1 . My name is Alice. Early last year, I was troubled by an anxiety that crippled ( 削弱 ) my ability to do anything. I felt like a storm cloud hung over me. For almost a year I struggled on, constantly staring at this wall that faced me. My perfectionist tendencies were the main root of this: I wanted to be perfect at whatever I did, which obviously in life is not possible, but it consumed me.

One day, I attended a presentation by wildlife conservationist Grant Brown at my high school. His presentation not only awed and inspired me, but also helped emerge an inner desire to make a difference in the world. I joined a pre-presentation dinner with him and that smaller setting allowed me to slowly build up my courage to speak one-on-one with him—an idea that had seemed completely impossible. This first contact was where my story began.

A month later, Brown invited me to attend the World Youth Wildlife Conference. Looking back, I now see that this would be the first in a series of timely opportunities that my old self would have let pass, but that this new and more confident Alice enthusiastically seized. Shortly after I received his invitation, applications to join the Youth for Nature and the Youth for Planet groups were sent around through my high school. I decided to commit to completing the applications, and soon I was a part of a growing global team of young people working to protect nature. Each of these new steps continued to grow my confidence.

I am writing this just six months since my journey began and I’ve realised that my biggest obstacle ( 障碍 ) this whole time was myself. It was that voice in the back of my head telling me that one phrase that has stopped so many people from reaching their potential: I can’t. They say good things come to those who wait; I say: grab every opportunity with everything you have and be impatient. After all, nature does not require our patience, but our action.

2 . When was the last time you used a telephone box? I mean to make an actual phone call — not to shelter from the rain. Ages ago, right? The last time I used a phone box for its intended purpose was…2006. I was conducting auditions (试演) for my play in my tiny old shared house in London. Hoping to impress some talented actors to come and work for me for nothing, I spread some throws over the sofas and lit candles to make it seem a bit more ”young professional”.

As I rushed outdoors to empty the wastepaper baskets, the door swung shut behind me. Suddenly I was locked outside. My mobile phone was inside, but luckily there was a telephone box across the street. So, I called Directory Assistance, got put through to our landlady’s managing agent, and had a spare key sent to me with just enough time to get back in before the actors arrived.

As it has been many years since I last used one, I should hardly be surprised that then are no longer any public telephones near my house. The last one standing has just been turn into a “mini community library”: any passer-by can “borrow” a book from its shelves return it later, or replace it with another title from their own collection.

For a few months after the “library” opened, I didn’t bother taking a look, as I had assumed that it would be stuffed full of cheese love stories. Then I noticed fork conducting spring cleans dropping boxes of voluminous books on various subjects there. And these books were free. This unbeatable price-point encouraged me to experiment with dozens of titles that I would never normally consider buying. And I’ve discovered some great books!

If I ever get trapped outside my house again, my local telephone box will, sadly no longer be able to connect me with my keys. But it can certainly keep me entertained while I wait for my wife to rescue me.

3 . In 1959, Handler changed how toy dolls were made when she introduced “Barbie” to the world. With her mature figure, Barbie was one of the first “grown-up” dolls to hit the retail market.

Handler wanted to create a toy that was different from the baby dolls that dominated little girls’ toy boxes. She wanted a doll that girls could project their future dreams upon and allowed for limitless clothing and career choices. Inspired by paper dolls of the time, Handler, to much disagreement, made sure Barbie had the body of a grown woman.

“My own philosophy of Barbie,” Handler wrote in her autobiography, “was that through the doll, the little girl could be anything she wanted to be. Barbie always represented the fact that a woman had choices.”

There’s even a Barbie for cancer patients — Brave Barbie — a partnership between Mattel and CureSearch that sends a bald (光头的) Barbie to families affected by cancer. “Gifting my daughter a Barbie who suffered from cancer was tremendous,” Michelle, a cancer survivor said, “We would play with that Barbie together and I’d heartbreakingly watch her pretend to take the doll to the hospital for chemo (化疗), or place its long wig on top of its head and tell the doll ‘It’s time to be beautiful again.’”

Bald Barbie was super brave and went on awesome adventures after chemo. Sometimes she felt sick and needed to sleep, but would feel much better after a rest. Bald Barbie always beat the cancer and went on to live a long and happy life with her family. That Barbie became so much more than a plastic doll — she was a means of communication and a coping mechanism during an extremely distressing time for little families.

6 . When reading, my mother likes to slice a paragraph or a sentence out and attach it to the wall of her kitchen. She picks boring sentences that puzzle me. But I prefer copying favorite bright lines into a journal in soft, gray No. 2 pencil, word by word.

She doesn’t know any of this. There's nothing shocking: for our chatting. we seldom begin certain conversations though we talk on the phone weekly, sometimes making each other laugh so hard that I choke and she cries. But what we don't say could fill up rooms. Fights with my father. Small failures in school. Anything that really upsets us.

My mother has never told me “I love you, Lisa.”—as if the four-word absence explains who I am—so I carry it with me, like a label on me. The last time she almost spoke the words was two years ago, when she called to tell me a friend had been in hospital. I said, “I love you, Mom.” She stopped for a while and then said, “Thank you.” I haven't said it since, but I've wondered why my mother doesn't until I've found a poem that supplies words for the blank spaces I try to understand in our conversations:

Don’t fill up on bread. I say absent-mindedly. The servings here are huge.

My son, middle-aged, says: Did you really just say that to me?

What he doesn’t know is that when we’re walking together, I desire to reach for his hand.

It's humble, yet heartbreaking. After copying it down in my journal, I emailed it to mom, adding “This poem makes me think of you.” My mother doesn’t read poetry—or at least, she doesn’t tell me, and I felt nervous clicking “Send”.

She never mentioned the poem. But the next time I went home for vacation, I noticed something new in the kitchen fixed to an antique board: the poem. The board hung above the heater, the warmest spot in the kitchen. The poem still hangs there. Neither my mother nor I have ever spoken about it.

8 . Amy, a day old, was abandoned at a police station in Seoul. Her birth parents couldn’t afford to give Amy the appropriate healthcare then. She spent her first three months in an orphanage before she was adopted. “I always thought, why should I be more thankful to my adoptive parents than the next person?” she says.

In 2011, Amy reconnected with her birth mother in South Korea, her adoptive mum by her side. “My Korean mother took my American mother’s hands in hers and said with tears, ‘Thank you.’ After that, my whole world changed,” Amy says. At the time, she was working in the e-commerce sector and struggling with anxiety, depression and an eating disorder. Reconnecting with her birth family, however made her feel like the luckiest person in the world and she wanted to actively share her good fortune. That year, she quit her job and co-founded the Global Gratitude Alliance, which partners with grassroots organizations to create community-led solutions or social and economic change.

Since then, a reflexive sense of thankfulness has become Amy’s frame of reference for work, relationships and daily life in general. She tried to rethink her world view, appreciate the little things and make connections with others. For Amy, the attitude shift helped her overcome health issues—she didn’t need the drugs any more after she returned from Korea.

Those positive effects inspired Amy to share the experience with others. Through a partnership with a home for orphaned children in Nepal, the Global Gratitude Alliance provided teachers with workshops that concluded with a ceremony of giving thanks. The participants used those techniques to help their students and community after the destructive earthquake of 2015. Children from the school recently visited a local seniors’ home to build relationships with the residents there. “Gratitude creates a cycle of giving and receiving,” Amy says.

10 . Wang Fang, a Suzhou native, has given her heart and soul to Kunqu Opera. Wang, who has twice won the Plum Performance Award — China’s top award for theater and opera performances-started to learn the traditional art form in 1977.

Born with a melodic voice, Wang loved to sing and dance when she was little. She performed frequently, and was recruited by the Suzhou Kunqu Opera Troupe (剧团) when she was in middle school. However, her parents refused the troupe’s invitation, insisting that she should concentrate on her studies and not drop out of school. After members of the troupe visited the parents repeatedly and showed great sincerity,Wang’s parents finally agreed.

Learning the traditional art form was never easy. She started to learn how to pronounce words, sing them lyrically and make gestures gently. As an actress playing martial artists roles at first, she had to spend extra time practicing kung fu movements. Years later, Wang used the word “unimaginable” to describe how hard the days were when she first learned Kunqu. She was soaked in sweat when practicing movements in summer, while in winter she often had chilblains (冻疮) on her hands when training in shabby classrooms with broken windows. “But I was young and determined at the time. No matter how difficult, I always got up early the next morning to practice,” Wang recalls.

Wang says she did not love Kunqu at first, but in her early 20s,when she watched the show Peony Pavilion performed by Zhang Jiqing, a master of the art form, it clicked. “I was shocked,” Wang says. “Her every movement was full of elegance and delicacy. Each of her lines and songs was perfect. I was overwhelmed by the beauty of Kunqu for the first time in my life, and it has stayed with me since.” Now, Wang has herself become a master of Kunqu. Her performances have impressed generations and helped to promote the art form among young people.