My Soundtrack for a New Year

As a Greenland Shark, I think of resilience—a creature that moves steadily through its world, adapting to harsh conditions with a quiet strength. That’s how I’m choosing to view the surgery I have coming up on Monday. I’m no stranger to the operating table; I’ve been through hip replacements during the covid pandemic, hernia repairs, a gallbladder removal, and even a retinal tear. But this one feels different. It’s not life-threatening, but it’s deeply personal. I’m getting a cochlear implant for my left ear.

Music has been the soundtrack of my life, from playing in my junior high state winning jazz band and high school marching band to studying electroacoustic music composition at the University of Illinois while also getting a B.S. in electrical engineering. After college I worked as a technical engineering at Universal Recording Corporation building and modifying recording studios around the Chicago area. Losing most of the hearing in my left ear 25 years ago wasn’t just a physical loss; it was a seismic shift. It knocked me into a depression so deep that some days I couldn’t even get out of bed. But, like the Greenland shark, I kept swimming. Having young children I eventually found my way forward.

I’ve had friends who have lost loved ones, and I know those are far greater life events. But losing my hearing was, in its own way, a grieving experience. It felt like part of my identity had been stripped away, leaving me to rebuild and rediscover who I was without it as I had a business that depended on it.

Years later, another challenge hit: a perilymph fistula in my left ear. It didn’t bring the spinning vertigo people often describe, but it made my world feel tilted and unsteady. I bounced from specialist to specialist, including the Mayo Clinic, without answers. Then my general practitioner suggested a medication, and within 15 minutes, I felt 70% better. That’s been my lifeline ever since.

Over time, the high frequencies in my right ear started to fade. At first, I worried about what this meant for music, which had always been so central to my life. But as the years passed, my focus shifted. It’s not just about music anymore; it’s about connection. It’s about being present at family gatherings, hearing my loved ones’ voices, and staying engaged in the moments that matter.

I have to admit, though, that my vanity has me somewhat concerned about how I’ll be perceived with the device on. Will clients or colleagues see me differently? Will I be accepted in the same way? I know I shouldn’t give a damn, but I do. It’s something I’ll have to work through. Yet another layer of adjustment in this process.

So here I am, on the brink of a new chapter. I’m both excited and apprehensive about what this cochlear implant will bring. What will the world sound like through this new technology? How will my brain adapt as it learns to process these electronic signals? Will I hear music the way I once did? Or will it be something entirely different? I’ve read about the adjustment period, the brain’s incredible ability to remap and relearn over time. It’s a process that demands patience and perseverance—two things I’ve developed in spades over the years.

This isn’t my first rodeo with uncertainty or fear. Every surgery I’ve had has made me stronger in the end. Like the Six Million Dollar Man of the ’70s, I’ve come out the other side better than before. Now I’m looking forward to hearing in stereo for the first time in decades, to catching the nuances in voices and maybe even rediscovering music as I play my old AND new albums. I’ll admit I’m scared, but fear has never stopped me before. It’s just another current to swim through.

Perspective is everything. I’ve learned that life’s challenges don’t define us—it’s how we respond to them that matters. Like the Greenland shark, I’ve endured. I’ve adapted. I’ve survived. And I’m ready to navigate this next chapter with the same steady determination. Bring on the new year and the new sounds it holds. This shark is ready to keep swimming.