This is a true story about a boy who, the world might say, was a terrible underachiever. While in the eighth grade, he failed subjects repeatedly. High school wasn’t much better; he flunked Latin, algebra, English, and received a grade of zero in physics. The boy managed to make the school golf team, but he lost the most important golf match of the season.

It’s not that his peers (同龄人) disliked this boy; it’s just that they never really seemed to notice him much. Even “Hellos” in the hall were a rarity. Out of all the failures in his life, there was something that did hold great importance to this boy, his love of drawing. Although in high school, the cartoons he submitted to the yearbook were rejected, once out of school, the boy was so sure of his artistic talent that he approached Walt Disney Studios with drawing works. I wish I could say the studios loved his work and immediately hired him, but such was not the case; another huge rejection.

Despite his lack of successes, this boy did not give up. He then decided to write his own autobiography in cartoons, about a little boy who was regarded as a loser and a nobody.

The name of this boy was Charles Schulz, the creator of the famous Charlie Brown and comic dog Snoopy.

In life, it is sometimes easy to feel like a nobody. We pass hundreds of people on the street on our way to work, or walk through a faceless crowd in a mall, and no one seems to notice or care. Deep inside, we may know we are special and unique and have lots to offer, but unless someone takes the time to look our way and give us a chance, we may feel worthless, just like Charlie Brown who couldn’t even manage to fly a kite or kick a football properly.

Just as Charles Schulz had faith in his artistic talent, so too, we must realize that nobody is a nobody. We all have special gifts and talents, and every human being is deserving and capable of being loved and appreciated.

A friend of mine, in response to a conversation we were having about the injustices of life, asked me the question, “Who said life was going to be fair, or that it was even meant to be fair?” Her question was a good one. It reminded me of something I was taught as a youngster: life isn’t fair. It’s a disappointment, but it’s absolutely true. One of the mistakes many of us make is that we feel sorry for ourselves, or for others, thinking that life should be fair, or that someday it will be. It’s not and it won’t be.

One of the nice things about surrendering (屈从) to the fact that life isn’t fair is that it keeps us from feeling sorry for ourselves by encouraging us to do the very best we can with what we have. We know it’s not “life’s job” to make everything perfect, it’s our own challenge. Surrendering to this fact also keeps us from feeling sorry for others because we are reminded that everyone is dealt in different hand; everyone has unique strengths and problems in the process of growing up, facing the reality and making decisions; and everyone has those times that they feel unfairly treated.

The fact that life isn’t fair doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do everything in our power to improve our own lives or the world as a whole. To the contrary, it suggests that we should. When we don’t recognize or admit that life isn’t fair, we tend to feel pity for others and for ourselves. Pity, of course, is a self-defeating emotion that does nothing for anyone, except to make everyone feel worse than they already do. When we do recognize that life isn’t fair, however, we feel sympathy for others and for ourselves. And sympathy is a heartfelt emotion that delivers loving-kindness to everyone it touches. The next time you find yourself thinking about the injustices of the world, try reminding yourself of this very basic fact. You may be surprised that it can make you out of self-pity and into helpful action.

At school, I was in the top set for maths. My teachers recommended that I study economics and statistics as my A-level subjects, but I had my mind set on a life fulfilled by the arts.

In fact, I was a victim of a gender stereotype made stronger since birth, that men do science and maths and women do arts or languages. Computer science, technology and physics just did not figure in my teenage world view. Nobody popular in my school chose to study those subjects.

Reality struck hard when I began attending job interviews and interviewers would say: “It’s great that you speak foreign languages, but what else do you do?” Nobody asked my friends who had studied science or technology those questions.

A survey recently showed that three of the best-paid jobs for women are in the technology sector. It’s a sector that really can change the world. We must show girls that technology has an effect on every industry out there, from fashion to architecture to journalism. Anybody can learn to code and these days it’s as important as reading and writing. I’ve realized that at university I’d achieved the wrong kind of literacy. Not being able to code limit your impact on the world far more than an ignorance of great literature.

Now I have a five-year-old daughter. I don’t want her to blindly follow gender roles the way I did. I want her to know the fact that a science or technical degree will not limit her creativity but expand it and broaden her horizons far more than my arts background could. I’m exposing her to Minecraft and apps, which help improve analytical thinking and problem solving skills. I’m hoping that my daughter will discover and accept her potentials in science and want to change the world.