Have you ever received a gift that was so clearly not your taste that you wondered if perhaps it had been handed to you by mistake? Worse, have you ever given a present and watched your friend look as though she had opened the wrong box? Maybe she responded with a polite "Why, thank you," but you knew you had missed the mark. Why do presents sometimes go wrong? And what do your choices (good and bad） reflect about your personal qualities?

    Choosing the right gift is an art, I believe. It calls for empathy — the ability to put yourself into someone else's head and heart .We're all able to do this; in fact, we're born with a kind of natural empathy. After the earliest period of childhood, however, it needs to be reinforced (加强）—by our parents, teachers, friends. When it isn't, we're not able to understand other people's feelings as sharply. This can show in the gifts we select, and so can many other emotional (情感的） qualities.

Think back to the presents you've given over the past year, the time and effort you put into your selection, how much you spent, your thoughts while you were shopping, and your feelings when the receiver opened the package. Keep in mind that what you choose displays your inner world. Of course, you may express yourself differently with different friends, relatives, and other people you know.

    We live in a society where exchanging presents is an important part of communication. Ignoring the tradition won't make it go away. If you really dislike such a tradition, tell your friends ahead of time.

Dream in Heart

    On the first day of school our professor introduced a new classmate—a wrinkled little old lady—to us. Her name was Rose, and she was eighty-seven years old.

    After class Rose and I walked to the Student Union Building and shared a chocolate milk-shake. She told me she always dreamed of having a college education and now she was getting one. We became instant friends. Every day for the following months, we would leave class together and talk nonstop. I was always attracted, listening to this “time machine” as she shared her wisdom and experience with me.

    Rose became famous and easily made friends wherever she went. She tended to be highly motivated, responsible, and deeply involved in class participation. In spare time she had someone hang out or go to bars with. She even participated in some form of athletic activity. She said that extra-curricular activities can form a vital part of her experience, creating unique chances for friendship and learning.

    At the end of the term we invited Rose to speak at our football meal. A little embarrassed, she leaned into the microphone and simply said, “I'm sorry I'm so nervous.” As we laughed, she cleared her throat and began, “We do not stop playing because we are old; we grow old because we stop playing. There is a huge difference between growing older and growing up. If you're nineteen years old and lie in bed for one full year, you will turn twenty. If I'm eighty-seven years old and stay in bed for a year, I will turn eighty-eight. Anybody can grow older. It's non-optional but that doesn't take any talent or ability. The idea is to grow up by always finding the chance in change. In this way the elderly don't have regrets for what they did, but rather for things they did not do.” Rose concluded her speech by courageously singing “The Rose”. She challenged us to study the words of the song and lived them out in daily lives.

    At the year's end Rose finished the college degree she had begun all those years ago. One week after graduation Rose died peacefully in her sleep. Over two thousand college students attended her funeral in honor of the wonderful woman who taught by example that it's never too late to be all you can possibly be.

    The new president of Harvard University is the son of an Eastern European refugee and Auschwitz (奥斯威辛) survivor—Lawrence S. Bacow. His father worked full time while attending a state college in Detroit at night to earn his degree.

    Bacow, the former president of Tufts University, has taken over Harvard at a time when higher education is under attack for being financially out of reach to many Americans. But Bacow said his family's journey had reflected the power of college education to transform generations and the opportunities that have historically been available in the United States.

    "My parents came to this country with almost nothing," Bacow said. "I wouldn't be here if this country had not been open to people like my parents at that time. Nor would I if my father hadn't had the opportunity to get the college education."

    Bacow grew up in Pontiac, Michigan. His father's family fled anti-Jewish (反犹太的) violence in Minsk, then part of the Soviet Union, before the start of World War II and went to the United States. His mother arrived in Brooklyn at age 19, having survived Auschwitz concentration camp. She was the only Jew from her town to have survived the war. Yet Bacow, who is married with two sons, said that while growing up in Michigan, he had a happy childhood, entering science fairs as a child and building radios like his dad.

    Bacow has spent most of his professional career at MIT, Harvard and Tufts. He was a professor of environmental studies at MIT, and later a principal at the university. He led Tufts from 2001 to 2011. At Tufts, Bacow earned a reputation for shaking up a sleepy university that was being overshadowed by its peers in Boston. He is also credited with leading it through both 9/11 and the 2008 financial crisis.

    As the Tufts president, Bacow traveled around the country, reaching out to alumni (校友), and he urged his faculty and deans to do the same, in an effort to boost donations to finance Tufts' academic ambitions. He raised more than $20 million for faculty recruitment, attracting up-and-coming professors by offering junior faculty perks (福利), such as long academic leaves that they couldn't get elsewhere.

    Under Bacow's leadership, Tufts spent millions on labs and libraries. He also made addresses nationally about the need to make higher education more accessible and affordable to low-income students.

    Doctors say you had better use it before you lose it. The more you sit each day, the more chance you have of getting sick.

    Richard Rosenkranz of Kansas State University was among the researchers. He said people who sat for long periods were at great risk of diseases when compared with those who sat less. He said that was especially true for some chronic (慢性的) diseases.

    Richard Rosenkranz studied the relationship between sitting and chronic diseases in middle-aged Australian men. He worked with researchers from the University of Western Sydney. They examined the health records of more than 63,000 men from New South Wales. The men were between the ages of 45 and 65. The men reported about what diseases they had, or did not have. And they kept record of the amount of time each day that they sat.

    The study also showed that exercising every morning for 30minutes did not reduce the health risk if you spend the next eight hours sitting at the desk. Mr. Rosenkranz said it was important to make sure you exercise. But he said it was also important to find ways not to sit so much during the day.

    Many jobs today require sitting and working at the desk all day. James Levine works at the Mayo Clinic in the United Sates. He suggests working while standing at high table some of the time instead of sitting at a desk. Dr. Levine also suggests standing while using the telephone or eating. Or he advises walking with the people you work with for an on-foot meeting. And he notes that if you spend more time on your feet, you may have muscle activity that helps burn fats and sugars in your body.

    Poet William Stafford once said that we are defined more by the detours(绕行路) in life than by the narrow road toward goals. I like this image. But it was quite by accident that I discovered the deep meaning of his words.

    For years we made the long drive from our home in Seattle to my parents' home in Boise in nine hours. We traveled the way most people do: the fastest, shortest, easiest road, especially when I was alone with four noisy, restless kids who hate confinement(限制) and have strong opinions about everything.

    Road trips felt risky, so I would drive fast, stopping only when I had to. We would stick to the freeways and arrive tired.

    But then Banner, our lamb was born. He was rejected by his mama days before our planned trip to Boise. I had two choices: leave Banner with my husband, or take him with me. My husband made the decision for me.

    That is how I found myself on the road with four kids, a baby lamb and nothing but my everlasting optimism to see me through. We took the country roads out of necessity. We had to stop every hour, let Banner shake out his legs and feed him. The kids chased him and one another. They'd get back in the car breathless and energized, smelling fresh from the cold air.

    We explored side roads, catching grasshopper in waist-high grass. Even if we simply looked out of the car window, at baby pigs following their mother, or fish leaping out of the water, it was better than the best ride down the freeway. Here was life. And new horizons(见识).

    We eventually arrived at my parents' doorstep astonishingly fresh and full of stories.

    I grew brave with the trip back home and creative with my disciplining technique.

    On an empty section of road, everyone started quarreling. I stopped the car, ordered all kids out and told them to meet me up ahead. I parked my car half a mile away and read my book in sweet silence.

    Some road trips are by necessity fast and straight. But that trip with Banner opened our eyes to a world available to anyone adventurous enough to wander around and made me realize that a detour may uncover the best part of a journey-and the best part of yourself.

    I didn't know how to say no, and was afraid to tell people what I wanted. Instead, I got myself tangled (纠结的) in a web of obligations, anxiety, and white lies.

    The worst thing was that I didn't even realize what I was doing. I thought I knew how to say "no"—but couldn't remember the last time I had. Like a lot of people, I just wanted to be accepted, appreciated, loved—and that the only way to get those things was to put everyone else's needs before my own.

    I never seemed to have time for things I really wanted to do. I'd like to learn Spanish, write more fiction, and travel. These aren't huge, unrealistic goals. And yet, my people-pleasing ways dramatically cut into my free time to pursue these desires.

    But recently, I decided I'd had enough. As an experiment, I began standing up for myself, even at the risk of alienating (使疏远) myself from everyone and having my entire life come crashing down around me. Several days ago, a good friend asked me to go for coffee at 5 p.m. I was planning to hit the gym and then binge—watch Mad Men for the millionth time. I said, "Sorry, I've got things I want to do tonight." She said, "That's fine. Maybe another time." It was all so painfully simple that I wanted to cry.

    Saying "no" is so much easier. If someone asks me to do something I have zero interest in, I'm polite but honest. "I'm sorry, I don't think that's really for me." The words slip out my mouth faster than some other lame excuses.

    Learning how to say "no" has added several extra hours to my days, days to my weeks, and what feels like months to my years. I no longer have to back-burner my plans to help friends with their job search, or set aside a weekend to read a book draft by someone I barely know. Saying "no" has set me free.