My Meditations Chapter 1

The Meditations by Marcus Aurelius opens with an entire chapter where he expresses his appreciation for his inner circle. He goes through the key people in his life and what wisdom he learned from each of them. There is a subtle point here. This isn't just a shout-out to the good people in his life. He's looking at these people the way Christians look at Bible verses: deeply contemplating the wisdom they reveal after being around them for years, if not decades.

This had such an impact on my thinking that I decided to do the same thing here. As such, here are the people in my life who have impacted me strongly over many years, and here is the wisdom I have gained from each one. This is my Chapter 1.

My mom taught me how to be tough. Her husband, my father, got diagnosed with brain cancer when she was in her late 20s and pregnant with her second child, my sister. He died a few years later, leaving Mom to raise us by herself. She never complained. She never said the kinds of things one might say in these situations: "woe is me…my husband is gone" or "you little shits are standing in the way between me and a halfway decent life."

She didn't have a stiff upper lip either. She showed her feelings, and importantly showed her love. She put her best foot forward through everything, and all things considered, she gave me and my sister a good childhood. She taught me that you can be a kind and loving person despite things not going your way.

Also, we have the same sense of humor. There are moments from my childhood where we're laughing really hard at the same thing…a clip from the Simpsons for example. A lot of my best memories involve laughing really hard. Something to think about.

I only have memories of him up to the age of 5. But I clung onto every memory that I had of him, so I remember a lot. Like Mom, he put his best foot forward toward us even when he was dying of cancer. Of note, he was optimistic to the end. This might have helped him put his best foot forward. So he taught me that optimism is useful. He taught me how to act in the face of hardship.

He taught me how to be in line with nature. He had a German Shepherd who he spent several hours a day training. He caught a baby king snake once. Four year old me tried to pet it like a cat. Luckily the snake didn't have teeth yet. Not every animal wants to be pet. He also caught a black widow spider and caught bugs to feed it. This might be why I don't fear spiders. He would take me on long walks, especially in the fields behind Grandma's house when we lived there. One of Dad's sisters described Dad as having a "zest for life." I think that sums up what I remember of him. He taught me to have a zest for life. When he died, he was still "superman" to me. As such, my dad became this Jungian archetype (permanent superman image) that stayed with me and kept me striving for an impossible ideal until I reached his age (35). As such, he taught me the value of striving for ideals, and through him I understand why the Marvel movies are so popular.

My stepdad was raised in one of the meanest parts of town, in the gang-ridden days of the 80s and 90s. To sum up a bunch of crazy stories, he did what he had to do to survive. When he tells me about the situations he was repeatedly in, I question whether I would be able to rise up to the challenge if it were me. This is an important reality check.

My stepdad taught me that some people are tested much more than others. And importantly, some people's success story involves starting at lows that few will ever experience, and rising to the level of the perfectly normal suburban life that many Americans take for granted.

My sister has the opposite brain to mine. I'm the math/science guy, and she's the artist. She taught me that you have to figure out a way to pursue what you enjoy. She was going the nursing route and was miserable. But as soon as she switched to graphic design, her life completely changed. She became Associate Creative Director of a graphic design firm by the time she was 30, and now she's balancing that with being a mother.

She taught me about how to define yourself. She got diagnosed with a sleep disorder in college, and she defined herself as "I have this disorder" for a while. Not because she wanted to. She was being featured in a relevant documentary. Long story. Anyway, at some point she decided that she wasn't going to define herself by her impediments any more. She became "I like graphic design and cats," and that's what she is today.

She taught me the value of the companionship you get with a sibling. I call myself an introvert, but for the majority of my 20s, I texted her almost every day. My wife is an only child, and I can't begin to fathom what it's like to not have someone you can text any day at any time for any reason whatsoever. So in that respect, she taught me that I'm not exactly an introvert.

When my sister's husband was in his 20s, his parents offered to help him financially while he was in school. He wanted to be independent for the first time, so he refused, got an evening job at a restaurant to pay the bills, completed his college education, and became a successful graphic designer. He can proudly say that he did all of this independent of his family. This story stands out because I simply don't hear things like this very often. He taught me than when life gives you lemons, sometimes the right move is to say "nah, I'm good."

I call him Uncle John, but he's really Dad's best friend. It took me a few years to figure that out. When Dad got sick, Uncle John and his wife Sherie-Ann stepped in. They took a lot of the parenting burden off of Mom, at least on the weekends.

Uncle John taught me the value of being well-read. Uncle John had answers to every hard question I had. When I had a question my mom couldn't answer, she would say "ask Uncle John." I had an intellectual bent as far back as I can remember, and Uncle John gave me an idea of what that could turn into if I worked hard in school and kept reading and kept questioning.

But that's not all. Uncle John was also a handyman. He was an electrician and then an electrical supervisor. He was the one who would come over to help us with things like installing a ceiling fan. He was good with his hands. He knows how things work.

In this respect, he was the best of both worlds. The man who read books, who also had dirt under his fingernails. He taught me that reading books is not enough. You have to go out there and DO things.

Oh and did I mention that he grew up poor, raised by alcoholics, with his fair share of school yard bullies? And he became the great man he is regardless of this? Something I think about every time I'm mad about some aspect of my childhood or someone who crossed me.

Uncle John taught me that you can have a huge impact on a child, and be a father figure, without being a biological father, or even a biological uncle. I hope to be someone's Uncle John some day.

Uncle John's wife. They never had kids but she and Uncle John took care of my sister and me quite often after my dad passed away. There is a common lament in the western world these days that kids are viewed as a burden. My friend Harrison is from Tanzania, and he says back home kids are viewed as a blessing, and that permeates Tanzanian culture. Now if there is anyone in the western world who is an exception and views kids as a blessing, it's Sherie-Ann.

When we would go over there to spend one or two nights with them, she had everything planned out, to the hour. Making "dirt cake" (essentially chocolate, graham crackers, and gummy worms), watching a movie, flying a kite at the park. You name it, it was on the schedule. Looking back at old home movies of us hanging out with them, Sherie-Ann was always happy when we were around. I didn't appreciate it until later in life. Back then I took it for granted. So I hope she reads this. Sherie-Ann taught me that kids are a blessing.

My mom's mom. The best way to describe her: if I came across her talking to a literal angel, I would not be surprised. She was Christianity done right. I'm not religious today, but I respect people who can take and exemplify the best of what religion has to offer. It is because of her that I still revisit the Bible from time to time.

This seems to be a common theme in my family, but she also taught me a few lessons on how to deal with hardship. She broke both of her arms when I was in the sixth grade, and she had to stay with us, in two casts that forced her arms to be forward like she was sleepwalking. For one month. Not once did she complain. I have only good memories of those times. For what it's worth, this is what I brought up at her funeral as the one resounding thing that summed up the best of her.

In-line with the themes of this piece, my wife taught me how to be tough. I'm the kind of person who will go to the doctor when I have a paper cut, and stay home when I'm feeling slightly off. She'll work a 12 hour shift with a full-on migraine (if you've ever experienced that) and somehow find the energy to survive the day. I want to take care of her, but I also know that she's in no way dependent on me.

She taught me what empathy really is. I got hospital-level sick once, and was bed-ridden for a couple days after that. She stayed at my side pretty much the whole time. I think she barely even ate. I've never been on the receiving end of that kind of empathy. In retrospect, I don't even feel like I deserve it. But if you get something you don't deserve, one thing you can do is improve yourself and give back to the point where you do in fact deserve it. That's something to get you out of bed in the morning.

She taught me the value of the old-school way of doing things, as cheesy as that sounds. When I met her, I was caught up in the Silicon Valley buzzword-laden future dominated by the latest technology. She prefers physical books, pen and paper, just hanging out free of screens. A totally different perspective to what I had when I moved to Germany. She thought my tech-centric perspective was laughable. I remember thinking that her tech-indifferent perspective was laughable. Now I have a bit of a healthier dialectic between these two perspectives.

She got me into the humanities, which originally had more of a negative connotation for me because of the humanities classes in college where you had to read and write way more than you had time for given you science weeder classes you were taking concurrently. But it turns out, the humanities are great to revisit especially later in life when you've seen some things. She's a fan of Russian classics. It's because of her I started reading Dostoevsky. It's because of her that I've seen the ballet of Pushkin's Onegin. We have several shelves of classics, including the ancient texts: The Bible, Koran, Bhagavad Gita, Tao Te Ching, Art of War, and others. Like Uncle John, she reminds me of the value of reading broadly.

Eric, my friend since middle school, taught me what it means to be adventurous. Have you ever decided against something because it was uncomfortable? Eric hasn't. He taught me to push past my comfort zone and try new things. Every time he tried a new thing and told me about it, I felt compelled to try a new thing and tell him about it. So it helps me to always ask the question "what would Eric do?" Do you remember those Most Interesting Man in the World commercials? That's what 70 year old Eric is going to be if he keeps it up. Eric taught me to "stay thirsty, my friends."

My mom's younger brother. The professor of the family. In the sixth grade, I was bored and was getting chastised by my teacher (in a constructive way) because I simply couldn't pay attention. I was hooked on coming up with quicker ways to do whatever the math was. Of course, this gets in the way of teaching. It was Uncle Nigel who encouraged me to keep going.

Uncle Nigel was the archetype of what I could become if I pursued a PhD, which I ended up doing. He helped me at every step, and he still helps me now. He taught me to be calm and rational in the face of every obstacle. He taught me to stay curious and keep questioning. He taught me the subtle characteristics of what makes a successful academic researcher. It's hard to put into words, but it's something you learn by being around him for a few decades.

The wife of Uncle Nigel. She was a consultant and leadership coach who started from nothing and retired at the age of 40, to give you an idea of how she did financially. She taught me what it means to make a moment live up to its full potential. She's the kind of person who will say "Let's make a haiku on the spot to capture this event. Who wants to start?" The rest of the world captures events with smartphone cameras. Aunt Lisa taught me the value of the former. Another example: she had some family members come over for a couple of beers. Rather than us just casually drinking beers, she turned it into a blind beer tasting event. The cans were covered up. She made a grid of beer number x [color, smell, taste, guess the beer] for each of us, that we would fill out as we went. They were all high-end beers, except the last one, which was Budweiser. We were all clowned into writing nice things about the low quality beer (maybe it's a good beer afterall). She taught me to take every little moment seriously. Ask yourself, "what could I do to make this moment better, more special, more memorable?" That is what Aunt Lisa taught me to do.

My mom's older brother. He was a Deputy Sheriff for the majority of my childhood, and is now retired. He would come over sometimes in full uniform. I remember him showing me his nightstick and gun. I remember feeling safe around him. I think this formed a positive impression of law enforcement at an early age. He taught me that despite the current sentiment, some cops are good.

The character traits that helped him be successful as a police officer shined through the rest of his life. He was always in control, in charge, and calm in the face of whatever was going on. For example, he taught me how to drive stick in his Toyota T-100 pickup when I was 16 or so, not the easiest vehicle to learn in. When I turned onto a main road, I forgot everything I had learned in the parking lot and started stalling. Cars were lining up behind me, impatient. This kind of thing would make me start to panic if I were him. But he stayed calm and if anything was laughing a little. That attitude kept me calm and helped me get the truck going.

He taught me a thing or two about raising kids and making them responsible. I remember sitting in the back seat of that same manual transmission pickup truck as a kid. His daughter, my cousin Jasmine, was maybe 10 at the time. Uncle Mark had to do something that required both of his hands, so he told Jasmine to shift the gears on his signal. So little Jasmine shifted from first to fourth on his command. In that way, his kids got used to doing high pressure things early in life. When I was mentoring undergrads in my thesis lab, I kept this in mind and gave them real responsibilities early on. They adapted.

Oh, and he's really funny in the face of hard times. He had a very tough job. But he was able to laugh about the toughest situations. He taught me to approach hardship with humor.

My mom's oldest brother. The life of the party at the group level, kind and compassionate at the one-on-one level. Whenever I learned a new funny joke in school, it was always Uncle Bob that I was looking forward to telling.

There are a few unique things from childhood where he had a big impact. He got me my first wallet when I was a little kid. And whenever I saw him he would say "did you bring your wallet?" So I'd bring it with me everywhere. A good habit early on. When I started lifting weights, he gifted me a good handful of weight lifting books he had read to help me get started, and he encouraged my fitness-related pursuits.

This brings me to the big thing Uncle Bob taught me: to be consistent and play the long game. I have been working out consistently, at least three times a week, since 1999 (in part because of Uncle Bob). But that's nothing. He's been doing the same thing, but for 30 years more than me, and despite a hip replacement, he is not slowing down. He's in amazing shape. If he works out until he's 90 years old, then I'm on the hook to work out until I'm 90 years old. No excuses.

This is how I approach quite a lot of things in my life these days. The object of the game is to be able to play the game tomorrow.

My dad's older brother. Think of the unhealthy thing that you crave the most in life. Your biggest guilty pleasure. Now imagine the craving gnawing at you every day, especially at your low points. And imagine that at every moment you say "not today." And you do that the next day. And the next day. For 30 years. My Uncle Bill, sober for that long, taught me that such self-restraint is possible. Something to think about the next time someone brings doughnuts to the office.

Uncle Bill also catalyzed my love of music. He would always play the guitar at family gatherings. He gave me one of his bass guitars when I told him I wanted to learn it for middle school band. He taught me the basics, and pushed me to keep going. I became a jazz musician through high school and college, and it's one of the greatest things I've ever chosen to do. A lot of my success in music is because Uncle Bill encouraged me. For the next generation, he taught me that a little bit of encouragement can go a long way.

The professor of my thesis lab. He taught me what it really means to go for it. He taught me that if you're not happy with the path you're on, and any of the alternative paths, to create a path of your own. He's a professor and entrepreneur and innovator, but to even label him anything takes away from who he is. When I decided to learn computer science halfway through my time in grad school, he encouraged it. He knew that I would make something of it. I know plenty of people who would have told me that I was just distracting myself. He taught me that something good will come out of whatever you're doing, so you might as well go for it, whatever it is.

It was Garry's lab that taught me what it means to be optimistic. Not in the sense of having faith that something with a small percent chance of success will work. More in the sense that pursuing that thing will lead to something good, even if it differs from the original goal. He taught me what it means to take a wrecking ball to the walls that society likes to pretend are there, and to blaze your own trail. Common words like "innovation" don't quite do justice to things I saw and experienced in the Nolan lab. You have to suspend all disbelief.

Imagine seeing the impossible done over and over. Both from what was being produced (That's not going to work…oh wait it worked. That's a 3-5 year project…oh wait it only took six months), and from the people: immunologists with no engineering background whatsoever building robots that automate lab protocols from scratch. When you see and experience the impossible enough times, it changes your expectation of what is possible. I've done a number of things since graduating that I never thought I'd be able to do. The Nolan lab taught me that it was possible.