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| From Genevieve
Brain Teasers (to keep brains healthy!)
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Thank you all for the beautiful thoughts and wishes you have been sending. Man, you have no idea how beautiful it is to get them. Here are a few that you wanted to share. Thank you... thank you... thank you. (When Dr. Brem told us that patients have told him, when they look back, that this may have been the best thing that had happened to them, he just might be right.) From Sam I was nine years old when I saw my
first guitar. Sure I'd seen it on T.V. before then, but never up close and personal.
Behind a store glass window, there it was, and a sign reading: "First
month's lesson free!" Of course I pleaded with my parents, but the answer was
no. All the same to me, I always knew that at some point I was going to play
this instrument. Fast-forward to age eighteen, I was an
arrogant kid on his way to college to study engineering, but I had been playing guitar all
the while. I had this great guitar teacher several years back who schooled me
on some chords and things, but the lessons were cut short after a year or so. I
found books and made up my own charts and tried to study guitar on my own during the rest
of high school. Then I met Suzanne. I should back up a moment, first I met
Genevieve. Actually, I had a big-time crush on her. She was the smartest
kid in school, so it was hard not to, but when I met her mom it all made sense. Most
parents would be wise to take a page out of Suzanne's notebook. So like I was
saying, I met Suzanne in the latter half of senior year. We became friends instantly.
Usually the parents I met seemed more like the poster children of a humdrum,
nine-to-five life, but not Suzanne. I was too young to put my finger on it
then, but I knew that Suzanne was driven by a different purpose than most. She
didn't get out of bed each morning to make cash, or pad reputation; she was after
something much more abstract and enamoring. Later that summer, we're talking 1998
here, she secretly arranged a meeting between my former guitar teacher and myself.
On the day of the meeting all was disclosed, I was to meet Jim that
afternoon. Talk about a good time, seeing Jim again was a reaffirming moment in my
life. It wasn't so much the person, as good a guy as Jim is, but it was being
reconnected with an excellent musician. The high school bands I formed were mediocre
to say the least, to be in the presence of a virtuoso had, and still does have, a
directing force in my life. That was nine years ago, but the moment
sits perfectly in my memory. For everything I know about Suzanne, one thing is for
sure, she takes everything personally. At first that sounds like a backhanded
compliment, but it's actually an unusually valued quality in a person. Suzanne is
engaged, always has been, and always will be. I say she takes things
personally because she's in touch with folks: she listens and reflects, never nods and
forgets. Most people I meet prefer to be impersonal, rarely willing to risk enough
of themselves to make anything truly worthwhile. But Suzanne has always
confounded my expectations, choosing the personal and engaged, albeit risky route, instead
of the deflecting and all too common disconnected route. Years after I reconnected with my
guitar teacher, I started teaching guitar myself. I did this for several years and
for part of that time I worked across the street from Jim. We would have lunch every
Saturday with the other music teachers, and of course we would talk about music.
My dreams as a boy had come full circle, getting to sit with experts and
discuss music in all its mysteriousness. And although I was the one that had
practiced endlessly at my instrument, it was Suzanne who showed me that life without
passion is tantamount to dying young. We call it cliché, but it's never
surprising to find the most impressive people to also be the ones who are most passionate.
If you're reading this, then you're alive. That sounds painfully
obvious, but there's more than meets the eye. We were given life, and what we
don't use we lose. Make no mistake about it, the clock is ticking, and when it hits
zero it's all over. This is hardly depressing, it's an outright celebration. There is no logical reason to think
that I had to be born. There's no logical reason to think that I should
be born into an educated family, with a roof over my head and food on my plate. Yet
these things happened nonetheless, and so my life is nothing short of a great prize,
really the only prize that has any meaning. So how should I ration my gift of
time and consciousness? It's so simple that often the eyes of a child, and not of an
adult, can recognize the optimal strategy: do what you love. It is what you
will be best at, it is what you will enjoy most, in short, it is the optimal way for you
to spend your time and attention, even if it means living modestly. Reputation
is important, and we can stockpile it, money is even more important, and we can stockpile
it, but time is easily the most precious commodity we have: it is of finite supply and it
decreases every single moment regardless of our efforts to bank it. I learned this from my friend Suzanne,
and I did need to learn it. No one single person has had a more significant impact
on my life than Suzanne Sutton. So here we are talking about brain surgery.
I'm naturally concerned, but Suzanne leads a model life: regular exercise,
nutritious diet, lots of mental stimulation and she loves all of it. If anyone
is fit for surgery, it's Suzanne. I'm not even going to say good luck, because she
patently doesn't need it.
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From Jamey
Hi
Suzanne. I just wanted to let you know that you brighten up the lives of so many people,
you don't even know all of them. When I was having my surgery done a couple months
ago you sent me a huge package of freshly baked bread. (Hmm... if I never thanked
you for the package, thank you very much!) It was certainly more bread than I could
eat (especially since I wasn't eating much more than jello and protein shakes at the time)
so some of it went into the freezer. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
more to come...... |
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