Latest news with #TuesdayswithMorrie
The Age
17-05-2025
- Health
- The Age
‘Don't be sad. I've had a great life': John Shakespeare on the art of living
JS: I'm a realist at heart, Pete, and once I know that something is irreversible I have no choice but to accept it. There is a certain sense of peace that comes from acceptance. It eliminates the need to ask 'why me?' and 'if only'. Fitz: I have been told, wonderfully, that since that outpouring of love for you last Friday, there has been a small uptick in your prognosis? JS: Haha, I think I just had a big adrenaline rush from that one! Hard not to feel better with 209 people you love, in turn, lining up to hug you! Fitz: Are you receiving treatment for the ailment specifically, or have you moved into palliative care? JS: It's palliative care now. There's a wonderful team at St Vincent's [Hospital] who visit me once a week, or when needed. They've given me a bed, but I can still climb stairs and sleep with my darling wife, Anna-Lisa. Fitz: Johnny, I once read a famous book, Tuesdays with Morrie, which was about a former student of a professor with a terminal illness going to see him every Tuesday for a year to give comfort, certainly, but also to try and capture what it is like for someone to face their imminent death ... thoughts? JS: What's it like? For starters, it's so busy! Endless appointments, reading and answering messages, drugs to be taken, exercise, home visits from friends etc, etc. I barely have a minute for a cat nap. I am constantly tired too. As time draws closer? I guess it will be more time in bed, I'm a bit concerned about the last few weeks. I may go to the care hospice – I'm not sure I want to have the family witness that from home. Fitz: May I, gently, ask: do you feel despair? JS: No mate, very rarely. Despair does come of course, mostly when I'm in physical pain, but once the painkillers kick in I banish those negative thoughts that have no solution. I'd much rather feel happy than depressed in my final days! It's pointless to get depressed about dying. That is a given. I don't believe in hell, so I assume Kerry Packer was right – there's nothing there. Yeah, family and friends are sad for you, and you're sad to be leaving them, but it has to happen one day. I've had a great life, maybe two great lives! Fitz: Is your waking thought every day, 'Christ, this is really happening?' JS: No that, too, would just make me depressed! I don't give much air time to that one. Fitz: What you are going through will soon enough confront all of us, as we come face to face with our mortality. What advice do you have for us? JS: My motto is 'accept, adjust, adapt'. The key is to be able to accept something that can't be changed. Only then will you find some peace. Otherwise, it will be a battle with the unmovable. Sort out your financials so that your family will be as secure as possible, and that will give yourself a sense of relief to carry into your final days. Have as much fun as your energy levels allow! Fitz: You came from a very religious household and turned away from that. In this extremity, do you turn back to it now? Loading JS: Each to their own, but I can't see myself getting back on board with someone who did all this to me just as I've freshly retired! No, thanks. Plus I still don't believe a word of it, ever since that day many years ago when I found myself as a student kneeling on the floor praying for God to help me find my lost rubber! Fitz: Tell us about your art. You and I have worked together off and on for nigh on four decades – and on for a solid 15 years – and I have loved seeing your art evolve. When did you first realise you were good at it? JS: I think to be good at anything you need to be a bit obsessive (or passionate about something). I'm obsessive, so I had that ability to do repetitive practising without getting bored. The more you practise, the better you get, and soon people were noticing, and that fuelled my confidence. Fitz: Who or what were your major influences? JS: Early childhood days, Mad magazine of course, and all the superhero comics. Later years: Alan Moir, John Spooner, Patrick Cook, Leunig. Fitz: Have you drawn your last painting, or still doing a bit now? JS: No, no paint brushes for a while, but I did draw a small emoji collection while in hospital! Fitz: The prime minister and Cathy Wilcox both noted your capacity to do satirical cartoons on public figures – and this is a rarity in your game – somehow, without ever being mean to your subjects. How on earth did you manage it, when the very nature of satire is to poke fun? JS: Yes, I never see the point of making politicians ugly. I don't see the reason to insult them like that. I prefer making them look silly, as in with a 'whoops, I've done it again' expression – making fun of them. I prefer presenting political folly, rather than doing personal attacks. Fitz: You have, however, sometimes drawn me as being very overweight, with a pug nose, and a face like a dropped pie. Any chance you'll take this opportunity to say sorry now? I'm giving you one last chance, you bastard! JS: Yeah, sorry mate! I was obviously a bit crueller back then! I think I draw you as a toned Adonis now, right? Fitz: Exactly. You have a singularly fine family, a wonderful wife and a great son. I imagine they have eased your path? JS: Yes they've been amazing throughout this, but it carries the weight of worrying about them and how they'll be after I'm gone. That is the majorly sad part of this experience. Beyond that, other family and friends are sad for you, and you're sad to be leaving them, but it has to happen one day. Fitz: Anything you want to say to devoted followers of your work, as you sign off? JS: Keep smiling and have fun!! But don't be sad for me. I've had a great life, maybe two great lives! Fitz: Onya, Johnny. We love you well. Of all the people I've known in this position, I think you are one who – in a profoundly moving way – will 'go gently into that good night', but on behalf of us all, thank you for the light you have brought us in your life and work.
Sydney Morning Herald
17-05-2025
- Health
- Sydney Morning Herald
‘Don't be sad. I've had a great life': John Shakespeare on the art of living
JS: I'm a realist at heart, Pete, and once I know that something is irreversible I have no choice but to accept it. There is a certain sense of peace that comes from acceptance. It eliminates the need to ask 'why me?' and 'if only'. Fitz: I have been told, wonderfully, that since that outpouring of love for you last Friday, there has been a small uptick in your prognosis? JS: Haha, I think I just had a big adrenaline rush from that one! Hard not to feel better with 209 people you love, in turn, lining up to hug you! Fitz: Are you receiving treatment for the ailment specifically, or have you moved into palliative care? JS: It's palliative care now. There's a wonderful team at St Vincent's [Hospital] who visit me once a week, or when needed. They've given me a bed, but I can still climb stairs and sleep with my darling wife, Anna-Lisa. Fitz: Johnny, I once read a famous book, Tuesdays with Morrie, which was about a former student of a professor with a terminal illness going to see him every Tuesday for a year to give comfort, certainly, but also to try and capture what it is like for someone to face their imminent death ... thoughts? JS: What's it like? For starters, it's so busy! Endless appointments, reading and answering messages, drugs to be taken, exercise, home visits from friends etc, etc. I barely have a minute for a cat nap. I am constantly tired too. As time draws closer? I guess it will be more time in bed, I'm a bit concerned about the last few weeks. I may go to the care hospice – I'm not sure I want to have the family witness that from home. Fitz: May I, gently, ask: do you feel despair? JS: No mate, very rarely. Despair does come of course, mostly when I'm in physical pain, but once the painkillers kick in I banish those negative thoughts that have no solution. I'd much rather feel happy than depressed in my final days! It's pointless to get depressed about dying. That is a given. I don't believe in hell, so I assume Kerry Packer was right – there's nothing there. Yeah, family and friends are sad for you, and you're sad to be leaving them, but it has to happen one day. I've had a great life, maybe two great lives! Fitz: Is your waking thought every day, 'Christ, this is really happening?' JS: No that, too, would just make me depressed! I don't give much air time to that one. Fitz: What you are going through will soon enough confront all of us, as we come face to face with our mortality. What advice do you have for us? JS: My motto is 'accept, adjust, adapt'. The key is to be able to accept something that can't be changed. Only then will you find some peace. Otherwise, it will be a battle with the unmovable. Sort out your financials so that your family will be as secure as possible, and that will give yourself a sense of relief to carry into your final days. Have as much fun as your energy levels allow! Fitz: You came from a very religious household and turned away from that. In this extremity, do you turn back to it now? Loading JS: Each to their own, but I can't see myself getting back on board with someone who did all this to me just as I've freshly retired! No, thanks. Plus I still don't believe a word of it, ever since that day many years ago when I found myself as a student kneeling on the floor praying for God to help me find my lost rubber! Fitz: Tell us about your art. You and I have worked together off and on for nigh on four decades – and on for a solid 15 years – and I have loved seeing your art evolve. When did you first realise you were good at it? JS: I think to be good at anything you need to be a bit obsessive (or passionate about something). I'm obsessive, so I had that ability to do repetitive practising without getting bored. The more you practise, the better you get, and soon people were noticing, and that fuelled my confidence. Fitz: Who or what were your major influences? JS: Early childhood days, Mad magazine of course, and all the superhero comics. Later years: Alan Moir, John Spooner, Patrick Cook, Leunig. Fitz: Have you drawn your last painting, or still doing a bit now? JS: No, no paint brushes for a while, but I did draw a small emoji collection while in hospital! Fitz: The prime minister and Cathy Wilcox both noted your capacity to do satirical cartoons on public figures – and this is a rarity in your game – somehow, without ever being mean to your subjects. How on earth did you manage it, when the very nature of satire is to poke fun? JS: Yes, I never see the point of making politicians ugly. I don't see the reason to insult them like that. I prefer making them look silly, as in with a 'whoops, I've done it again' expression – making fun of them. I prefer presenting political folly, rather than doing personal attacks. Fitz: You have, however, sometimes drawn me as being very overweight, with a pug nose, and a face like a dropped pie. Any chance you'll take this opportunity to say sorry now? I'm giving you one last chance, you bastard! JS: Yeah, sorry mate! I was obviously a bit crueller back then! I think I draw you as a toned Adonis now, right? Fitz: Exactly. You have a singularly fine family, a wonderful wife and a great son. I imagine they have eased your path? JS: Yes they've been amazing throughout this, but it carries the weight of worrying about them and how they'll be after I'm gone. That is the majorly sad part of this experience. Beyond that, other family and friends are sad for you, and you're sad to be leaving them, but it has to happen one day. Fitz: Anything you want to say to devoted followers of your work, as you sign off? JS: Keep smiling and have fun!! But don't be sad for me. I've had a great life, maybe two great lives! Fitz: Onya, Johnny. We love you well. Of all the people I've known in this position, I think you are one who – in a profoundly moving way – will 'go gently into that good night', but on behalf of us all, thank you for the light you have brought us in your life and work.
The Sun
16-05-2025
- Entertainment
- The Sun
Your light does not need a spotlight
THERE is a peculiar thing about self-improvement in today's world: everyone seems to be doing it loudly. Scroll through your feed and you will probably see declarations of 5am workouts, new diets, study plans, detoxes, resolutions and resets. Some even announce they are 'going offline to focus on themselves' – and then proceed to post about it. But here is a question worth asking: Who are we really doing it for? True growth, I believe, happens in silence. It isn't broadcasted with hashtags or filtered selfies. It happens on those ordinary days when no one is watching, and yet, we still choose to show up – for ourselves. Take Keanu Reeves, for example. One of Hollywood's most recognisable faces, yet possibly also one of the quietest. After the success of The Matrix franchise, Reeves gave away a significant portion of his earnings – some reports say up to US$70 million (RM300 million) – to the behind-the-scenes crew: the makeup artists, the costume designers, the unsung talents who helped shape the cinematic magic. He didn't hold a press conference. He didn't tell the world to 'stay humble'. He just did it. Silently. Sincerely. And perhaps that is the point. Real self-improvement doesn't seek applause. It doesn't begin with a public pledge or a viral post. It begins with intention – and grows through consistency. In the book Tuesdays with Morrie, Mitch Albom recounts a conversation with his former professor, Morrie Schwartz. 'Don't let go too soon,' Morrie advises, 'but don't hang on too long'. In the context of change, this is profound. It is a reminder that becoming better – emotionally, mentally, spiritually – is not about extreme pivots or sudden reinventions. It is about knowing what to keep, what to release and doing both with grace. And then there is Rumi – whose verses, though centuries old, still pulse with modern relevance. He wrote: 'Don't you know yet? It is your Light that lights the worlds.' What a stunning thought. That our quiet work – the healing we do in private, the restraint we practise in anger, the effort we put into becoming kinder, calmer, wiser – sends ripples beyond what we can see. You don't need to declare it. Your light will show. However, I get it. In a world that rewards visibility, silence can feel like insignificance. We are conditioned to think that if no one notices our progress, it somehow does not count. That is a dangerous illusion. Because often, the most powerful transformations are the ones no one claps for. When a tree grows, it does not shout: 'Look at me!' It simply stretches upward, season by season. Its roots deepen silently. Its fruits and shade speak for it. Likewise, your growth does not need to be explained. It will show in how you carry yourself. In your choices. In your discipline when no one is watching. In the way you respond to challenges that once overwhelmed you. And if no one sees it? That is okay too. Because the goal was never applause. The goal was growth. So, if you are on that quiet journey – fixing your habits, setting boundaries, seeking peace, becoming softer in some places and stronger in others – keep going. Let it be your secret project, nurtured in silence and tended with care. You don't need a witness. You don't need permission. You will know you are changing not by what others say but by what no longer rattles you. You will notice it in the pause you now take before reacting, the space you make for stillness, the clarity that rises in moments of solitude. There is no announcement for this kind of growth. Only small, steady proof in the way you move through the world. And one day, perhaps without even realising it, your presence will shift the room. Your calm will be louder than your words. Your steadiness will be noticed without explanation. Your light, as Rumi promised, will light the world.
