【推荐2】MY GARDEN IS MY REFUGE; I find reflective isolation in it. I have seven children, so our house is a scene of lively confusion. For a long time, I guarded this place of peace and quiet. When the children followed me into the garden, I would hand out chores. “Here: you weed the beans, you water the onions.” Soon they would be hot or their backs would hurt from bending over, and they would leave me to myself.

Then one day, I was trying to prepare the soil, and I honestly wasn’t enjoying my time of peace and loneliness. My 13-year-old son, Josiah, picked up a spare spade and began helping. Working as a team, we had the pea patch dug up and fertilized in no time at all. I thanked Josiah, realizing that l had enjoyed his company.

The same thing happened with picking up rocks and planting the seeds —one or two of the children would appear to watch and then participate. Each time, I would feel surprised to find the work was lighter for their help, and their laughter made time pass faster. So I stopped resenting their company and instead I began to share my gardening secrets. As spring became summer and the real work began, I expected the children to disappear, but no, there they were, watering, pulling weeds and checking for insects.

One day I slipped out by myself to the garden, feeling a little bit guilty. I had a suspicion that the sugar snap peas were ripe, and I wanted a taste. As I walked along the row, a little voice piped up behind me. “What are you eating, Mama?”

Abby’s big blue eyes sparkled as I showed her how to pull the strings off and pop (剥出) the peas into her mouth. She just loved how tasty they were. Then my sweet seven-year-old girl put me to shame. “Mama, I’ve got to pick a bunch. Won’t the others love them? I can’t wait to share.”

I realized how selfish I had been. I’d tried to keep the joys of gardening to myself, and here was a child who couldn’t wait to share with her brothers and sisters. I held back tears and said, “Sure, honey, let’s pick some and I’ll show you how to prepare them. We’ll make the most wonderful supper.”

【推荐3】When the news came that my mother was hospitalized for a heart attack, I was in Peru on a hiking trip. That evening, before I could board the plane to Italy, I was informed that she had passed away. Sadness and the feeling of not being there for my mother when she needed me most broke all excuses Id made up to stay away trying to make it as a “travel writer”. There wasn’t much I could do to stop that urge to denounce myself.

My mother Tundra stayed in her northern Italian world most of her life, where I always stood out as a freak and the one doing worthless silly things. But my stories from distant places aroused her curiosity and brought her comfort. To her, I was a courageous adventurer, and her words towards my achievements which are in sign if cant now pushed me forward on that unconventional path.

After handling my mother’s affairs in Italy, I decided to leave for Penang Island, one of the most visited places in Penang, Malaysia. With all the international travel I’d done, in truth I’d always treated it more like as top for necessary and urgent breaks, rather than a proper destination. Yet then, I missed its atmosphere that made me feel at home somehow.

Returning there, I reconnected with backwoods by going on hikes. It was hard to put my feelings into words, but the rainforest held something uniquely comforting. This experience was similar to stepping into an ancient, purer world that made one consider human nature and problems. Besides, the sound of strange insects was almost like a language, whispering to me that I should let go of the past, and only focus on current life. Like an oil leak, that suffering fell out of me and into every footprint left.18 months passing, I look back on the time spent in the natural world and timeless environment, knowing I’ve pulled through.

【推荐2】In 2014, I was in ballet class when I got a call from the hospital that my dad had experienced a stroke. I rushed to the hospital to join him, and found him buried in a nest of cables, surrounded by a variety of monochromatic, rapidly beeping (making a short, loud sound) assistive machines. They seemed to form a single, massive enclosure around him. Every few moments he would peer up at one of the machines with wide, confused eyes. I became clear that many of the technologies that were meant to be helping and supporting him were scary and inaccessible. During the most difficult moments of his life, the machines multiplied his fear.

I wondered how I could make him feel reassured, safe, and dignified around these devices. At the time, I was a professional dancer and choreographer (编舞者). Dancers, performers and theater artists are all masters at evoking emotions, so I began to think how I might improve machines to help him feel empowered and hopeful rather than afraid. My dad is now in his early 70s and fully recovered. But his story led me to start combining my passions for dance and technology.

I’ve danced with different robots all around the world, in installations (就职) and live performances. I’m now a Ph. D. candidate in mechanical engineering at Stanford University, where I work on models and interfaces that allow robots to learn new tasks from humans.

As the number of robots in society continues to increase, more people need to be capable of using them. I think of other commonly used technologies like laptops and phones and reflect that a user like my dad actively direct the robot with natural human motions.

I believe the intersection (交叉点) between robotics and human will continue to expand as robots move out of the factory and into the public. I am not sure how soon my dad will have a robot in his house, but I do believe that when it arrives, it will be filled with dance knowledge.