A portrait is a limited document portraying the image of an individual, but not showing the rich network of friends, family and associates so critical to a full and worthwhile life. The fact that the picture I am presenting to you features my individual accomplishments, such as they were, and the factors that motivated me to strive for them should not obscure the fact that to me, first and foremost in importance, have been the people in my life– family, friends, valued teachers and mentors who helped bring out the best in me– as well as the many patients I had the honor of knowing and helping.
Because my father was so egotistical, I find it unseemly to blow my own horn and prefer to let my accomplishments speak for themselves. On the other hand, how can they speak if I do not make them known? Only a very few are born for greatness and I obviously never came close to achieving it in any way. As with us all, nature imposed its limits on me. What satisfaction I allow myself to feel derives from the fact that, within the parameters of my biologic endowment and despite the impediments of my early experiences, I did better than I might have done, striving to squeeze every precious drop from the brief time life bestowed on me. Even now as I labor over this essay, striving still.
Only those who have undergone the rigors of medical education can appreciate what a difficult path it is to follow. It makes it impossible to enjoy that “misspent” youth most young adults indulge in. My third decade was spent in classrooms, laboratories, hospitals and in solitary study while my peers cruised the bars and indulged in sex, drugs and rock and roll. That was my choice, as was the decision to settle down to married life after my first year of med school. Two choices for which I have absolutely no regrets.
The work ethic and personality traits I developed in my teens carried me through the challenging, and often terrifying, process of becoming a physician. Through it all I strove to cultivate the quality that Hemingway asserted was the measure of a man, “grace under pressure,” both in everyday life as well in my professional demeanor.
During that period, although I focused the bulk of my energies on my medical training, I still found time to cultivate other pursuits, among them cooking. I experimented with many international styles and also learned to appreciate fine wines. After seven years of classical piano lessons, I realized it was not the instrument for me. I often joke that had I taken guitar lessons instead I might have been a rock star. I had taught myself to play guitar at a rudimentary level during the “folk craze” of the sixties, but guitar lessons had to wait while I immersed myself in the long process of developing my medical practice and professional competence while attending to the needs of my wife and daughter.
Through it all, except during my internship year, I never stopped swimming. During my thirties I coached and participated in masters swimming. Here, the “stardom” that had eluded me in my youth was, to some extent, achieved. No doubt helped by the thinning ranks of competitors, I consistently won medals in statewide competitions and even held a few age-group state records. Sandy also trained and competed with our masters team and did quite well for herself.
Having married a skier, it was inevitable that I’d develop a passion for that sport, working as doggedly on my technique as I did everything else. In my mid-forties I worked for a few years as a ski instructor which served to improve my skiing skills greatly. Sandy and I remained avid skiers up until the time my illness intervened a year or so ago. After retirement to Virginia, we continued to winter in New England, skiing daily with a group of high spirited fellow skiers whose company we sorely miss. Sandy and I had taken up tennis during our 20s. We continued to practice together and play singles and mixed doubles regularly for many years. Somehow we made time to tend a 400 square foot backyard organic vegetable garden as well. Digging in the soil, drawing life and sustenance from it, made us feel bonded to the earth and made us more aware of the circle of life and of the fragility of the ecosphere.
The dream of becoming a competent guitarist had always existed in the background, and finally in my late forties I had the time to devote myself to serious study. Guitar is the right instrument for me, suited to my style of following my ear rather than slavishly reading notes. As was typical of me, when I told a teacher I felt I’d never be any good because I had difficulty with musical notation and theory, I was jolted by his saying, “On the contrary, you have a gift most players would give anything for. You play intuitively and from the heart.” All along I had assumed all musicians experienced the same thing. I joined a small group of blues players and jammed with them for over a decade. Sometimes we did local gigs. Eventually the opportunity to join a rock cover band as lead guitarist presented itself. Over a period of months, to prepare for the transition to rock, to which I’d devoted only passing attention over the years, I employed my typical work ethic. Several hours a day were spent learning the classic rock repertoire. It was well worth the effort. Like most bands, ours imploded after a few years, but my short stint as a rocker was really a blast, and it raised my guitar chops to a new level. I then turned to low key local solo performing that continued until Covid stopped the world in its tracks.
It’s important to stress that far from resenting all the hard work, I embraced it. It provided me with a modus vivendi that gave meaning to life and greatly enhanced my enjoyment of it. Far from an exercise in masochism, the work I put into my projects was something I looked forward to and planned my schedule around. The repetitive movement inherent in swimming laps or running becomes a mantra. The result is a moving meditation that quiets and focuses the mind. Practicing music frees the mind from day to day cares as we lose ourselves and all sense of time in a different realm of existence.
All through my medical career I put aside two hours in the middle of each work day to go to the “Y,” exercise for over an hour and return to the office in time for a quick brown bag lunch. Dividing the day into two half days, I started off the afternoon fresh and alert. By working 30 to 40 hour weeks rather than the 60 or more many physicians do, not only did I have time to pursue the other interests, but I avoided burnout. My patients benefitted from this as much as I did. I didn’t get rich (nor did I starve), but as I have often said in my blogs, true wealth cannot be measured in dollars.
It’s also important to stress life was far from “all work and no play,” though, to me the distinction between work and play was not sharply defined. We found plenty of time for family outings, trips, theater, concerts, social activities and simply hanging out that were pure enjoyment and relaxation.
All along I was actively involved in supporting Sandy’s art career. Those who are familiar with her beautiful jewelry, silversmithing and paintings know that when it comes to creativity, she, blessed with true genius, is the real rock star of the family.
You would think all this would have been enough, but it turns out there were more challenges ahead.
In my next chapter, I will elaborate on these.
An Author's Inner Mind 