaction is to embrace the strengths and opportunities of whatever role you are in, regardless of whether it is public or private work.
2. Specialising in what you love matters more than your job title. Choosing, committing to and specialising in a particular area of law, such as criminal law, is far more important for career satisfaction and progression than choosing between working in the public or private sector.
3. Boags and the Gorge are an unbeatable combination that will literally win every argument.

Where You Start Isn’t Where You Have to Finish
We took very different routes into criminal law – one through policing, the other through years of practice across institutions and cities. But our stories share key themes: embracing discomfort, trusting in your own competence, and finding strength in community.

We both discovered that the traditional “safe” career path isn’t the only way to build a fulfilling legal practice. In fact, stepping away from security, when done thoughtfully and with the right support, can lead to greater freedom, sharper purpose, and deeper satisfaction.

Whether you’re thinking of switching sectors, relocating, or finally backing yourself to go out on your own, our stories are a reminder: legal careers don’t have to be linear to be successful. And sometimes, all it takes is a little courage – and maybe a Boags at the Gorge.

July 2025
Jess Lyndon, Principal Barrister and Solicitor, Lyndon Law; jess@lyndonlaw.com.au; lyndonlaw.com.au
Luke Brett, Luke Brett, Principal,office@lukebrettbas.com; lukebrettbas.com