【推荐1】A biker wearing a funny hat passes by a Charcoal Chicken shop. Two men wearing sunglasses edge around a man lying on a street corner. A group of Hare Krishnas sing and play instruments as they dance.

These are three of many moments frozen in time by photographer Mary Hutchinson on Cuba St, perhaps Wellington’s most-wandered street-and certainly its coolest.

Last May, Hutchinson chose 60 Cuba St photos for her third book of black-and-white photography, Cuba People, self-published to time with her exhibition at Cuba St’s. Thistle Hall. Various passers-by recognized friends in the prints, and told her about the people pictured. Some told those friends to stop by. “Three women from the Hare Krishna photo came in, all excited,” she says. “They filmed me beside the photo, and I photographed them beside it. That was so much fun.”

Hutchinson photographs in black and white like the pioneers of street photography. Legally, you can photograph anyone in public, but often she asks permission first or-when the moment’s about to be gone-afterwards. The vast majority says yes, and she offers to email them copies. “Sometimes, people are unaware they’ve been photographed, but I make a judgment about whether they’ll mind or not.”

Hutchinson says she wants to be “a voice for the unfamous people”. Consequently, homeless people, beggars and addicts populate the pages of Cuba People and her book Newtown Forever, which accompanied her exhibition at the Newtown Festival. “That’s partly because I see those people around, and partly because they often get blanked by people like me. I want to balance that out a bit.”

“I want to show our shared human nature and the contrasting lifestyles in our urban communities,” she says. “I once photographed an old man with amazing eyes. I didn’t know him but a friend did, and she gave his family a copy after he died. That’s what moves me: the times in life when something unexpectedly joins up.”

【推荐2】The alarm rang in my ear. After silencing it, I remained in bed. My motivation to push ahead with my Ph. D. was disappearing, which made it hard to face each new day. Continuing would risk a total breakdown. With anxiety, I decided to cease my Ph. D. temporarily and take a 9-month position at a health care charity. Back when I looked for Ph. D. positions, I was unclear what I wanted to study. For me, the degree mostly served as a means to an end, securing more interesting and higher-paid positions in the private sector than my master’s degree would unlock. So I wasn’t picky and reasoned a variety of projects would provide the training and degree I wanted.

In hindsight (事后想来), I should have been more selective. I ended up working on a project I was technically capable of completing but over time felt full of disappointment. The purely academic research was intellectually interesting, yet I struggled to see how it would make an impact on the wider real world.

Some unexpected things amplified my trouble. I started my program in 2020, when meetings were virtual and in-person contact was actively discouraged, so I had few opportunities to form personal connections with co-workers. Research became my only focus, and when my interest in that faded, my project felt depressing.

After only 1 month at the charity, it became clear that I’d made the right decision. My mental health improved and I found it easier to come into work. Things 1 did could matter and energize me after all — if I chose wisely. That was exactly what I needed and desired. After that realization, I decided I wanted to return to my Ph. D. program and make changes. I told my teacher I wasn’t interested in the current research. To my relief, he was supportive, and we redesigned the project to better fit me. I will return to my program next month, optimistic that this time will be different. But if it doesn’t go as I hope, my charity experience has given me direction and confidence that I’ll live a satisfying life, with or without a Ph. D.

【推荐1】My husband and I sobbed when we learned our home of twenty-eight years had been destroyed in the northern California Camp Fire. The souvenirs of our fifty-plus years of marriage along with many family heirlooms(传家宝) no longer existed.

Several weeks after the fire, we were allowed into the area where our home once stood. We had purchased spades, boots, protective gloves and plastic storage containers to take to the site of our former home. At the check-in point, we had to provide proof that we' d lived there. After that we were allowed to enter. I felt like an outsider in the place I’d called home for thirty years.

I'd researched online what things wouldn't be destroyed by fire and was prepared to find as many as possible while digging through the remains of our home. Tears streamed down my face as I dug into the ruins. Everything I found was a treasure to be restored.

Hours later, we loaded everything we'd rescued into plastic containers and loaded them into our two vehicles. I stood in the driveway and looked at the ruins. It was an empty feeling, and I questioned my strength to survive the oncoming challenges.

An afternoon wind started and unearthed partly burnt pages from books that had been buried under metal products. I thought about the books I'd lost and the comfort they'd given me, along with copies of the Chicken Soup for the Soul books that contained stories I'd written.

As I turned to leave, I noticed a piece of paper with burnt edges stuck to the top of my boot. I pulled it off and read the printed message: “If life seems difficult, I pause and reflect on the blessing sometimes hidden within every circumstance. With renewed faith and courage, I begin again.”

I framed that piece of paper and put it where I could see it often in every hotel room we stayed in during the coming months. The framed message now sits on a shelf in the home we settled into five months after the fire.