A beautiful and very successful actress (女演员) was the star for a new musical show. Her home was in the countryside, but she did not want to go back there every night, so she bought an expensive house in the centre of the city, got some beautiful furniture and got a man to paint the rooms in new colours.

    It was very difficult to get tickets for her show, because everybody wanted to see it. So she decided to give the painter two of the best seats. She hoped that this would make him work better for her. He took the tickets without saying anything, and she heard no more about them until the end of the month, when she got the painter's bill (帐单). At the bottom of it were these words: “ Four hours watching Miss Hall sing and dance : 3 pounds,” with this note: “ After 5 p.m. I get 15 shillings (先令) an hour instead of 10 shillings.”

    I considered an active social life as basic human necessity. Yet when it dawned on me just how much time I was spending socialising, I realised I may be taking it to an extreme. I calculated that, on average, I was spending 22 hours or more each week on social activities. So, to see what would happen to my work output, health and wellbeing, I decided to try and cut out my social life entirely.

    I knew, at times, I filled my schedule simply out of fear of missing out (FOMO), but also as a way to shift focus away from my work. For one month, I declined all in-person activities with friends: going out for drinks; dinners; parties and non-work related events, to see if it would make me more productive, improve my focus and career prospects.

    On day one of the month-long experiment, I had to fight some anxiety over missing out. But as the days passed, I started to relax. I only had one option to consider for Saturday night—to stay home—and this limitation left me more satisfied in my decision. I felt more content working, reading or watching TV.

    While I found more time to work, I also noticed a change in my overall health. I found myself cooking more at home, doing daily exercise, getting to bed earlier each night, reading, and enjoying moments of rest and boredom throughout the day.

    Having no social life left me more free time than I'd imagine. Such idle moments are vital for creativity, and mind wandering has been linked to creative problem solving. During the experiment I found myself regularly brainstorming new ideas and reimagining existing projects.

    Of course socialising is an important way to build work contacts. While one month of no social life did not impact my relationship with existing clients, if I had continued, it may harm my ability to build new ones.

    I felt excited, curious and nervous at the same time. I was excited because I would be skipping（跳级）two grades. I was curious because I didn't know how high school students were taught.

    However, I was most nervous at the idea that I would be doing high school homework. I had just walked into the class when the bell rang. This wasn't a good start. But the kid in front of me looked very friendly. Luckily, since it was the first day of school, my teacher talked for about half of the period and we just had the rest of the period to start the class. I didn't know what he was saying at first, but when I saw the problems on the paper, I knew what to do. The next day, the kid said hi and I said hi back. We got into a conversation. It seemed that whenever I was talking to my friend, everyone stopped staring at me. Then the class started. It was easy. But I was still uncomfortable because I couldn't look around without meeting others' eyes, so I just kept my eyes on the whiteboard and on my textbook. However, my friend didn't show up the next day, and the eighth graders just kept on staring at me. I didn't know why.

    The next day everything changed. My friend was back to school. I was praised for my homework. Everyone stared at me less. Some started to be a little friendlier towards me. I felt at home at last here. My teachers also seemed pretty nice.

    Mid-afternoon on a particularly busy Tuesday, I took leave of my desk at work and walked into a local Starbucks, only to find a space where neither my clients (客户) nor my children would ask me to do something.

    Inside, I ran into Kate, a co-worker of mine. The topic of parenthood came up. I complained about how packed my schedule was. From the minute I woke up to the minute I fell asleep, I was constantly in demand and always had someone knocking at the door. But a bit of sadness seemed to come over Kate's face.

    "Well, my daughter's in San Francisco and she doesn't seem to need me at all these days." Kate said. It was in that moment that I realized although I might often feel in high demand, there will come a day when I'll actually miss that same stress I now complain about.

    And as our conversation continued, it turned to our children's younger years, with Kate smiling proudly, thinking of the little boy and girl she raised who are now a man and a woman. But I noticed her smile was marked with regret. She explained that she often wondered about what she could have done differently when her children were in their earlier years.

    This got me thinking Is regret an unfortunate footnote (注脚) to parenthood? With that in mind, I asked six older parents one question: What is your biggest regret from your early days as a parent?

    It turned out that all of them thought they could have done it better. But, each of them also has a strong, healthy relationship with their kids. Whatever regrets their parents might have had about their upbringing, one thing is clear—it didn't affect them in a meaningful way.

    The bottom line is, we all feel like we could be doing this parenting thing better, And quite clearly, years later, we're still going to look back and wish we tried things differently. But the past can't be changed, and neither should it.

    Many years ago, when we were a young couple with two small children, aged 2 and 4, we were practically impecunious. My in-laws lived from hand to mouth, so we didn't expect any help from them. My parents lived a great distance away, and I was too ashamed to let them know about our situation.

    My husband was trying to earn a living with an old pick-up truck, carrying groceries for local shopkeepers, but it was constantly breaking down. It took almost all the money we had to have it fixed. The truck was also the only means of transportation for us.

    We lived in the countryside, and we always used the back door because the driveway led to it. One winter evening, I stepped outside to take a bag of trash to the barrel and almost tripped over something. It was nearly dark, and I had to bend down to see what it was. I could hardly believe my eyes. There sat a large basket loaded with food.

    It was heavy, so I called my husband to carry it into the house. Once inside, we discovered two loaves of bread, some butter, several cans of vegetables, a can of orange sauce, and a large turkey. There was so much that I can't remember it all, but it was everything we needed to fix a wonderful dinner—everything except potatoes.

    A little while later I remembered that I hadn't taken the trash to the barrel. By now it was dark, so I had to turn on the yard light —and that's when I spotted a small bag of potatoes sitting on the porch.

    That dinner was the best I can remember.

    We weren't able to thank our donators, though, because we never found out who had been so generous in helping a struggling young family. Whoever it was, we are forever grateful.