A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Future: Twists and Turns and Lessons Learned by Michael J. Fox
Authors: Michael J. Fox
Tags: Personal Memoirs, Biography & Autobiography, Entertainment & Performing Arts, Actors, Autobiography
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F INALLY…THE B EGINNING
MY PURPOSE IN WRITING THIS BOOK IS NOT TO OFFER advice. Sure, I make the occasional suggestion, mostly common sense stuff. If it works, feel free to work it, though chances are you’ll figure this out on your own. If anything, this is a book that tells you that you don’t need a book. That is, you don’t need a book to tell you what you need. What I’ve done here is draw a few observations based on my life experience and organize them in response to the broader question: What constitutes an education? Have the last dozen-plus years prepared you for the future? Obviously, that’s impossible for you or anyone to know. I could spend five months poring over your transcript and I still wouldn’t be able to predict what the next five minutes have in store. Life is a ride. Strap in, hang on, and keep your eyes open.
A friend of mine shared this story with me. It’s a parable, origin unknown, and I found resonance in its simple truth.
A PROFESSOR STANDS before his class with a cardboard box. From inside he produces a large, clear, empty pickle jar, and then a series of golf ball-sized rocks, which he then drops one by one into the jar until they reach the brim.
“So?” the teacher asks. “Who thinks the jar is full?” Hands shoot up, and a quick scan of the room confirms unanimity—yes, it’s full.
Next out of the box, a bag of sand, which the professor pours in amongst the rocks. Tiny grains cascade over, around, and in between the larger stones until there is no space left.
“Is it full now?” A show of hands and a chorus of voices responds—yes, it’s full.
Now the professor smiles. “But wait.” Both hands disappear into the box and reemerge simultaneously, each holding a can of beer. The crack and hiss of the pop tops are drowned out by laughter in the classroom as the amber nectar pours into the jar with the rocks and sand. Once the din of the students subsides to a collective chuckle, the professor confidently declares, “Now it’s full.”
“This jar represents your life,” he continues. “Make sure the first ingredients are the big stuff…the rocks—your family, your work, your career, your passions. The rest is just sand, minutiae. It’s in there. It may even be important. But it’s not your first priority.”
“What about the beer?” a kid in the back yells out.
“Well,” comes the answer. “After everything else, you always have room for a couple of beers with friends.”
I THOUGHT ABOUT saving the metaphor of the jar and the stones for the conclusion of this book, but I wanted to pass it on to you as quickly as possible. You now know what it took me decades to learn. Among other things, don’t start with the beer.
Let me explain…
Two Schools
“I’ve never let my schooling interfere with my education.”
M ARK T WAIN
MY PHOTO APPEARED ON THE MAY 23, 2008, FRONT PAGE of my hometown paper, the Vancouver Sun , but the headline identified me as “Dr. Michael J. Fox.” As neither I nor my brother, Steve, had ever given our mother any reason to expect that she’d someday utter the words “my son the doctor,” she was immensely proud that the University of British Columbia had pronounced her baby boy a “Doctor of Laws.”
Would it be crass to mention that I also have a doctorate of Fine Arts from NYU, as well as a doctorate of Humane Letters from Manhattan’s Mt. Sinai School of Medicine? They’re honorary, of course, which puts me on equal academic footing with the Scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz .
On that early summer afternoon in Vancouver, Canada, resplendent in my royal blue and crimson ceremonial muumuu and deftly balancing the mortarboard yarmulke atop my bobbling head, I was given the opportunity to address assembled graduates and faculty, families and friends. Just as I had done on previous occasions, when similarly honored, I opened with a question: “What the hell were you people thinking? You are aware,” I continued, “that
MY PURPOSE IN WRITING THIS BOOK IS NOT TO OFFER advice. Sure, I make the occasional suggestion, mostly common sense stuff. If it works, feel free to work it, though chances are you’ll figure this out on your own. If anything, this is a book that tells you that you don’t need a book. That is, you don’t need a book to tell you what you need. What I’ve done here is draw a few observations based on my life experience and organize them in response to the broader question: What constitutes an education? Have the last dozen-plus years prepared you for the future? Obviously, that’s impossible for you or anyone to know. I could spend five months poring over your transcript and I still wouldn’t be able to predict what the next five minutes have in store. Life is a ride. Strap in, hang on, and keep your eyes open.
A friend of mine shared this story with me. It’s a parable, origin unknown, and I found resonance in its simple truth.
A PROFESSOR STANDS before his class with a cardboard box. From inside he produces a large, clear, empty pickle jar, and then a series of golf ball-sized rocks, which he then drops one by one into the jar until they reach the brim.
“So?” the teacher asks. “Who thinks the jar is full?” Hands shoot up, and a quick scan of the room confirms unanimity—yes, it’s full.
Next out of the box, a bag of sand, which the professor pours in amongst the rocks. Tiny grains cascade over, around, and in between the larger stones until there is no space left.
“Is it full now?” A show of hands and a chorus of voices responds—yes, it’s full.
Now the professor smiles. “But wait.” Both hands disappear into the box and reemerge simultaneously, each holding a can of beer. The crack and hiss of the pop tops are drowned out by laughter in the classroom as the amber nectar pours into the jar with the rocks and sand. Once the din of the students subsides to a collective chuckle, the professor confidently declares, “Now it’s full.”
“This jar represents your life,” he continues. “Make sure the first ingredients are the big stuff…the rocks—your family, your work, your career, your passions. The rest is just sand, minutiae. It’s in there. It may even be important. But it’s not your first priority.”
“What about the beer?” a kid in the back yells out.
“Well,” comes the answer. “After everything else, you always have room for a couple of beers with friends.”
I THOUGHT ABOUT saving the metaphor of the jar and the stones for the conclusion of this book, but I wanted to pass it on to you as quickly as possible. You now know what it took me decades to learn. Among other things, don’t start with the beer.
Let me explain…
Two Schools
“I’ve never let my schooling interfere with my education.”
M ARK T WAIN
MY PHOTO APPEARED ON THE MAY 23, 2008, FRONT PAGE of my hometown paper, the Vancouver Sun , but the headline identified me as “Dr. Michael J. Fox.” As neither I nor my brother, Steve, had ever given our mother any reason to expect that she’d someday utter the words “my son the doctor,” she was immensely proud that the University of British Columbia had pronounced her baby boy a “Doctor of Laws.”
Would it be crass to mention that I also have a doctorate of Fine Arts from NYU, as well as a doctorate of Humane Letters from Manhattan’s Mt. Sinai School of Medicine? They’re honorary, of course, which puts me on equal academic footing with the Scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz .
On that early summer afternoon in Vancouver, Canada, resplendent in my royal blue and crimson ceremonial muumuu and deftly balancing the mortarboard yarmulke atop my bobbling head, I was given the opportunity to address assembled graduates and faculty, families and friends. Just as I had done on previous occasions, when similarly honored, I opened with a question: “What the hell were you people thinking? You are aware,” I continued, “that
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