Read Online The Ghost in My Brain by Clark Elliott - Free Book Online

little-known jewels in the academic world. Faculty positions were—and are—highly sought after by those (like me) who believed in a strong commitment to both teaching and service in such an eclectic environment—in addition to their pure research—because this meant that there were many ways for us to make a contribution to the university. This emphasis on a broader kind of service to the academic community allowed me further flexibility in how I could approach my job. I was surrounded by peers whowere high-quality researchers, but also, in this unique academic environment, universally good teachers as well. This ubiquitous “teaching personality” generally made them curious about, and sensitive to, the idiosyncrasies of others—including me. My students, too, were both thoughtful and helpful in working around my impairments. The service-oriented Vincentian ethics of the school provided a trickle-down grounding that fostered the well-being of its faculty, staff, and students, and thus wrapped me in a very supportive environment. * And, too, I was part of the hugely vibrant College of Computing and Digital Media, which has sported, for many years, one of the largest graduate programs in computer science in the world, giving me a great deal of flexibility in the courses I could teach. I was
very
lucky to be at DePaul.
    My faculty peers were understanding. The dean of my school was compassionate, and strategic about making the best use of my diminished skills. I scaled back my promising international research career in computing emotions and instead focused on collecting and developing ideas for much later publication. I emphasized service to the college and my teaching.
    At the time of the crash I was, after two decades, away from the stress of a long-failing marriage. I had my own place to live. Except for some initial difficulties in getting to see my older children, life was on the upswing. It was, overall, a time of great promise. My natural exuberance for life was still intact. I was surprised to find that, even after only a few hours of something like sleep, I woke up almost every morning thinking,
Hmm—how about that, another good day!
    I only gradually began to realize—after a fashion—that my life was significantly changed and that this was not just some temporary state, like having the flu. After all, as long as I didn’t
think,
I looked and felt pretty much normal. And when I did have to think, I became so engrossed in solving the immediate resulting problems that I didn’t have room for making a global assessment of my circumstances. It was just one foot after another, every hour, every day.
    It’s true that I was daily encountering strange and difficult problems to solve. But solving hard, novel problems—mostly on my own—was for me a way of life, both personally and professionally. It was, in many ways, just business as usual. The work was similar; the problems were different.
    A month before the crash I had moved into a small, burned-out house with only limited power and plumbing, which I was intent on rebuilding. I lived there alone, except when my older children were visiting. After sustaining the concussion I continued to work at the construction with various subcontractors as I was able, with no choice but to finish much of the job myself over the course of several years.
    I had many big hearts around me during that difficult time. I formed what are now ongoing thirteen-year bonds with my second wife, Qianwei—a Chinese computer scientist—and my deeply thoughtful stepdaughter Lucy, with each of whom I remain close, despite de facto separation starting in 2006. Qianwei’s parents lived with us for a year, during which time they became grandparents to our enchanting daughter Erin (my youngest), who has lived with me her entire life—including mostly having me as a single parent from the time she was two years old. Nell, the oldest