yesterday, i finished paul kalanithi's when breath becomes air, the memoir of a brilliant 36-year-old neurosurgeon with degrees in literature and history who was suddenly diagnosed with cancer. his grapple with what gives life meaning touched me, as he and his wife decide to have a baby despite the fact that it might make his death even more painful ("wouldn't it be great if it did?" he asks. kalanithi didn't believe life was about avoiding suffering).
he writes about how one can't reach perfection, "but you can believe in an asymptote toward which you are ceaselessly striving." any who, it was beautiful and caused some serious blubbering at breakfast. if you don't have time for the whole book, some excerpts were published in the new york times and the stanford medical journal (this one especially stood out to me).
another memoir of sorts that i've loved has been ethan hawke's documentary, seymour: an introduction, about the famous piano teacher to the stars, seymour bernstein. bernstein's discussion of why he turned away from the concert stage towards teaching and his own intimate quest for perfection is filled with sincerity and love for his art form. i loved watching him teach his pupils with tender care and generosity and hearing his discussion of how in some ways, the struggle to become a great artist is in some ways the point.
nice reminders as i continue on this crazy path. ;)
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