1 . It was 4:30 pm. As I was packing up, I noticed my colleague had left his laptop bag in the office. So I decided to bring it to him. It took me about 15 minutes to get to his house, where I _____ the bag and got right back on the road.

Suddenly a snowstorm came and within minutes I was in a whiteout. I stopped because I was afraid of driving into a farmer’s field, or worse. I kept the car _____ to stay warm and called 911.They told me to sit tight and wait things out for the night.

Those seconds after the call were _____. Breathe, I told myself. Panicking won’t help.

I texted my colleague, joking about my good deed ending in _____. He suggested I share a satellite view of my _____ on my social media. And I did so, praying that anyone who knew the residents of the nearby farms could get me rescued.

Waiting in the car, I doubted whether _____ would be able to come. Soon enough, though, I got a message from someone who was going to put me in touch with them.

At 8 pm, I saw a tall figure in a yellow raincoat striding toward me in the dark, carrying a flashlight. I’d never been more _____ to see someone in my life. It was André Bouvier, who’d walked about 550 yards to come get me, fighting the wind and snow each step of the way.

He turned around and started to trudge through the snow, sure of the direction. I drove behind him, feeling my heart begin to beat more _____. When we reached his house, I burst into tears, all my fears turning into relief and _____.

The experience has been a game changer for me. I now ______ challenges with a sense of calm I’d not known before. But best of all, it brought André into my life.

As a kid, I dreamed of becoming a marine biologist and I lived out this fantasy by setting up aquariums(鱼缸) at home. Then, at 20, I was introduced to photographer David Liittschwager, who hired me to help him with a magazine assignment on marine life.

David’s assignment was to document the amazing biodiversity found in the ocean. My role was to collect species for him to photograph. Every night, I would cast a floating lamp. Like moths drawn to a flame, mysterious creatures would emerge from the depths in search of this light. I’d then set up aquariums to house them as they waited for David to take their shot.

Those evenings made me feel as if I were on another planet. I had never imagined such strange life-forms could exist in our oceans. But I didn’t grasp the true magic of what was in front of me until I saw the photographs David took.

The biggest surprise was his image of a baby flounder. I caught this fish by accident. Only later did I notice its two tiny eyeballs staring back at me. But David’s photograph of this flounder revealed a universe of detail that even my eager eyes had missed. His macro lens magnified its ribs. The lightning-fast exposure froze its motion. A precisely aimed light released the rainbow hidden in its skin. And the black background removed all distractions to focus our attention on the quiet beauty at hand.

Years after that project, I was snorkeling(潜水) on a shallow reef. Out of the darkness, another baby flounder emerged and settled on my mask. This time I knew what to look for. Before working for David, I had assumed the goal of photography was simply to reproduce an observation so that others could share the same experience. It had never occurred to me that photography could expand our visual perception and therefore teach us to see the world anew.

4 . As an ordinary senior school student, I’ve discovered a wonderful way to _________ life with a positive attitude — my daily bicycle rides. Riding my bike has become more than just a fun activity. It’s like a little _________ that has taught me important lessons about staying positive, facing challenges and being _________.

When I get on my bike and ride around familiar streets, it feels like I’m on a small quest. It’s not just about reaching a(n)_________; it’s about enjoying the ride itself. Cycling has turned into a kind of teacher, helping me understand the _________ of practice and having a can-do spirit. One of the coolest things I’ve learned is about not giving up when things get hard. You know, when I’m trying to pedal up a steep hill, it’s hard! But guess what? Even when my legs feel super tired, I keep going and do not give up, till I reach the _________. Life is kind of like that too. When I have a challenging task or any problems in my studies, I remember those steep hills. I know if I keep trying, I can _________ anything.

Another thing that cycling has taught me is to be ready for surprises. The road isn’t always _________. Sometimes there are bumps, and you have to ride around them. When something is wrong with my bike, I do not _________. I try to find a solution. Life’s a bit like that too. It’s not always easy, but being flexible and staying positive helps me rise to the challenge and handle __________ problems.

The most important part, though, is how cycling makes me feel happy and __________. The wind in my hair and the rhythm of pedaling makes everything seem OK. It’s like a secret power — no matter what’s going on, it keeps me happy, lets me __________ my batteries, and lets me come back feeling __________.

In the end, my daily bike rides have become more than just a way to get around. They’ve become a(n) __________ for how I want to live my life. Cycling has shown me that being positive, facing challenges with __________, and keeping an optimistic attitude can turn the life journey into a fantastic adventure. So, here’s to more bike rides and more fun!

6 . My birth was a little more dramatic than the standard way a baby enters the world. I was born missing my left hand. Indeed, my limb (手臂) difference could have been a disaster if it hadn’t been for what happened next. A nurse placed me in my mother’s arms and instructed, “You will take her home. You will love her and treat her as normal.”

That is exactly what happened. I played sports, acted in theater, excelled in school and had playdates with friends. While I did get some stares and “polite” questions about my disability, I was lucky because I wasn’t made fun of for it.

However, that fact that I was different hit me hard my first day of high school. I was 13, an age when kids are already very self-conscious and the need to fit in is intensified. I remember one of the other kids on the school bus stared just a little too long at my left arm. I felt a sudden urge to hide my hand, so I slipped it into my pocket. I told myself that I’d just hide it that one day, while I was trying to make friends. But one day of hiding turned into a week, a month, and years — 25 of them to be exact.

When I was 38 years old, tired of hiding and lonely, I met someone special and invited him in. The combination of me finally feeling ready to unhide and his willingness to go through the unhiding process with me was exactly what I needed. For the first time in my life, I allowed someone to really hold my limb, look at it, touch it, love it — love me. I saw my limb difference as something unique about me, something that should be shown, not hidden.

It was a transformational experience, and I learned to love me too. It changed how I lived my entire life and made me happier. I also discovered and joined the Lucky Fin Project, an organisation devoted to people with all types of disabilities.

Hiding things, especially from loved ones, is tiring and lonely, and it prevents us from getting help and support. It’s time to change that.

8 . As this year draws to a close, I still remember the fear I felt on a bright Saturday morning in late September, at a five-kilometer race in Clarkston, Georgia, as I waited for my 11-year-old son at the finish line.

I knew he could run a 5k in about 30 minutes. When I didn't see him at the 35-minute mark, I began to wonder what had gone wrong. Had he gotten lost? Was he hit by a car? About an hour earlier, when we drove into town, my son noticed an insect on my car. It was bright green, no longer than a fingernail. And it was friendly. This little green thing hopped onto my son's finger, where it stayed for a long, long time. It stayed so long that we eventually gave it a name: Little Friend.

A few minutes before the race, Little Friend jumped off my son’s hand and landed on the sidewalk. But pedestrian traffic was heavy and unpredictable. Little Friend was in danger. So my son knelt and reached out his hand. Little Friend came back.

The race was about to start, and the tiny green insect was in for a wild ride. My son would run fast, and the race would be long, and his arms would swing, and Little Friend would eventually be shaken off.

“You will lose Little Friend,” I told him.

My son nodded, treating the moment with appropriate seriousness.

The race began, and I lost sight of him.

The excitement at the finish line gave way to anxiety when my son did not show up.

I kept asking people if they'd seen him. No one had. And beyond the 40-minute mark, I was in a panic.

But there he was, thank goodness, just ahead of the 45-minute mark.

And there was Little Friend, riding on the upper crook of his right thumb like a very small captain on a very tall ship.

My predictions had been wrong. My son had not run fast, and he had not lost Little Friend. And these two facts seemed somehow related. He blamed a cold he was getting over. I suspected it was more than that, but I didn’t question him too much about it.

We walked back to the car, smiling, and found some bushes in the parking lot that seemed like a good place for my son to drop off Little Friend.

“Be free,” my son said, and gently put it in the bushes.

My son knew the truth. Sometimes life gives you something beautiful, a fragile, short-lived treasure in your hand. There is no need to rush ahead. Treat it gently. Enjoy each moment. Hold on while you can.

One day my son will leave too, running off on his own adventure.