The 4-Hour Work Week - Tim Ferriss
I am a Cat - Natsume Sōseki
What We Owe The Future - William MacAskill
Who Will Cry When You Die - Robin Sharma
The Creative Act - Rick Rubin
The Art of War - Sun Tzu
Why England Slept - John F. Kennedy
East of Eden - John Steinbeck
Lex Fridman Podcast
This Past Weekend
The Honeydew
Catalyst
The Church of What's Happening Now
How I Built This
The Tim Dillon Show
The Stranger
Camus is still difficult to read. Works translated from French often flow in a different cadence to English that I find hard to follow.
That said, Camus is a treat. The Stranger is a dizzying novel that twists readers through tunnels of romance, crime, and philosophy. It is a quick read, which builds on the dizzying sensation. Events happen rapidly and display the descent of life. Camus tends to end his novels on an extended philosophical narrative and subsequent psychological release of suspense. Usually this is a lengthy commentary toward the end of the book as one or two character joust with an idea before an unexpected event skillfully dissects the philosophical capstone he just assembled. I am not intelligent enough to make a clear claim of why he ends his books this way, but part of it is simply the reoccurring idea of grand expectation, achievement, and shaking events that shape our lives in near perfect cyclicality.
If Camus wrote like Steinbeck he would be easier to read, but he wouldn't be Camus. The Stranger is an excellent book.
The Years of Lyndon Johnson: Master of the Senate
Robert Caro is an incredible researcher and blends the styles of historian and reporter in a beautiful, nuance way. That said, having read Master of the Senate first in his series on LBJ, instead of following Path to Power, Means of Ascent, and The Passage of Power, I found it incredibly difficult to stomach his intense history on things as trivial as wood in the senate desks. From the historians perspective I am sure it was an odd passion project but I have heard others relate it to symbolizing various character/functional aspects of the senate. To me, it was overkill but interesting overkill.
As a whole the book speaks to the convent way power and manipulation of power structures can align with, and substantially further, social causes given the right incentive structures. Caro's primary example of this is Johnson's unbridled desire to become president. The book simultaneously functions here as a biography and political history/commentary. The biography of Johnson characterizes what power acquisition looks like in real-time and at a human level. Johnson was able to camouflage a range of his personal qualities/beliefs to achieve rapport, friendship, and then ownership with or over others. Caro details how these relationships would flip quickly with examples of other senators, primarily around the mid-to-late 1950s. A fascinating perspective on this manipulation was Caro's analogy of the senate as an unruly horse. Johnson, Caro argues, thrived in manipulating power structures through close study of rules or outright intimidation to manufacture support for his ambition. Curiously, these gains rarely coincided with enacting specific Johnson policy. The core irony of the book lands here as Johnson's time as Master of the Senate, a near decade spent controlling legislative flow and engagement with the executive branch (specifically representing the South in discussion with Nixon and Eisenhower), was largely devoid of specific policy outside of slowing civil rights legislation around housing, voting, and integration. In his last years, Johnson flips this position to help usher through the first piece of civil rights legislation passed since reconstruction nearly 100 years earlier.
The irony of Johnson in Caro's analysis is a ruthless pursuit of power without a guiding principal, ambition, or set of policies to enact once power is realized. Caro nuances his argument by detailing Johnson's progressive beliefs, especially toward civil rights related to Mexican immigrants in Texas. Perhaps core takeaway is that political beliefs are not set in stone, but moldable to the individual ambitions of the holder, often without other people or the individual even noticing the change. However, in Johnson's case, I think he just wanted to be president.
The Plague
Albert Camus' The Plague is an intensely challenging book to read. Camus showcases an incredible depth of vocabulary that sometimes borders on overly-verbose. That said, his word choice builds out the world of the plague-infested seaside Algerian town, Oran, still under the authority of imperial France in the 1940s.
My prior background on Albert Camus was an association to several philosophical movements, often despite his own rejection of these very associations. Most prominently, Existentialism, a philosophy promoting ideals of individual agency and self-determinism regardless of the larger societal context an individual exists in. The book also is tied to the Absurdist movement, mostly through two specific character's experiences, but I personally struggle to connect that theme to the book after my first read. While I understand the historical association between Camus and Existentialism, I find The Plague, to be a somewhat difficult reconciliation between the two as well.
Camus' work is one of the most pessimistic and cynical books I have ever read. Somehow, he managed to capture the essence of COVID quarantine conditions an entire 75+ years before they happened. I do not make this comparison lightly as the book legitimately sent me spiraling back through a wave of emotions from that time; really fascinating experience if nothing else. The concurrent waves of cynicism and self-determinism that run through several characters do bring the book closer to Existentialism but in a very unique, mostly emotionally-detached way that pulls through some ideals of Stoicism.
Why I struggle connecting this book to Existentialism or Absurdism is in the lack of emotional determination. Throughout the novel, Dr. Rieux is intentionally stoic and emotionless. He accepts his responsibilities in sheparding this city out of a plague as almost innate and non-negotiable outside of the window scene where he grapples with a doctor's responsibility to put themself in harm's way. Dr. Rieux intentionally suppresses doubt, frustration, and fear. Yet, he also suppresses the idea of self-determinism willing him to serve others. In this way, Dr. Rieux captures what Camus found frustrating from critics of the era: no single philosophy captures the reasons why people behave the way they do. Dr. Rieux falls somewhere Stoicism and Existentialism in my analysis but the truth of the larger narrative is that he is a doctor simply performing his duties as a doctor. The entire book seems like Camus' meandering subversion of critic's expectations using an aloof narrator, not really interested in mourning the reality he finds himself in but determined to reduce suffering. This theme may be best summed up by the book's ending: abrupt, non-sensical, and unexplained to the reader. I would probably say this novel's structure was a response from Camus to ongoing interpretations of his work he did not find particularly accurate or worthwhile from the press.
Rambert is the far more apt example of several of the philosophies here. Tracing his growth as a disinterested observer turned stir-crazed flight risk showcases Absurdism. His decision to stay and aid in medical efforts represents a sharp uptick in self-determinism, lending it to the Existentialism/Utilitarian bent.
Regardless of my interpretation of Camus' larger presence in 20th century philosophical discourse or my trouble reading his writing, the book is good. The Plague has an inspiring level of vocabulary that made me happy to look up words but frustrated by the slow reading experience. In this way, the themes are not difficult to understand, rather the actual writing complicates the reading experience. The last third of the book is an exceptional 85 pages for reading but it is difficult to justify the first two-thirds for the reasons just laid out. That said, Camus spares no detail in describing the realities of urban plague which is a unique reading experience when paired with his masterful diction.
I personally struggled reading this piece at times due to the age of the literature and issues in translation over several languages. That said, here is a listing of wisdom from the book, some with letter numbers from Robin Campbell's translation:
“Anyone entering our homes should admire us rather than our furnishings. It is a great man that can treat his earthenware as if it was silver, and a man who treats his silver as if it was earthenware is no less great. Finding wealth an intolerable burden is the mark of an unstable mind.” -Seneca, Letter V
“If wisdom were offered to me on the one condition that I should keep it shut away and not divulge it to anyone, I should reject it. There is no enjoying the possession of anything valuable unless one has someone to share it with.“ - Seneca, Letter VI
“‘What progress have I made? I am beginning to be my own friend.’ That is progress indeed. Such a person will never be alone, and you may be sure he is a friend of all.” -Seneca on Hecato, Letter VI
“If you shape your life according to nature, you will never be poor; if according to people's opinions, you will never be rich.” -Epicurus from Seneca, Letter XVI
“The men who pioneered the old routes are leaders, not our masters. Truth lies open to everyone. There has yet to be a monopoly of truth. And there is plenty of it left for future generations too.” -Seneca
“Good material often lies idle for want of someone to make use of it; just give it a trial.“ -Seneca
“A man is as unhappy as he has convinced himself he is.” -Seneca
“There may be pleasure in the memory of even these events one day.” -Virgil, Aeneid
“For nature does not give a man virtue: the process of becoming a good man is an art.” -Seneca
“One thing I know: all the works of mortal man lie under sentence of mortality; we live among things that are destined to perish.” -Seneca
“The place one's in, though, doesn't make any contribution to peace of mind: it's the spirit that makes everything agreeable to oneself.“ -Seneca, Letter LV
“To lose someone you love is something you'll regard as the hardest of all blows to bear, while all the time this will be as silly as crying because the leaves fall from the beautiful trees that add to the charm of your home. Preserve a sense of proportion in your attitude to everything that pleases you, and make the most of them while they are at their best. At one moment chance will carry off one of them, at another moment another; but the falling of the leaves is not difficult to bear, since they grow again, and it is no more hard to bear the loss of those whom you love and regard as brightening your existence; for even if they do not grow again they are replaced. 'But their successors will never be quite the same.' No, and neither will you. Every day, every hour sees a change in you, although the ravages of time are casier to see in others; in your own case they are far less obvious, because to you they do not show. While other people are snatched away from us, we are being filched away surreptitiously from ourselves.” -Seneca, Letter CIV
I heard about Poison Ivy by Evan Mandery on a podcast between Lex Fridman and Greg Lukianoff. Lukianoff is the President of the Foundation for Individual Rights and Expression (FIRE), a free speech non-profit focused on civil rights law suits. He cited Poison Ivy as evidence of consistent failings in University admissions to consider and prioritize diversity. Lukianoff separates the areas of diversity as ethnic/racial, political/intellectual, religion, and socioeconomic diversity. Each area has a crucial impact on forming the identity of a person throughout their life and the areas overlap wildly in diverse countries like the USA. Lukianoff critiques universities for threatening political/intellectual diversity with "cancel culture" throughout his interview with Lex Fridman but his citation of Evan Mandery references horrific socioeconomic discrimination in higher education.
Mandery paints a dismal picture for American higher education in Poison Ivy. Harvard, UPenn, Princeton, Dartmouth, Brown, Duke, Stanford, Yale, Columbia, MIT, Cornell, William & Mary, and UChicago all source less than 5.2% of their students from families making less than $28,000 per year. This is who would benefit most dramatically from affirmative action but the issue has been clouded with racial arguments. The % of students from families with family income above $100,000: Princeton - 76.8%, Brown - 73.6%, Yale - 73.2%, Harvard - 70.3%. There is a lot to be said about diversity in incomes.
To these elite schools that qualify as non-profits but are rapidly becoming fronts for asset management firms, poorer students are not a priority. Mandery makes as much clear with his analysis of endowments:
Harvard - $51.9 billion
University of Texas System - $42.9 billion
Yale - $42.3 billion
Stanford - $37.8 billion
Princeton - $37.7 billion
MIT - $27.5 billion
University of Pennsylvania - $20.5 billion
Notre Dame - $18.1 billion
Texas A&M - $18.0 billion
University of Michigan - $17.0 billion
These funds are managed, with the exception of approximately 25-30% used as flexible capital (we will come back to this), with an annual return of about 11%. Only 5% of these massive endowments must be distributed per year to keep the university non-profit status eligible. These universities uniformly withdraw only that amount and lobby viciously against legislation to increase the non-profit distribution amount. Harvard is frequently under media scrutiny for this perceived hoarding of wealth. Especially when you reference back to some of the statistics from earlier and how these funds could be used for scholarships (Mandery also speaks to the issues with merit scholarships as an arms race between universities diversity funds to people who can already afford college).
This is where I circle back to Greg Lukianoff. Diversity is now fighting over visual identity. The system to secure or guarantee wealth in America is university education. It has been since the GI Bill. But today, the universities aren't fighting to refuse admission to ethnic or religious minorities, they are refusing to admit the poor. Socioeconomic discrimination is the key issue in politics, everything else is a distraction. The clear message from Poison Ivy is: ELITE HIGHER EDUCATION DOES NOT WANT TO ADMIT POOR PEOPLE.
Again:
Harvard, UPenn, Princeton, Dartmouth, Brown, Duke, Stanford, Yale, Columbia, MIT, Cornell, William & Mary, and UChicago all source less than 5.2% of their students from families making less than $28,000 per year.
The % of students from families with family income above $100,000: Princeton - 76.8%, Brown - 73.6%, Yale - 73.2%, Harvard - 70.3%. T
Mandery explains how this income divide affects the outcomes in education: lower SAT scores (and the game that standardized testing represents), expensive college prep services manipulating essays, and legacy/athletics' impact in admissions. He does a better job than I will at that, read the book but I felt that issue was quite clear prior to reading it.
I do wish Mandery considered policy options more fully. He leaves his chapters at cliffhangers defined by moral superiority. Identifying the problem is excellent but Mandery consistently fails to articulate thoughtful policy. Calling an institution names in your book doesn't do that. I believe he attempts to do so but even in his own analysis of academics, they become highly hypocritical in what they say about academia despite leading it. I frequently found the book too political and influenced by opinion and anecdote. Mandery is a professor at the City University of New York and has rich anecdotes to call on to but this is not evidence. He draws upon very rich evidence in identifying key issues for the first 100 pages. He simply does replicate this as the book goes on.
That said, the book tackles serious statistics in American higher education and merits a read for anyone concerned with the system or planning to have children.
Excellent history of Marcus Tullius Cicero, Roman statesman who played middle-man in the Pompey-Caesar that ended the Roman Republic. Unfortunately, Anthony Everitt's thorough and excellent analysis of this struggle outshines his analysis on Cicero. This makes the book wonderful to explore the history of Rome's late republic but removes Cicero from the narrative too frequently. The balance is just off unfortunately.
That said, the story of Cicero is beautiful. A masterful politician in times of crisis, he both shaped and was shaped by his era. His failures in parenting and financial management prevented the cult of personality that defined Caeser and Pompey. Cicero frequently could not get out of his own way in his personal life and in his scathing jokes. His sense of humor is masterfully captured as well as his extreme thoughtlessness in the insults he hurled. Everitt speculates that one of these insults ultimately cost him his life as Augustus refused to pardon him from Marc Antony's rath, both had been insulted in some way by Cicero.
It is beautiful to think about Cicero today, he would have loved twitter. His intellect was sharp and legal in nature, putting him in a fascinating position to document, fight against, and manipulate the laws of the Republic. One takeaway was that, even in Rome, the manipulation of Constitutions or laws is never a partisan tactic. Even radical republicans in Rome committed anti-republican actions after the death of Caeser to try and dominate the new, moldable Republic as it approached Empire.
As we enter 2024, this book did nothing to dissuade concerns about constitutional crisis and the folly philosophy of American Democratic Exceptionalism. As Tim Dillon says, "Let's all just enjoy the end of the American Empire!"
Within the first chapter of Yascha Mounk's book, I believed I had an interesting read. Mounk analyzes the novelty of ethnic and religious diversity as a new phenomenon in democracies. He elucidates the value diversity adds, not just to democracies but to society generally, before cracking down on the failings of both right and left politics in interacting with diverse constituencies, bubbling over to create polarization. He references the dangers of backward looking conservatism that praises extreme homogeneity of identity: race, food, religion, art, language, etc. as reactionary leadership often descends into violent cultural enforcement. Mounk also discusses rising ideas on dissolving democracies under the justification that they are legacies of racism or oppression. I agree with Mounk's attitude most specifically here, both these radical takes are seeded in history but dissolving democracy is wholly ahistorical in overall analysis of democratic processes. Ensuring that democracies function without intense corruption eroding their institutions is an entire separate focus. That is not to say that discrimination does not occur even in the well-functioning democracies, but instead references the malleable nature of laws and leadership as an agent for freedom from discrimination. To do so though, Mounk argues that communication must overcome divisions over identity and political leaning to communicate social pain points. While the author does not refrence this, I believe social media's biggest benefit is this rapid dissemination. Failings of democratic institutions along cultural lines come from participants and leaders in the democracy weaponizing identity, specifically race or religious. So, what generates the preconditions to discriminate based on identity?
Mounk identifies four modern challenges creating polarized democracies: 1.) Improvements to living standards are slowing, often creating external envy toward other demographic groups, 2.) Some groups suffer from significantly lower socioeconomic standing at a big data level, these groups sometimes are often legacy survivors of "hard domination" like slavery toward African Americans in the US, 3.) Democracies are less efficient in making effective decisions, slowing needed change especially compared to rising autocratic states, and 4.) Declining mutual respect toward other citizens within democracies. Mounk leaves the reader with several reasons for hope and policies to prevent increased polarization within democracies.
Mounk showcases evidence that economic growth leads to improved relations between identity groups in democracies. He also advocates for independent engagement with political analysis, a shocking idea to call for citizens of democracies to inform themselves instead of consigning their valuable attention span to a highly manipulated narrative peddled by editorial columnists or talk show hosts. His final two policies for improvement are: be willing to criticize your own groups and don't ridicule or vilify; engage and persuade. We all seem to have lost our heads in America politically, we gain nothing if we hold sacred ideas that can't be touched simply because of who proposes them, Democrats should criticize democrats, Republicans should criticize republicans. Similarly, we must engage as if our political opponents are our countrymen, because they are. We all want better lives for our family and friends, very few people are deserving of the title evil.
We are all in this together, nobody should be enemies in a democracy. As Robert Green says in 48 Laws of Power, "A sharply defined enemy is a far stronger argument for your side than all the words you could possibly put together." Drawing strength from vilifying the other sides is a natural tool of manipulation, go beyond it to understand why ideological division exists.
It took me several weeks to finish the last twenty odd pages of Thurston Clarke's riveting biography on Senator Robert F. Kennedy (RFK) and his campaign for the presidency in 1968. I was so gripped by Clarke’s narrative and depiction of Kennedy that I simply avoided the idea that it had to end so prematurely. Clarke paints vivid depictions of the love and admiration people had for RFK as well as a complicated mosaic of Kennedy’s values, beliefs, and hope for a better world. Clarke reflects deeply on clear shifts in RFK from 1955 to his death in 1968 in which the hardened exterior fell away to reveal a romantic dreamer. Clarke weaves a narrative of a shy boy attempting to do right yet always in the shadow of his presidential brother. In RFK’s own words just after winning the California Democratic Primary, he had “shaken off the shadow of my brother. I feel I made it on my own.” This shadow refers both to slander thrown at RFK as riding a wave of American sympathy to personal fame, but also the extreme trauma that left RFK coping by wearing his slain brother’s clothing, copying his mannerisms, and breaking down at reminders of a trauma few can imagine.
Beyond Clarke’s vivid descriptions of political strategizing, he paints the picture of Robert F. Kennedy, the human. A politician who believed he did not have a choice but to serve the people who are voiceless. Kennedy’s compassion is on full display throughout the biography as Clarke details a character of American politician that has disintegrated today. Kennedy won the primaries of Indiana, South Dakota, Nebraska, and California by listening to the most frustrated, disagreeable, downtrodden, and irate citizens he could find. RFK heard the countless tales of Native American teenage suicide at Pine Ridge and projected these concerns of a population left behind in a modernizing America to his rallies, fundraising events, and small gatherings. He readily shamed tens of thousands of fiercely progressive university students for draft dodging while African Americans from roach-infested shacks in the Mississippi Delta volunteered for the Vietnam War to escape hunger, all the while condemning the Vietnam War as a senseless effort. RFK would sit in front of farmers and declare “I have no agricultural agenda” and proceed to be educated on the exact needs of the country. Most striking, Kennedy was verbally attacked over several hours during a meeting with the Black Panther party and African American leaders at the Taylor Memorial Methodist Church in West Oakland shortly after Martin Luther King Junior’s assassination. RFK refused to leave the meeting at the direction of his aides telling them, “No, these people have come to tell me things” and later stating how much he enjoyed these situations for the value it gave grieving, hurt, and forgotten people. Kennedy was not interested in telling people what they wanted to hear. He ran toward education, honesty, and individual accountability to bettering the lives of all Americans.
So, when I said it took me weeks to finish this book, I say that from a place of longing for a candidate that listens before speaking. A hope for a candidate that admits policy gaps and is resolved to hear from autoworkers and field laborers on their working standards, black panthers on racialized experiences, and farmers on their bleak economic realities. More so, I hope to see a new candidate who can channel Kennedy’s communication skills to make others understand what they have seen and heard. What Thurston Clarke projects so vividly in this biography is a level of honesty, candidness, and compassion regardless of the audience Kennedy spoke to. As an American who has only known polarized party politics, this read was refreshingly hopeful. Whether a candidate can come along and once again lay out in front of American audiences the horrors we inflict abroad, the poverty we tolerate at home, or the weakening of our moral values I am not sure; but the tale of RFK’s 1968 campaign has given me hope that the whole of America can be organized to honestly confront the crumbling foundations our society must repair today.
Jose Antonio, Joe Diaz, Joey "CoCo" Diaz. A two-bit gangster turned moral philosopher, cocaine addict turned prolific comedian, and orphan turned father. While I have been a loyal listener to Joey's podcasting including the legendary The Church of What's Happening Now and more recent ventures such as Uncle Joey's Joint and The Check In, amongst countless guest appearances on other podcasts, it was this book that really hit home on the tragedy and miracle that is Joey Diaz's life story.
Joey encountered real comedic acclaim in the late 2000s and early 2010s when he transitioned away from both a multi-decade addiction to cocaine. Joey has maintained his signature foul-mouthed style of comedy but he began exploring his own life story in both his comedy and podcasting around this time. This transition focused on moving past perceived shock value and toward understanding why he sees the world the way he does. A significant reason for this success was the brilliant, loving relationship formed with co-host of The Church of What's Happening Now, Lee Syatt, a shy college graduate from the suburbs of Boston with a polar opposite background to Joey. Riffs on Lee's shyness and poor food choices became deep, emotional conversations on how the world changes quickly and often right in front of you. Superhuman consumption of THC was a frequent occurrence on the show and served as a reminder that Joey still struggled deeply with addiction and anxiety. Joey's autobiography removes the veneer of comedy and leaves the reader grappling with an intense story of a man alone in the world, fighting himself, society, and life. Joey Diaz's story is a distinctly human one rife with failure, pain, and triumph.
As a toddler, Joey's father died. Spending his childhood bouncing between illegal betting rings, his mother's bar, and typical New York City drug-fueled insanity of the 70s, he lived a childhood with more excitement than most experience in a lifetime. When Joey, aged 16 and in the middle of an LSD trip, found his mother dead of a heart attack on their kitchen floor, he says his childhood ended. Joey was going to graduate high school a year late because he had been left back a grade in middle school and never told his mother. He broke the tension between himself and his mother's corpse with an internal comedic aside, "I knew she would never figure out I got left-back in school." While Tremendous spends a good deal of time on his life before this event and the formative years he spent wrestling nuns at catholic school or seeing his step-father shoot a family friend in the leg at a Santeria party, the bulk of the story follows after his mother's passing. Over the course of five years or so, Joey destroyed most of his childhood relationships through reckless behavior fueled by a rage against a life without family. He scorned God for taking his mother and lived under a nothing to lose motto. Joey would go on to commit countless acts of burglary in order to fuel a raging cocaine addiction before eventually landing in prison. He continued a similar life after reintegrating back into post-prison life before becoming a father and husband. This too, did not work out and he began comedy as a way of coping with decades of unprocessed grief stemming back to his dead parents and now, broken family.
Joey found minimal success nationally but broke into the comedy scenes of Seattle and LA before launching his own podcasts, eventually culminating in the The Church of What's Happening Now. To be clear, Joey has done tremendous wrong in life and has suffered for it. But, as someone who has heard his life story hundreds of times over through his podcast and comedy, there is a layer of fragility and candidness in his book that is created by eliminating his comedic delivery. The book is still quite hilarious and written in a style that is very easy to digest, true to Joey's anti-gentile sentiments, but without his searing rants or outbursts, he is forced to tell his story plainly and confront all the wrong he has done in life. The book culminates in Joey quitting cocaine, becoming a father for the second time, and achieving international fame for his comedic talent. Joey's rugged honesty shines throughout the book as he always takes full accountability for his actions and slowly comes to terms with the turbulence of his childhood. The reader comes away with a message from Joey's mother demanding accountability in the hopes that he would just grow up to be a man and make her proud.
We all have inescapable trauma and pain in our lives. Joey Diaz's story reflects how someone can displace this pain outward toward others for decades. I have always loved hearing the stories of interesting characters and my love for Joey Diaz is very much that. Joey lived a life that could fill 10 movies, but when asked what he is proudest of it always comes back to his achievements in the last decade: raising a child, being a husband, supporting his community of fans and co-host struggling just like he did, and never quitting on his dream to be a comedian. Joey's story offers a perspective on life that is very uncommon these days, the idea that someone is not defined by their failures or wrongs and can always redeem themselves. Joey has no contact with his first wife or child and lives with that burden. He is open and honest that he wanted to inflict pain on the world for taking his mother and now issues countless apologies for his behavior. None of his life story is morally justifiable, but he uses comedy to show that anyone can change and do better, all while making people laugh all over the world. Joey Diaz is not an inspiration but rather a parable to work diligently, show compassion, and always check yourself because all the joy of his last decade was impossible without recognizing the faulty ways of the first five decades.
For years of laughs and stories, thank you Uncle Joey.
An absolutely exceptional book by Mitch Albom that stands very much alone in its casual approach to documenting death. So much so, that I found myself in a routine reading habit where I avoid finishing the last 20 pages of a book because I know what the ending will be. In spite of this, I eventually got around to turning the final few pages and, for only the second time in my life, shed tears over a book. While I was not bawling like the other occurrence (Where the Red Fern Grows in sixth grade), the book evoked more complicated emotions than I expected out of its conclusion that presents a beautifully curt ending to a passage of winding conversations between Professor Morrie on his death bed and his former student Mitch, now lost in his thirties and struggling to find agency and purpose in life.
Tuesdays with Morrie presents a commentary on several societal shortcomings ranging from the way humans treat each other and themselves to obsession with materialistic wealth and distrust. In a series of conversations between professor and student, the book taps into wisdom from around the world including stoic and buddhist philosophy to elucidate several reflections on death and the impermance that surrounds life. The most frequent quote of the book is "When you learn how to die, you learn how to live." This is further segmented into four areas: love, responsibility, spirituality, and awareness. The contrast between nearing middle-age student and sage-like professor is used exceptionally well to spell out the countless lessons from this book. It is not a story that ends with a fulfilling finale but instead provides dozens of insights about how to live a life worth living from a Professor who did just that. Morrie's analysis of the four important questions in life (love, responsibility, spirituality, and awareness) is the best way to frame this book but, reflecting both the gathering of wisdom through age and proximity to the end of one's life, he waits till the last dozen pages to spell it out as such:
"The truth is, Mitch,” he said, “once you learn how to die, you learn how to live.”
"That’s the thing, you see. Once you get your fingers on the important questions, you can’t turn away from them."
And which are the important questions?
"As I see they have to do with love, responsibility, spirituality, awareness. And if I were healthy today, those would still be my issues. They should have been all along."
The book confronts life's questions straight on and directly and leaves you with a greater appreciation for the oxygen flowing through your lungs and human kind at large but also grapples with the ills of our society and where they came from. The cloud-like presence of death throughout the novel transfers to the reader who only naturally looks to their assess their own mortality and desire for fulfillment. The book is sweet but painful at times as you see Morrie deteriorate physically yet with immense grace, finding wisdome in his pain. It is a beautiful story and one I intend to reread frequently.
CRSSD 10 Year Anniversary @ Waterfront Park, San Diego, CA, USA
Lee Fields @ The Observatory, San Diego, CA, USA
Hayden James @ Beach Club, San Diego, CA, USA
D.O.D @ Spin, San Diego, CA, USA
Fred again.. @ State Farm Arena, Atlanta, GA, USA
Hard Summer 2024 @ Hollywood Park, CA, USA
Proper NYE @ PetCo Park, San Diego, CA, USA
Lady Wray @ Durham Central Park, Durham, NC, USA
Dominic Fike @ The Great Saltaire, Salt Lake City, UT, USA
Bobby Alu @ Feierwork, Munich, DE
Fred again.. @ Frost Amphitheater, Stanford, CA, USA
Desert Discovery Trail, Valley View Overlook Trail, Saguaro National Park, AZ, USA
Mesa Top Loop, Mesa Verde National Park, Utah, USA
Valley of Dreams, Navajo Reservation, New Mexico, USA
Heart and Arch Rocks Loop, Joshua Tree National Park, California, USA
Nevada Falls, Vernal Falls, Yosemite National Park, California, USA
Clouds' Rest Trail, Yosemite National Park, California, USA
Fire Wave, Seven Wonders, White Dome Loop, Valley of Fire State Park, Nevada, USA
High Peaks trail, Pinnacles National Park, California, USA