Five years ago, I left my job to work on a ship. After working as a junior doctor, I was willing to take the risk.1 for adventure, I boarded a ship in Singapore with 2, 000 passengers and crew. To my2 , the hospital was well equipped, with an X﹣ray machine and a blood analyzer.

As a doctor, I was3 for the 600 crew. Far from4 seasickness and sunburn, I had to deal with other diseases. The ship's medical centre was5 a floating emergency room, and we didn't have a team of specialists on hand for a second6 . With long and unpredictable hours, it required mental7 .

Many of the passengers were elderly. Heart attacks don't8 geography and emergency evacuations （疏散）were difficult to arrange. I recall one such patient, who was taken off the ship halfway through the Panama Canal. After a9 ride in an old ambulance, I was relieved that the patient10 long enough to arrive at the hospital in Panama City.11 , there were several unexpected benefits to the job. I regularly12 the passenger facilities. On rare days off, I13 as a tour guide on trips ashore.

Now, I understand being a ship doctor is not a job﹣it's a way of14 . One year at sea became two. I lost my career ambitions,15 I redefined happiness in my life.

As I prepared for my Level 8 Royal Conservatory of Music piano exam, memories of previous disappointing marks filled me with dread and anxiety. The mere thought of booking the exam made me feel completely strained. However, fate had other plans in store for me.

Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse, my trusty 10﹣year﹣old electric piano malfunctioned. The middle C note played as an F﹣sharp, and multiple other keys were out of tune.

Despite my distress, my father refused to buy a new piano and instead urged me to be more resourceful. Initially, I was at a loss without my beloved electric piano. But after struggling for a few days, I was determined to find every available piano room on campus. After discovering hidden pianos in corners, I spent countless hours practicing. As my exam drew near

One day, while practicing in a piano room, one of my teachers walked in and offered me a mini exam. To my surprise, I found a place where I could be anyone.

Playing the piano became my escape from the anxieties of adolescence and allowed me to express myself freely. When it was time to play in front of the examiner, I no longer feared judgment. Instead, I only feared not being able to represent all my hard work. As the lights came on

Eventually, I received my mark. Not only did I achieve a rarely given "well done", but I also discovered a newfound appreciation for music. Whenever I feel discouraged, some lessons are best learned the hard way.

One teacher had two students. One of them had a positive vision while the other had the 1 one.

One day, the teacher 2 for a park with both the students and while wandering in the garden, they 3 a mango tree from which some ripe and juicy mangoes were 4 . On seeing this, the teacher thought to 5 both of his students. Then, he asked the first one, "My dear child, what do you think of this mango tree?"

The student answered instantly, "Teacher, in spite of people 6 this tree with stones, it gives us sweet and juicy mangoes. It does 7 but still it gives us fruits. I wish all human beings learn this important 8 from the mango tree-to share their 9 even if they have to suffer for this."

After that, the teacher asked the other student the same question. The student 10 answered, "Teacher, this mango tree is no good and will not give mangoes by itself but only when we hit it with stones and 11 . Therefore, we should hit it hard to get sweet mangoes from it. That is the only way to 12 these mangoes. It is also clear from this tree that in order to get good 13 from others, we need to be violent and only when we become violent, then and only then will we get 14 ."

The teacher was delighted with the answer given by the first student because he had an admirable vision and 15 the tree with positive vision.

In 2011, Nancy Ballard went for a routine check-up that turned into something extraordinary. In fact, she was carrying a painting of a plant she'd done when she arrived at her doctor's San Francisco office. "It would be great if we had artwork like that for our chemotherapy(化疗) rooms," the nurse said. Ballard asked to see one. 

She was shocked by what she found. The walls were dull and bare, and the paint was falling. It was a depressing room for a depressing routine—patients were restricted to chemo drips for perhaps several hours, often with nothing to look at other than those sad walls. Ballard didn't have cancer herself, but she could sympathize with the patients. "I couldn't imagine how anyone could even think about getting healthy in a room like that," she says. As it happened, Ballard's physician, Stephen Hufford, was ill with cancer himself, so finding time to decorate the rooms was low on his to-do list. So Ballard made it her task to brighten up the place. 

She started by emailing 20 local designers. "I wrote, ‘You don't know me. But my heart hurts after seeing these rooms,'" she remembers. She then asked whether they would donate their time and money to transform just one of Dr Hufford's rooms each. 

As it happened, six of them wrote back almost immediately. Six rooms got new paint, light fixtures, artwork and furniture. Dr Hufford was delighted. "All the patients feel relieved of the pain because of it," he said. He even noted that his own tone of voice was different in the rooms and that he was better able to connect with his patients. 

Ballard was so encouraged by the patients' reactions that she created a non-profit organization to raise money and decorate more spaces. Since then, she has worked on 20 projects, including one in Pennsylvania. "We were in Philadelphia for a ribbon-cutting(剪彩), and a woman was there on her third battle with cancer," says Ballard. "When she saw what we'd done, she said, ‘I'm gonna beat it this time. I thought I wasn't going to, but now I know I'm gonna beat it.'"

The famous Spanish painter Pablo Picasso once said, "I am always doing that which I cannot do, in order that I may learn how to do it." It strikes a chord(引起共鸣) with me because that's exactly what I have been doing these years.

One of my earliest memories of doing before learning is baking scones(烤饼) when I was about 10 years old. I wanted to bake them to surprise my mother when she returned home.

Before that, I'd observed how my mother baked them many times. As I started to try, I didn't know I shouldn't handle the dough(面团) with my hands too much once I'd added the baking powder(发酵粉). However, I knew exactly how to roll out the dough and use a cookie cutter to cut the scones, because my mom had already taught me.

By the time my mom arrived home, the smell of freshly baked scones welcomed her into the kitchen. They were close to perfection—flat, as a result of overhandling the dough, but they tasted OK. My mom sweetly praised me for my attempt, rather than scolding me for the state of the kitchen, which was like a tornado had just blown!

Have my attempts always been successful? I wish! Some of my kitchen disasters were so terrible that even the dogs wanted nothing to do with them. My gardening failures didn't live to see another season.

But my habit of doing before learning is still helpful. Whatever new software I have to learn how to use, I do so by simply starting to use it. I do, learn, and improve. So if you ask me whether I regret that I tend to do first and learn later, I'd say I don't, because what I have discovered from those is the wisdom to know when it's OK to do and then learn, and when it's probably better to learn and then do!

Juleus Ghunta is an award-winning children's author, but growing up, he could barely 1 . Raised by a single mother, who often had to make 2 choices about how to use their limited resources－including a decision to send his oldest sister to school, he had been kept home and had no 3 to books as a child.

When Ghunta finally got the opportunity to attend school, he couldn't 4 words, spell, or read with understanding. The situation was made worse by a series of teachers who made him feel 5 . "They were not very patient, not very kind," he said, "I suffered from a deep sense of loss and shame."

Fortunately, a young teacher decided to start a reading program for 6 students. Ghunta was the first to sign up. "The teacher was 7 kind to me." he said, "She had left me with the gift of literacy, and a deeper appreciation of my value as a human being." Under her patient 8 , Ghunta's reading skills gradually improved, and his sense of inadequacy (不足) began to 9 .

After interacting with the young teacher, Ghunta's life took a new 10 . He graduated from high school with a number of academic awards, and went on to college successfully. Nowadays, he is the author of two children's books about 11 difficult experiences in childhood.

In 2010, Ghunta went back to his old school to 12 his old teacher's name, but in vain. However, he still hopes to 13 her one day, so that he can thank her for seeing his 14 . "I would love for her to see the significant impact she has made on my life, and the ways in which I have carried this 15 of her－the hope, the light, with me－and how it continues to be a source of joy."