Chapter 82: The lesson that is impossible to teach
Over the past few weeks, my significant other and I have been reading a book I am somewhat ashamed to admit I have not read previously- Tuesdays with Morrie by Mitch Albom.
This is a beautiful book, or as the Boston Globe calls it, an “extraordinary contribution to the literature of death.”
Tuesdays with Morrie, for those of you who are as behind on your classic reading as I am, is about a student and his professor, Morrie. Morrie has a chronic, terminal disease and during his last months on earth, he uses his time to teach one of his former students some of life‘s most valuable lessons.
These lessons include death, fear, aging, forgiveness, and how to live a meaningful life. At one point, Morrie states “most of us walk around as if we’re sleepwalking. We really don’t experience the world fully, because we’re half-asleep, doing things we automatically think we have to do.“ When your face mortality head-on, you start to see everything much differently.
I think my partner, Brock, might be getting a little annoyed with me. See, we’ve been reading this book together and usually I read it aloud. But, after every few sentences, I stop reading, look up from the book and exclaim, “That is so true. That is exactly it!!” Sorry, Brock, I hope you’re still liking the story
At first, I started to wonder if Morrie was reading my mind. But as the book has gone on, I have realized something else. Perhaps these lessons, the lessons that Morrie teaches so perfectly and I have tried to teach less perfectly through my own writing, are lessons that are impossible to teach.
Facing the reality that I am mortal, that I have a terminal illness, and that I will die someday has completely changed how I look at every aspect of my life. Like Morrie, I’ve come to see that the most important things in my life are not the overly ambitious things I used to think I needed.
The most important things are actually the things that I’ve had all along but have often failed to appreciate: my ability to read, to walk, to learn, my family, my friends, my Heath (excluding a little bit of my right frontal lobe), my education, my job, sunny days, my favorite foods, the air I breathe, the freedom I have, the ability to make my own decisions and learn from those decisions.
These are the great things. By writing, I try to share the lessons that have altered my life for the better. Sitting here, writing this blog outside in the sun on a picnic blanket in my backyard with my dogs around me, I feel completely fulfilled. If today is my last day, it’s a damn good one.
I try to teach lessons to others, but I’m realizing that perhaps the most important lessons are simply impossible to teach. I used to think that people in perfect health with incredibly ambitious careers and financial success had it all. And, maybe for some of you, that’s true.
But, when I was rudely reminded by a large malignant brain tumor that I am mortal, I learned life’s most important lessons. Lessons that cannot really be taught, but can be shared. Lessons that I will value with every day I have left.
Life’s greatest lessons do not come from textbooks, checklists, or superficial successes. They come from the very simple realization that you are alive and you will not always be.
Breathe in deeply. Feel that? That is life, coming and going. You are not the same person today that you were yesterday, and tomorrow you will be born again, hopefully.
Knowing that tomorrow’s are limited and today is the life you dreamed of living- that is the most important lesson I’ve ever learned. I wish I could teach this lesson, but unfortunately, I think it’s one of life’s many difficult gifts that won’t be delivered to us until we are ready to open it
Fondly,
Courtney