C

I live in Hollywood. You may think people in such an attract ive, fun—filled place are happier than others. If so, you have some mistaken ideas about the nature of happiness.

    Many intelligent people still equate happiness with fun. The troth is that fun and happiness have little or nothing in common. Fun is what we experience during an act. Happiness is what we experience after an act. It is a deeper, more long—lasting emotion. Going to an amusement park or ball game, watching a movie or television, are fun activities that help us relax, temporarily forget our problems and maybe even laugh. But they do not bring happiness, because their positive effects end when the fun ends.

    I have often thought that if Hollywood stars have a role to play, it is to teach us that happiness has nothing to do with fun. These rich, beautiful individuals have constant access to exciting parties, fancy cars, expensive homes, everything that spells “happiness”. But in memoir（回忆录）after memoir, celebrities reveal the unhappiness hidden beneath all their fun: depression, alcoholism, drag addiction, broken marriages, troubled children, and long—time loneliness. The way people hold on to the belief that a fun—filled, pain—free life equates happiness actually decreases their chances of ever attaining real happiness. If fun and pleasure are equated with happiness, then pain must be equated with unhappiness. But, in fact, the opposite is tree: More times than not, things that lead to happiness involve some pain.

    As a result, many people avoid the very efforts that are the source of tree happiness. They fear the pain inevitably brought by such things as marriage, raising children, professional achievement, religious commitment, charitable work and self—improvement.

Compassion is a desire within us to help others. With effort, we can translate compassion into actions. An experience last weekend showed me this is true. I work part-time in a supermarket across from a building for the elderly. These old people are out main customers, and it’s not hard to lose patience over their slowness. But last Sunday, one aged gentleman appeared to teach me a valuable lesson. This untidy man walked up to my register（收款机）with a box of biscuits. He said he was out of cash (现金), had just moved into his room, and had nothing in his cupboards. He asked if we could let him have the food on trust. He promised to repay me the next

day.

I couldn’t help staring at him. I wondered what kind of person he had been ten or twenty years before, and what he would be like if luck had gone his way. I had a hurt in my heart for this kind of human soul, all alone in the world. I told him that I was sorry, but store rules didn’t allow me to do so. I felt stupid and unkind saying this, but I valued my job.

Just then, another man, standing behind the first, spoke up. If anything, he looked more pitiable. “Change it to me, ” was all he said.

What I had been feeling was pity. Pity is soft and safe and easy. Compassion, on the other hand, is caring in action. I thanked the second man but told him that was not allowed either. Then I reached into my pocket and paid for the biscuits myself. I reached into my

pocket because these two men had reached into my heart and taught me compassion.

Someone sent me an email pushing me to acquire a lot more resources, suggesting that I could do so much more good if I had an 8­or 9­figure net income instead of 6.He claimed to have acquired a great deal of wealth himself and found it highly beneficial to fueling his path with a heart.

As I consider his suggestion, I find myself not having much clarity(清晰的思维) as to what Iˈd do with 1 million dollars or 10 million dollars more. I focus so much attention on creativity, fulfillment, exploration, etc. that I find it difficult to imagine how more financial resources could provide extra fuel for that.

Lately Iˈve been considering what it would be like to deliberately reduce my income for a while and see if I could live on much less, just for the experience. That isnˈt such a big deal to me, though, since I already went through a period of low income like that during the 1990s, and I learned that I could still do what I love regardless of income.

Iˈve never worked in a business environment because I am a writer—the only job Iˈve ever had was working for $6/hour in a video game store while I was in college. So Iˈve never seen how larger operations allocate resources. Thatˈs probably why I havenˈt pushed myself to acquire more.

Iˈm not interested in building an empire. What interests me is exploring personal growth and sharing what I learn along the way. In some ways I feel that acquiring and allocating more resources could become a big distraction (让人分心的事情)．Iˈm already doing what I want to be doing, so why risk distracting myself to acquire more resources, especially when I lack the idea of what to do with such resources?

B

    My teacher, Mr. August J. Bachmann, was the most influential teacher I ever had.

    I had gotten into trouble in his class: Another student had pushed me for fun, and I became angry and began to hit him. Mr. Bachmann stopped the fight, but instead of sending me to the office, he sat me down and asked a simple question: "Penna, why are you wasting your life? Why aren't you going to college?"

    I didn't know anything about colleges or scholarships. No one had ever considered that a fatherless boy from the poorest neighborhood had a future. That day, instead of rushing off for lunch, he stayed and explained possible education options to me. At the end of our talk, he sent me to see a secretary who had a child at a state college. This was in 1962 at Emerson High School in Union City, New Jersey.

    Well, 53 years have passed, and what have I done with the knowledge he gave me? I gained a PhD from Fordham University when I was only 29. I taught English and social studies and then moved up the chain of command from teacher to principal(校长).

    I've sat on the board for Magnet Schools of America and represented that organization at the United Nations. I've won a number of great educational awards. But where would I be if a truly caring teacher had not taken the time out of his lunch period to speak to me? It was without question only his confidence in me that helped me forward.

    I have repaid his kindness hundreds of times by encouraging misguided youngsters to aim higher. If I have saved any children, it is because of him. If I have been a successful educator, it is because I had a great role model in Mr. Bachmann.

If you could have one superpower, what would it be?

       Dreaming about whether you would want to read minds, see through walls, or have superhuman strength may sound silly, but it actually gets to the heart of what really matters in your life.

     Every day in our work, we are inspired by the people we meet doing extraordinary things to improve the world.

They have a different kind of superpower that all of us possess: the power to make a difference in the lives of others.

We’re not saying that everyone needs to contribute their lives to the poor. Your lives are busy enough doing homework, playing sports, making friends, seeking after your dreams. But we do think that you can live a more powerful life when you devote some of your time and energy to something much larger than yourself. Find an issue you are interested in and learn more. Volunteer or, if you can, contribute a little money to a cause. Whatever you do, don’t be a bystander. Get involved. You may have the opportunity to make your biggest difference when you’re older. But why not start now?

Our own experience working together on health, development, and energy the last twenty years has been one of the most rewarding parts of our lives. It has changed who we are and continues to fuel our optimism about how much the lives of the poorest people will improve in the years ahead.

These young men were a different kind of prisoner from those we had seen before. They were brave, hostile（怀敌意的）and aggressive they would not take orders, and shouted “Amandla！” at every opportunity. Their instinct was to confront rather than cooperate. The authorities① did not know how to handle them, and they turned the island upside down. During the Rivonia Trial, I remarked to a security policeman that if the government did not reform itself, the freedom fighters who would take our place② would some day make the  authorities miss us. That day had indeed come on Robben Island.

In these young men we saw the angry revolutionary spirit of the times. I had had some warning. On a visit with Winnie a few months before, she had managed to tell me through our coded conversation that there was a rising class of discontented youths③ who were violent and Africanist in beliefs. She said they were changing the nature of the struggle and that I should be aware of them.

The new prisoners were shocked by what they considered the inhuman conditions of the island, and said that they could not understand how we could live in such a way. We told them that they should have seen the island in 1964. But they were almost as sceptical of us as they were of the authorities. They chose to ignore our calls for discipline and thought our advice weak and unassertive（不果断）.

It was obvious that they regarded us, the Rivonia Trialists④，as moderates⑤（温和派）. After so many years of being branded a radical revolutionary, to be seen as a moderate was a novel and not altogether pleasant feeling. I knew that I could react in one of two ways: I could scold them for their disrespect or I could listen to what they were saying. I chose the latter.

Then some of these men, such as Strini Moodley of the South African Students Organization and Saths Cooper of the Black People’s Convention, came into our section, _________.

Shortly after their arrival on the island, the commanding officer came and asked me as a favour to address the young men. He wanted me to tell them to behave themselves, to recognize the fact that they were in prison and to accept the discipline of prison life. I told him that I was not prepared to do that. Under the circumstances, they would have regarded me as a follower of the authorities.

            (---adapted from “Long walk to freedom: The autobiography of Nelson Mandela”)

C.

He was in the first third-grade class I taught at Saint Mary’s School in Morris, Minnesota. All 34 of my students were dear to me, but Mark Eklund was one in a million. Very neat in appearance, he had that happy-to-be-alive attitude that made even his occasional mischievousness delightful.

Mark also talked continuously. I had to remind him again and again that talking without permission was not acceptable. One morning my patience was growing thin when Mark talked once too often, and then I made a novice-teacher’s mistake. I looked at Mark and said, “If you say one more word, I am going to tape your mouth shut!”

It wasn’t ten seconds later when Chuck blurted out, “Mark is talking again.” I hadn’t asked any of the students to help me watch Mark, but since I had stated the punishment in front of the class, I had to act on it.

I remember the scene as if it had occurred this morning. Without saying a word, I proceeded to Mark’s desk, tore off two pieces of tape and made a big X with them over his mouth. I then returned to the front of the room.

As I glanced at Mark to see how he was doing, he winked at me. That did it! I started laughing. The entire class cheered as I walked back to Mark’s desk, removed the tape, and shrugged my shoulders. His first words were, “Thank you for correcting me, Sister.”

At the end of the year I was asked to teach junior-high math. The years flew by, and before I knew it Mark was in my classroom again. He was more handsome than ever and just as polite.

One Friday, things just didn’t feel right. We had worked hard on a new concept all week, and I sensed that the students were growing discouraged with themselves—and edgy with one another. I had to change the mood of the class before it got out of hand. So I asked them to list the names of the other students in the room on two sheets of paper, leaving a space between each name. Then I told them to think of the nicest thing they could say about each of their classmates and write it down. It took the remainder of the class period to finish the assignment.

That Saturday, I wrote down the name of each student on a separate sheet of paper, and I listed what everyone else had said about that individual. On Monday I gave each student his or her list. Some of them ran two pages. Before long, the entire class was smiling. “Really?” I heard whispers. “I never knew that meant anything to anyone!” “I didn’t know others liked me so much!”

No one ever mentioned those papers in class again. I never knew if the students discussed them after class or with their parents, but it didn’t matter. The exercise had accomplished its purpose. The students were happy with themselves and one another again.

That group of students moved on. Several years later, after I returned from a vacation, I got a call from my father. “The Eklunds called last night,” he began. “Really?” I said. “I haven’t heard from them for several years. I wonder how Mark is.”

Dad responded quietly. “Mark was killed in Vietnam,” Mark looked so handsome, so mature. All I could think at that moment was, Mark, I would give all the masking tape in the world if only you could talk to me.

After the funeral, most of Mark’s former classmates headed to Chuck’s farmhouse for lunch. Mark’s parents were there, obviously waiting for me. “Helen, we want to show you something,” his father said, taking a wallet out of his pocket. “They found this on Mark when he was killed. We thought you might recognize it.”

Opening the billfold, he carefully removed two worn pieces of notebook paper that had obviously been taped, folded and refolded many times. I knew without looking that the papers were the ones on which I had listed all the good things each of Mark’s classmates had said about him. “Thank you so much for doing that,” Mark’s mother said. “As you can see, Mark treasured it.”

Mark’s classmates started to gather around us. Charlie smiled rather sheepishly and said, “I still have my list. It’s in the top drawer of my desk at home.” Then Vicki, another classmate, reached into her pocket-book, took out her wallet and showed her worn and ragged list to the group. “I carry this with me at all times,” Vicki said without hesitation. “I think we all saved our lists.”

That’s when I finally sat down and cried. I cried for Mark and for all his friends who would never see him again.

Lucy Hobbs Taylor is considered to be the first woman to graduate from dental (牙齿的) school with a degree in dentistry. She was born in New York in 1833. This was a time in history when women’s roles were generally limited to being a mother, teacher or nurse.

  After graduating from high school, Taylor taught at a school for ten years in Michigan. In 1859, she moved to Cincinnati, Ohio, where she applied to the College of Medicine. She was rejected because of her gender. She was very determined, however, and took up private studies with one of the professors there. It was his suggestion that she should try the field of dentistry.

  Taylor decided to apply to the school of dentistry. Once again, because of her gender, she was turned down. True to her determined ways, she once again took up private studies under the dean of Ohio College of Dental Surgery. Without the benefit of a degree, in the spring of 1861, she open her own practice in Cincinnati, where she was known as “the woman who pull teeth”. (Women were allowed to practise dentistry without a degree at that time as long as a qualified dentist directed them. )

  After four years, Taylor had finally proven herself to her colleagues, all of whom were men. The Iowa State Dental Society accepted her as a member in 1865. Later that year, she was admitted to the senior class of the Ohio College of Dental Surgery. She received credits for her years of service and received her doctorate (博士学位) in dentistry in February 1866. Thus，Lucy Hobbs Taylor became the first woman in the US history to earn a doctorate in dentistry.