My friend Guy Spier's battle – and life lessons
Attending Guy Spier's annual ValueX conference in Klosters, Switzerland earlier this month was, as always, tremendously fun and stimulating...
I caught up with old friends, made new ones, and left with all sorts of investing ideas and insights that I will be sharing in upcoming e-mails.
Guy is the ultimate connector. He makes me look like a loner!
He's also one of the best-known and respected investors in the world.
Guy wrote the wonderful book, The Education of a Value Investor: My Transformative Quest for Wealth, Wisdom, and Enlightenment. And he has managed his hedge fund, Aquamarine Capital, to market-beating returns (1,185.6% through the end of 2025, to be precise) over more than 26 years.
Here's a picture of us when he came to visit my wife and me in the hospital room the day my youngest daughter was born nearly 24 years ago:
But I'm afraid I have bad news to share... 14 and a half months ago, Guy had a "grand mal seizure" (epileptic fit) out of the blue – with no warning or known risk factors.
At the hospital, the doctors found a marble-sized tumor and diagnosed him with grade 4 glioblastoma (brain cancer). It's one of the worst forms of cancer. Only 25% of patients survive more than one year. Only 5% of patients survive more than five years.
Here's how Guy described what happened next in his annual letter, which he has given me permission to share excerpts from:
An MRI at Hirslanden Hospital revealed a small tumor in my head in a location that was considered safe to remove. Four days later I was in surgery for a craniotomy, and the tumor was completely resected. Despite the small size and the benign appearance, the histology confirmed grade 4 glioblastoma, or GBM.
As this is Switzerland, I was moved quickly to what is the standard-of-care for GBM – known as the Stupp protocol: A course of radiotherapy and chemotherapy starting on December 23, 2024, and finishing on my birthday, February 4, 2025. Some of you also saw me wearing an Optune device in the hope that it would prevent recurrence.
The tumor was small, the doctors caught it early, and I immediately underwent the appropriate treatment, so my chances of beating the worst outcomes were good, and I continued my life as normal. However, that changed in September 2025 with an unclear MRI and minor (or focal) seizures. These led to a second craniotomy and the conclusion that the cancer had returned.
This recurrence changed the calculus for Aquamarine Fund. Previously, I could have every hope and expectation that the cancer was in remission and that my top priority of compounding our capital could remain unchanged. The recurrence meant I could no longer say that.
Although my mind and investing abilities remain intact today, we have no way of knowing when that might change. My condition could stabilize for a long time, or it might not. While I continue to have every hope of living a long and productive life, that is less likely than before.
The range of outcomes has widened considerably. Faced with that uncertainty, I knew I had to reprioritize my life.
Up to this point, despite my many outside interests, my top priority was to continue to compound your capital at Aquamarine Fund. This is no longer the case. My top priority has become my health and spending precious time with my family.
Fast-forward to today, and – more than a year later – Guy has already beaten the odds.
If you saw him, you wouldn't notice anything wrong. Here's a picture of us with some other friends from the conference (Guy is wearing the hat):
But this brutal cancer is affecting him.
Guy suffers from chronic headaches and has difficulty controlling his right hand and the right side of his face. He is undergoing two more experimental treatments – one in Germany right now – and I'm praying for a miracle. But as he said to me: "I have two more shots on goal, and then it's palliative care."
Guy turned 60 during the conference, so we all sang him happy birthday. His wife, Lory, said some beautiful words. I posted a video of it here (again, shared with their permission).
And the next day, he spoke beautifully to all of us and answered questions. My 31-minute video is posted here (forgive me for missing the first few minutes).
Guy has always inspired me with his kindness and wisdom, and never more so than now as he fights the ultimate battle with such courage and love for Lory, his three children, and extended family and friends.
So I want to turn the rest of this e-mail over to Guy and share three sections from his annual letter...
THE POWER OF FRIENDSHIP
Douglas Murray has written, in the context of the October 7th massacres, that sometimes a flare goes up, and you see exactly where everyone is standing. My cancer diagnosis was one of those flares. When things fall apart, you discover who your friends really are – a crisis has a way of illuminating what was always there.
I have been blessed with many who showed up without hesitation. Not everyone knew how to, and that is understandable – but what has stayed with me are the people who turned out to have extraordinary reserves of kindness and presence.
Some people instinctively run into the fire. Bryan Lawrence and Gillian Segal and Naama Baram did just that. Others dropped everything to travel and visit: Li Lu flew in from Seattle, Mohnish Pabrai from Austin, Bonnie and Arthur Fish from Toronto, Adam Franks from London and Ken Shubin Stein from New York, as did John Mihaljevic, Danny Aegerter and others in Zurich.
Their physical presence meant far more than they realized.
The World Minds community showed up in force. Rolf Dobelli was present for one of my focal seizures and didn't flinch. Kipper Blakeley, Simone Schürle, Laura Baudis, and Ashkan Nikeghbali have each shown up when it mattered, demonstrating the depth of connection that network has fostered. Dan Ariely spent an entire day with me after the World Minds annual meeting, offering not just his friendship but the kind of understanding that comes from someone who has experienced life-altering tragedy at a young age.
Here in Zürich, our family is a member of the Chabad Jewish community. Mendel Rosenfeld and his son-in-law Nochum have been extraordinarily kind, visiting at short notice. And when Scholom – Mendel's brother – arranged a community Shabbat, he said words that brought me to tears: "You do what the doctors tell you to do – but only the Almighty knows your fate."
Then there are those who simply read about my diagnosis and reached out with a kind word. Atul Gawande, who wrote about me in The Checklist Manifesto, reached out after reading my earlier letter. I had not known he followed my annual updates. So did Nicholas Christakis and Amar Bhide. All offered medical insight, humanity, and perspective at a moment when I needed all three. Nick Sleep reached out as well, which touched me deeply.
Janet Echelman, whose husband David died from GBM, has been a steady presence, offering the wisdom and empathy that only someone who has been through it can provide. And Tom Lines helped me and Lory navigate the Swiss medical landscape, as did Ajay Desai (from Bakersfield) when it came to knowledge of radiology and alternate therapies.
I know that this is just the tip of the iceberg. There many who reached out to Lory including Richard and Katherine Bergin, John Meckert, Peter Hornick, Valerie and Jeremy Lack, Jean- Marc Brunschwig, Marnin Michaels, Nikolai Ahrens, Katrina Smith, Sudha Chennuru, Monita Singh, Julie Meyer, and others.
Lory and I are deeply grateful to the many friends who have supported us – through emotional encouragement, by connecting us with physicians, and by drawing Lory's attention to treatments that might help me. Their kindness meant a great deal during a difficult time, and it reminded us, especially Lory, that we were not facing this alone. To each of you, Lory and I simply say: thank you – for your friendship with me and with Lory, and for being there when we needed you.
We are equally grateful to those who reached out via Chantal and to Team Aquamarine – Chantal, David, Mariana, and Paaras, and our directors Roland Gysi and Andreas Mikos. You have managed the transition with extraordinary professionalism but have also been present as friends, not just colleagues.
It is only when the ground shifts beneath you that you learn who will steady you, and I have been steadied by more people than I could have ever hoped for.
Guy continues:
HOW TO TALK ABOUT HEALTH TO SOMEONE WHO IS SICK
One more thing: If you want to understand how to talk to someone who's sick, read Letty Pogrebin's, How to Be a Friend to a Friend Who's Sick. There is an excellent Wall Street Journal review, or I can send you a copy if I have extras.
Pogrebin writes: "For a sick friend, first do no harm." The basic idea is that a lot of normal conversation is just inappropriate or does damage when you're talking to somebody who's either sick or terminally ill. For example, if one person asks me how I am, that's fine, but if I have 10 people a day asking me how I am, and I need to respond to every single one, that can be very difficult. What can help is to say, "Just thinking of you," without requiring me to respond.
If you want to get in touch with me about things that are of common interest, things outside of my medical situation that allow me to live my life to the fullest, then that's great. But if you have medical suggestions, please send them to Lory or to Chantal.
And as he also says:
LESSONS LEARNED. WISDOM BUMP
The lessons learned from my medical issues to date have been huge, although, like one of Christina Rossetti's protagonists in her poem Goblin Market, I would rather be innocent than have the experience of my disease. However, it's certainly been a wisdom bump. Here are some lessons I've learned:
1. Live your best life. You don't know what is going to happen tomorrow, so if there is something you always wanted to do, go ahead and do it.
2. Whatever gifts nature gave you, use them. Don't have any shame. So long as you are not doing damage to yourself or anyone else, go on and enjoy them. I used to look disparagingly on people who used their looks to get ahead. No longer. Whatever gifts you have, you should use them. So if someone is good-looking but not too smart, they should just go for it and use their looks. Don't let anyone make you feel guilty.
3. Delete envious people. They have nothing to be envious of because they don't know what will come tomorrow. I had a couple of people in my life who were envious of me for my good fortune. That made me feel guilty. They sensed that guilt, and as a consequence felt justified in their envy. It was not healthy. I have now deleted them from my life. I should have done it a lot sooner.
4. Time. The medium term does not exist for me any more. There are only two kinds of time: The ever present now, and the eternal. I only do things that make sense on those two scales of time. The medium term is not interesting.
5. Keep a positive attitude and don't complain. I've tried all the other things and they don't work.
6. Meditation – it's not worth it. For me, meditation activates the reptilian freeze mechanism, so it is counter-productive. What works for me is movement and curiosity. When it comes to movement, any kind works: Walking, cross-country skiing, the rowing machine. When I am too tired, I engage my seeking instinct, sometimes by playing chess but mostly by reading. Novels, classics, newspapers, philosophy, history, physics, and mathematics – I am into all of them.
7. My wife and children think that I am courageous. I'm not so sure. I don't like my circumstances but I don't have much choice so I can hardly be courageous. What I do know is that the love I feel from my wife, my children, my family, and friends gives me the courage to make the best of what I have been given. Without that love, everything would be infinitely more difficult.
8. Lastly, when it comes to the reward for all this suffering, I have learned that there are no medals, nor are any medals required. Where there is life there is hope: I learned that from my father, who probably read it in Tolkien's Lord of the Rings or in the writings of Cicero. The reward for being here is just that: Being here. To be one of the 100 billion or so humans who have ever lived, to be here today, to simply be here to see it all unfold.
As Guy concludes his letter:
HINENI
In closing there is a Hebrew word I keep coming back to: Hineni. It means "Here I am." But it also means so much more.
It appears in the Hebrew Bible at moments of profound testing. When God calls Abraham to sacrifice his son, Abraham responds, "Hineni." And as they walk up the mountain and Isaac calls out, "Father," Abraham answers him with the same word: "Hineni, my son."
It also appears when Moses hears the call of God before the burning bush, and when Isaiah volunteers for his mission. In every instance, Hineni signifies that the protagonist is ready to do what the Almighty asks – before he even knows what will be asked.
In a sense, Hineni is the act of letting go of the script you wrote for yourself and accepting the one that is being written for you. I find myself saying Hineni now. Here I am. I don't know what comes next, but I am here to meet it. My task has shifted. For 28 years, my job was to compound your capital. That is no longer my primary task. The task now is to confront what has been given to me – without complaint.
Sometimes the music you prepared to play isn't the music you're called to play. There is a moment that captures this perfectly: The pianist Maria João Pires is seated at the Royal Concertgebouw in Amsterdam. As Riccardo Chailly leads the orchestra into Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 20, you see her jolt – she had prepared a different concerto entirely. There is a split second of visible fear, and then she steadies herself, turns to the keyboard, and plays the correct concerto brilliantly.
That is where I am. I was prepared to play the music of compounding capital for decades to come, but that is not the music I have been given. And – unlike Maria Pires at the Concertgebouw – there is no score, so I will have to improvise, to the best of my ability.
Hineni. Here I am.
Thank you, Guy, for sharing your story and your wisdom. I am in your debt. And I'm praying for you.
Best regards,
Whitney
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