My wife and I were at a wonderful birthday celebration yesterday for a dear family friend, and the party was filled with many friendly faces, some of whom I had not seen for a while.

Among those faces was a man, who is now an accomplished and highly-regarded lawyer. I interacted with him in a professional sense about 20 years ago. At that time, he and I worked closely together over a period of about six months. We spent some time together, and I got to ask him lots of questions during that time. I don’t think about that time of my life often anymore, but every time I do, I think of him fondly. He was smart, competitive and a great guy.

When we ran into each other yesterday, it became a wonderful opportunity to catch up with the old days. We spoke a lot about the life 20 years ago. We also talked about kids, family and updates on professional pursuits... all the usual stuff. After seeing him, the memories of that time came back vividly. At that time, we were working together on the preparation for a case he was going to handle. We had many conversations about how to prepare for the case. And how he and I got through the difficult period came to my mind immediately.

On the way back home from the party, I thought about the many conversations we had. And then I remembered that he had sent me a book that he said was very important to him but unfortunately, I placed it in the basement without reading. So when I got home, I went into the basement, where I kept all sorts of things from my life.

And thankfully, I was able to find the book.

Immediately, I found his address and drove to his home.

3 . “From one day to the next, our profession was wiped out. We woke up and discovered our skills were unnecessary.” This is what two successful graphic designers told me about the impact of AI. The old promise—creative workers would be better protected than others from mechanization (机械化) —ruined overnight. If visual artists can be replaced by machines, who is safe?

While there’s plenty of talk about how education might change, little has been done to equip students for a world whose conditions shift so fast. It’s not just at work that young people will confront sudden changes of state. They are also likely to witness more environmental breakdown and the collapse of certain human-made systems.

Why are we so unprepared? Why do we manage our lives so badly? Why are we so expert at material innovation, but so unskilled at creating a society in which everyone can succeed? Why do obvious lies spread like wildfire? What is lacking in our education that leaves such gap s in our lives?

The word education partly comes from Latin, meaning “to lead out”. Too often it leads us in: into old ways of thinking, into dying professions. Too seldom does it lead us out of our cognitive and emotional circles, out of a political and economic system that’s killing us.

I don’t claim to have definitive answers. But I believe the extreme demands, throughout our schooling, of tests and exams reduce the range of our thinking. The exam system creates artificial borders. The intense combined demands of the testing system leave almost no time to respond to opportunities and events, or for children to develop their own interests.

Education should be joyful and delightful, not only because joy and delight are essential to our health and happiness, but also because we are more likely to survive major changes. Schooling alone will not be enough to lead us out of the many crises and disasters we now face. But it should at least lend us a torch.

It was a hot day. The sun scorched (炙烤) down and everywhere you looked, you could see the heat waves blowing above the sand. John rolled over, realizing that half of his body was well and truly burnt. He had not meant to sleep in the sun but the heat and late nights studying for his examinations made him miserable. Stretching, he got to his feet, picked up his surfboard and looked around. The beach, which had earlier been crowded in the sun, was now comparatively empty. Seagulls flew down to clean up the food of people’s picnic lunches.

The ice-cream van had gone, and so were the lifeguards who were doing first aid on the beach. John looked up to where the sun was and estimated it was about five o’clock. Time to head home. It was “Mum’s Kitchen Rule” that had him moving homewards. If he did not get home in time for dinner, he would go hungry. Wandering along the water’s edge, he happened to glance out to sea. What made him look up at that particular moment, he never knew, but it was the right time for the swimmer he spotted. His hand was up, signaling distress (险情) and he was calling out something.

Quickly John glanced around the beach — no one else was close enough to help the man, and crucially, no one had noticed. Cupping his hands to his mouth, he shouted “Help” to get the attention of other people on the beach. Someone waved back to him and John pointed to the swimmer. “Get help,” he shouted. Then without hesitation, he jumped into the sea with his surfboard. John was a strong swimmer and had a good skill for distance swimming. His coach had tried hard to persuade him to go into competitions but he was not interested.

Now he was swimming for more than enjoyment or medals.

Fortunately, the sea was not rough and there was no wave.

John and Nancy were left with their grandmother Linda after their mom was hospitalized for illness. They were curious about when they could finally see their mom.

“The hospital won’t allow her to leave until all of her medical bills are settled. I have given your mom all I could, but there’s still a large amount that we need to pay off,” Linda explained. John and Nancy missed their mom a lot and wanted her to come back home as soon as possible.

“We can pick the lemons from the garden and make fresh juice out of them,” she suggested. Her brother smiled, “That’s a great idea, Nancy!” From then on, John and Nancy stayed outside the entire afternoon after school selling lemonade. A week went by, they only managed to earn ten dollars.

On Saturday morning, they sat on the side of the yard, looking worried. After a couple of seconds, their silent pondering (沉思) was interrupted by loud police sirens. “Hey, fellas!” one of the policemen greeted. “My colleague Jacob said that his neighbor had a lemonade stand in front of their yard.” The two children nodded. “I’m sorry, officer. But I didn’t think there would be anything wrong with that. Besides, we didn’t earn a lot,” John tried to explain.

“Don’t worry. You’re not in trouble. I bought a cup of it from you two the other day, remember? I asked why you were selling lemonade, and you told me it was to raise funds to get your mom out of the hospital,” Jacob interrupted upon seeing John and Nancy looked nervous.

“I told my friends over here, and we decided we wanted to help. Come to the back of the police car, and we have something to show you,” Jacob told the kids. They slowly made their way to the back of one of the police cars and saw a nicely-painted wooden lemonade stand. “That’s beautiful!” Nancy said in surprise.

“There’s a big food festival downtown today, and we got you a stand.” Jacob said. “Why not go there and give it a shot?”

There was a large crowd eager to buy lemonade.

“Nadia, aji,”Muy called.

Come here, Nadia translated in her head. She followed the sound of her grandmother’s voice to the kitchen.

Muy fired off a set of instructions in Arabic. Nadia caught the words for oil and sugar. “Let me guess,” Nadia said. “You want me to buy groceries?”

Muy smiled. “Yes. Will you use your Arabic?” Nadia sighed. “You know I don’t speak Arabic.”

“Try.”

“I talk like a baby.”

Nadia had come to Morocco every year for as long as she could remember. Her father’s whole family lived here in a small seaside town. She could understand most of what her relatives said, but every time she opened her mouth, her tongue stuck on the words. “Try,” her father would say. “You won’t learn unless you try.” But Nadia didn’t want to try. It was too frustrating(令人沮丧的).

The old town wasn’t big, but it was confusing. The narrow streets twisted into each other like snakes. Nadia loved how kids could move freely here, playing outside or running merrily until dark. The adults watched out for all children, her father said, not just their own.

Nadia weaved past blue doorways, whitewashed walls, and tiny shops until she spotted one that looked familiar. She had been here before with her father, she remembered. Behind the counter stood a boy a few years older than Nadia.

Nadia’s palms started to sweat. She opened her mouth but failed to utter a word. Then she just pointed to the oil and sugar. The boy took the items down from the shelf.

As she paid, the boy asked in Arabic, “Are you Moroccan?”

“My father…,” she began.

He nodded and switched to English, “Half and half. How come you don’t speak Arabic?”

Here we go again. She shrugged(耸肩) and backed out of the shop, cheeks burning. She came to the end of a street where it connected with several others. She should be getting home. But which way to go? She turned right, but the street dead-ended in a courtyard.

She backtracked and ended up in a small square where she had been a few minutes before.

Looking around at the crowd, Nadia’s eyes rested on the face of an older woman who had joined the group.