The Power of a Well-Told Stories

IN A CURRICULUM packed with organic chemistry and life sciences, Dr. Herman Asarnow’s Shakespeare class was a necessary act of rebellion. I was a pre-med biology major, and he taught me to get excited about the one thing my labs couldn’t measure: the power of a well-told story. He revealed the pathos and ethos baked into every line, and I realized the curiosity and creativity I am most grateful for today came from the humanities, not the sciences. The sciences self-actualize me and pay my bills, but the humanities excite my soul.

That lesson became an anchor during the pandemic. Facing the anxiety, grief, and trauma of COVID, I started writing a book—an outlet for everything I couldn’t process in the clinic. It’s been a slow, six-year journey, but I can still hear Dr. Asarnow’s voice.

I remember the poster of “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” on his office door—he loved a good metaphor. Before we ever touched a Shakespearean text, he immersed us in its primary source context: the plague, the fear of death, the scandalous material Will had to work with. The context, Asarnow taught me, is everything.

As a physician, I now understand. No one tells their story based on their genes alone; they tell it based on their lived experience. I have more of that now, and I finally get what he was teaching. It’s time I send him a draft. After all, he taught me that the best stories deserve to be shared.

JON REITZENSTEIN, MD, ’01, is retired from the US Air Force. A family medicine physician, he lives with his family in Grand Rapids, Michigan.