While watching the Olympics the other night, I came across an unbelievable sight. It was not a gold medal, or a world record broken, but a show of courage.

    The event was swimming and started with only three men on the blocks. For one reason or another, two of them false started, so they were disqualified. That left only one to complete. It would have been difficult enough, not having anyone to race against, even though the time on the clock is important.

    I watched the man dive off the block and knew right away that something was wrong. I'm not an expert swimmer, but I can tell a good dive from a poor one, and this was not exactly medal quality. When he resurfaced, it was evident that the man was not out for gold—his arms were waving in an attempt at freestyle. The crowd started to laugh. Clearly this man was not a medal competitor.

    I listened to the crowd begin to laugh at this poor man who was clearly having a hard time. Finally he made his turn to start back. It was pitiful. He made a few desperate strokes and you could tell he was worn out.

    But in those few awful strokes, the crowd had changed.

    No longer were they laughing, but beginning to cheer. Some even began to stand and shout “Come on, you can do it!” and he did.

    A clear minute past the average swimmer, this young man finally finished his race. The crowd went wild. You would have thought that he had won the gold, and should have. Even though he recorded one of the slowest times in Olympic history, this man gave more heart than any of the other competitors.

    Just a short year ago, he had never even swum, let alone race. His country had been invited to Sydney.

    In a competition where athletes remove their silver medals feeling they have somehow been cheated out of gold, or when they act so proudly in front of their competitors, it is nice to watch an underdog.

    Last week, my granddaughter started kindergarten, and I wished her every success. But part of me didn't. I actually wanted her to fail in some ways because I believe that failure can be good for our learning process. Success is proving that you can do something that you already know you can do, or doing something correctly the first time, which can often be a problematic (存在问题的) victory. First-time success is usually a fluke (侥幸). First-time failure, however, is supposed to be the natural order of things. Failure is how we learn.

    In Africa they describe a good cook as “She who has broken many pots.” If you've spent enough time in the kitchen to have broken a lot of pots, probably you know a fair amount about cooking. I once had dinner with a group of cooks, and they spent time comparing knife wounds and burn scars. They knew how much credibility (可信) their failures gave them.

    I earn my living by writing a daily newspaper column. Each week I know that one column I write is going to be the worst column. I try my best every day. I have learned to love that column. A successful column usually means that I am discussing my familiar topic, writing in a style I am used to or saying the same things as anyone else but in a better way.

    My younger daughter is a trapeze artist (荡秋千演员). She spent three years practising a show, and she did it successfully for years. There was no reason for her to change it but she did anyway. She said she was no longer learning anything new and she was bored. And if she was bored, there was no point in subjecting (使……服从于) her body to all that stress. She risked failure and great public embarrassment in order to feed her soul.

    My granddaughter is a perfectionist. She will feel her failures, and I will want to comfort her. But I will also, I hope, remind her of what she learned, and how she can do better next time. I hope I can tell her, though, that it's not the end of the world. Indeed, with luck, it is the beginning.

    Phil White has just returned from an 18,000 ­mile, around­ the ­world bicycle trip. White had two reasons for making this epic journey. First of all, he wanted to use the trip to raise money for charity, which he did. He raised ￡70,000 for the British charity, Oxfam. White's second reason for making the trip was to break the world record and become the fastest person to cycle around the world. He is still waiting to find out if he has broken the record or not.

    White set off from Trafalgar Square, in London, on 19th June 2004 and was back 299 days later. He spent more than 1,300 hours in the saddle (车座) and destroyed four sets of tyres and three bike chains. He had the adventure of his life crossing Europe, the Middle East, India, Asia, Australia, New Zealand and the Americas. Amazingly, he did all of this with absolutely no support team. No jeep carrying food, water and medicine. No doctor. Nothing! Just a bike and a very, very long road.

    The journey was lonely and desperate at times. He also had to fight his way across deserts, through jungles and over mountains. He cycled through heavy rains and temperatures of up to 45 degrees, all to help people in need. There were other dangers along the road. In Iran, he was chased by armed robbers and was lucky to escape with his life and the little money he had. The worst thing that happened to him was having to cycle into a headwind on a road that crosses the south of Australia. For 1,000 kilometres he battled against the wind that was constantly pushing him. This part of the trip was slow, hard work and depressing, but he made it in the end. Now Mr. White is back and intends to write a book about his adventures.

In 1974, after filling out fifty applications, going through four interviews, and winning one offer, I took what I could get —- a teaching job at what I considered a distant wild area: western New Jersey. My characteristic optimism was alive only when I reminded myself that I would be doing what I had wanted to do since I was fourteen —— teaching English.

    School started, but I felt more and more as if I were in a foreign country. Was this rural area really New Jersey? My students took a week off when hunting season began. I was told they were also frequently absent in late October to help their fathers make hay on the farms. I was a young woman from New York City, who thought that “Make hay while the sun shines” just meant to have a good time.

But, still, I was teaching English. I worked hard, taking time off only to eat and sleep. And then there was my sixth-grade class — seventeen boys and five girls who were only six years younger than me. I had a problem long before I knew it. I was struggling in my work as a young idealistic teacher. I wanted to make literature come alive and to promote a love of the written word. The students wanted to throw spitballs and whisper dirty words in the back of the room.

    In college I had been taught that a successful educator should ignore bad behavior. So I did, confident that, as the textbook had said, the bad behavior would disappear as I gave my students positive attention. It sounds reasonable, but the text evidently ignored the fact that humans, particularly teenagers, rarely seems reasonable. By the time my boss, who was also my taskmaster, known to be the strictest, most demanding, most quick to fire inexperienced teachers, came into the classroom to observe me, the students exhibited very little good behavior to praise.

    My boss sat in the back of the room. The boys in the class were making animal noises, hitting each other while the girls filed their nails or read magazines. I just pretended it all wasn't happening, and went on lecturing and tried to ask some inspiring questions. My boss, sitting in the back of the classroom, seemed to be growing bigger and bigger. After twenty minutes he left, silently. Visions of unemployment marched before my eyes.

    I felt mildly victorious that I got through the rest of class without crying, but at my next free period I had to face him. I wondered if he would let me finish out the day. I walked to his office, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

He was sitting in his chair, and he looked at me long and hard. I said nothing. All I could think of was that I was not an English teacher; I had been lying to myself, pretending that everything was fine.

    When he spoke, he said simply, without accusation, “You had nothing to say to them.”

     “You had nothing to say to them”. he repeated.” No wonder they are bored. Why not get to the meat of literature and stop talking about symbolism. Talk with them, not at them. And more important, why do you ignore their bad behavior”? We talked. He named my problems and offered solutions. We role-played. He was the bad student, and I was the forceful, yet, warm, teacher. 
       As the year progressed, we spent many hours discussing literature and ideas about human beings and their motivations. He helped me identify my weaknesses and strengths. In short, he made a teacher of me by teaching me the reality of Emerson's words: “The secret to education lies in respecting the pupil.”

    Fifteen years later I still drive that same winding road to the same school. Thanks to the help I received that difficult first year, the school is my home now.

International Literature Festival Dublin（ ILFD）is now seeking plans for its 2024 programme edition responding to the theme of "Words Upside Down". For this year's open call, ILFD invites artists, creative practitioners（从业人员）and groups from all arts backgrounds to give in event plans responding to the theme and suitable for showing at ILFD's new Literary（文学的）Village in one of Dublin City's finest parks, Merrion Square Park, running from 17th to 26th of May, 2024.

We encourage plans which accept curiosity and wonder, cause conversation or new ways of listening. This year, we are especially interested in work that will bring its audience in close contact with either the natural or the artificial（人工的）world or both. We welcome plans which are suitable for audiences aged 16 and above. Above all, we welcome plans that break away from the forms of traditional literary events. We are only able to accept plans made from artists based in the island of Ireland.

Successful applicants（申请人）will be supported by the festival team to bring their ideas to life during this year's programme which will be presented in Dublin City's Merrion Square Park. The closing date for applications is Monday 11th of March, 5 pm.

Conditions: 

●The content of the plan must be presented during the festival dates.

●The festival expects that the artist or author is able to work independently and has a clear idea for the operation of their plan.

●The festival will provide access to its technological equipment（projectors, speakers, media players, etc）.

●Funds ranging from €500 to €1,000 are provided for each project.

Any schoolchild knows that a whale breathes through its blowhole. Fewer know that a blowhole is a nostril （鼻孔） slightly changed by evolution into a form more useful for a mammal that spends its life at sea. And only a dedicated expert would know that while toothed whales, such as sperm whales, have one hole, baleen （鲸须） whales, such as humpback and Rice whales, have two. 

Even among the baleen whales, the placing of those nostrils differs. In some species they are close together. In others, they are much further apart. In a paper published in Biology Letters Conor Ryan, a marine biologist at the Scottish Association for Marine Science, suggests why that might be. Having two nostrils, he argues, helps whales smell in stereo （立体空间）. 

Many types of baleen whales eat tiny animals known as zooplankton （浮游动物）， which they catch by filtering （过滤） them from seawater using the sheets of fibrous baleen that have replaced teeth in their mouths. But to eat something you first have to find it. Toothed whales do not hunt by scent. In fact, the olfactory bulb-the part of the brain that processes smell-is absent in such creatures. But baleen whales still have olfactory bulbs, which suggests smell remains important. And scent can indeed give zooplankton away. Zooplankton like to eat other tiny creatures called phytoplankton （浮游植物）. When these are under attack, they release a special gas called dimethyl sulphide, which in turn attracts baleen whales. 

Most animals have stereoscopic senses. Having two eyes, for instance, allows an animal to compare the images from each in order to perceive depth. Having two ears lets them locate the direction from which a sound is coming. Dr Ryan theorized that paired blowholes might bring baleen whales the same sorts of benefits. 

The farther apart the sensory organs are, the more information can be extracted by the animal that bears them. The researchers used drones to photograph the nostrils of 143 whales belonging to 14 different species. Sure enough, baleen whales that often eat zooplankton, such as the North Atlantic right whale, have nostrils that are farther apart than do those, such as humpback whales, that eat zooplankton occasionally. Besides allowing them to breathe, it seems that some whales use their blowholes to determine in which direction dinner lies.