As a child I dreamed of becoming a scientist. I mapped my life out: I’d study neuroscience at a top university and proceed to do a master’s, a Ph. D., and a postdoc, all of which would somehow lead to a prosperous career. But it didn’t go quite as planned.

During the research part of my master’s degree, I found myself putting in 8 hours of work per day with little enthusiasm. I wasn’t ready to let go of my dream, however. I decided to apply to Ph. D. programs. After numerous rejections, I got accepted into a program in Zurich.

I was relieved, but I also doubted whether I was the right person for the job. Within 2 years, it became clear that I was failing to master the skills I needed, and I found the work no more satisfying than during my master’s. My mental health worsened. I would lie in bed wide awake for hours. I struggled with whether to quit: If I gave up, all the years I had devoted to academia would turn out a waste of time. Then a friend noticed my mental and physical exhaustion. “Is this you. George? ” he asked one day. After hearing those words, all of my hesitation about quitting disappeared. I resigned the next day.

It felt liberating to be honest with myself about a path that wasn't meant for me. Still, I needed to decide what to do next. I thought about a lecture I had recently attended. “If only we could get the general public to feel the awe (敬畏) that I’m feeling!” I remember thinking at the time. That got me wondering whether writing and communicating about science might be a good profession.

I looked around and came across exceptional news features in science magazines, written by individuals without a Ph. D. I began to think I could have a career writing about general science and the work of scientists and researchers.

I signed up for a feature writing course.

I feel as though I’m on the right path now, writing about public health.

When I was 13, I climbed my first mountain — a fairly gentle 3, 900-foot peak near where I live in Surrey, British Columbia. I loved the challenge of conquering something bigger than myself. Soon I’d climbed nearly 100 peaks.

I often go climbing with my friend Mel Olsen. Two years ago, on December 30, when I was 16, she and I drove to Oregon to conquer 11, 240-foot Mount Hood.

It's safer to start winter climbs at night when there's less risk of the sun melting the snowpack. That day, we started at 3 a. m. The temperature was about 14 degrees, and we wore clothes we could easily remove. Along the way, we met two other climbers, and the four of us continued on together.

After about five hours, we reached Devil's Kitchen, a plateau at about 10, 000 feet, just before the final push to the top. By this point, the wind conditions were horrible. My exposed skin felt as though it were burning. The other climbers decided to turn back, but Mel and I went ahead. We had ice axes (斧), helmets, and crampons (钉鞋). We were prepared for the climb.

The trail we followed grew narrower and steeper. At around 9 a. m., we reached a patch of ice called an ice step. It was about three or four feet tall and sloped at a 75-degree angle. I volunteered to go first. I placed my left foot on the ice step.

I gained a sense of the ice when I stuck my ax and crampons into it, and it felt good. Confident that I was safe, I put my full weight on it. Suddenly, I heard a crack, and a whole block of ice broke off the step, right under my foot.

In an instant, I fell backward.

As Mel made her way down, I yelled for help.

Good morning! Today, it is my great honor to deliver a graduation speech on behalf of all the high school graduates of 2022 class.

Thank you!

The five children in Larrane Leech’s day care group were outdoors early, painting landscapes under the dizzy sun. By 10 a. m., it was time to find shade, so Larrane decided they would walk down to the river.

“We’re going to pick berries now, ” she announced. A nature lover, Larrane insisted they spend as much time as possible outdoors.

Larrane handed each child an empty jar and called for Pal, her one-year-old German shepherd (德国牧羊犬). The group made its way over the dusty road and then onto a dirt path through the trees. They stopped at the first berry bush and got busy picking berries, cheering and talking excitedly.

A young cougar (美洲狮)cocked an ear toward the birdlike chatter and sniffed the air. Stepping over the thick carpet of pine needles, the cougar moved quietly toward the children.

Larrane sensed the children suddenly go quiet. She looked up to see the back end of a cougar, the size of Pal, standing over one child, Mikey. The sight of the cougar near her kids immediately froze Larrane. Larrane couldn’t tell whether Mikey had been bitten. Her mind racing wildly, she darted toward the cougar. Desperately intending to grab its tail, she shifted aim at the last minute and seized the cougar by the neck. She shook it from side to side. Instantly, the cougar wheeled toward Larrane. Growling and hissing, it stretched up high and brought its paws down upon the head of the woman. Although still in its youth, it had all the teeth and muscle a cougar needs to pull down a victim three times its size. This animal was capable of killing her.

Now aware of the danger, the other four children screamed and ran behind Larrane.

Larrane rushed to Mikey, who lay quietly on the ground.