Princess culture is less about a princess lifestyle, and more about great-depth of character, serving as a beautiful reminder of worth—whether a girl is a princess or not. In Frances Hodgson Burnett’s A Little Princess, Sara Crewe survived her many tragedies and hardships by remembering “I am a princess. All girls are… even if they aren’t pretty, or smart, or young. They are still princesses.” Whether child or adult, all can benefit from the belief that no matter their circumstances, they always have value—that true self-worth goes beyond appearance or environment and is found deep within. No matter how difficult our circumstances are, princesses encourage us to remember our worth.

Spend much time with a four-year-old girl in the U.S and you will likely see some sort of princess play, whether it is dressing up, acting out stories, or playing with princess-themed toys. This particular type of pretend play is very important to children. Lindsey and Colwell found that children who regularly engage(参与)in pretend play have more positive emotions with peers(同龄人), score higher on emotional understanding, and are better at emotional regulation one year later. Research suggests that princess play specifically can lead to rich experiences for children as they expand on the stories of familiar characters.

Princesses also provide examples of “women who rule”, showing women and girls that they can be accepted as the heroines of their own stories and lead with wisdom and maturity(成熟). In other words, princesses inspire potential.

Adults often think of princesses in a negative way someone who is too proud or crazy about their appearance. But in children’s imagination, the word “princess” allows them to think about what they can become. Maybe they won’t save the world, but they will defend their values. Maybe they won’t have the perfect figure, but they can develop the confidence to move beyond appearance.

My neighbor Orlando is a Paramedic(急救医生). He and his wife are some of the nicest people I have ever met. A few years back we started this sort of “favor war”, where one of us would do something for the other, such as shoveling( 铲 ) their driveway or helping them build a shed, and next time the other would try to top it with another favor.

Yesterday morning there was maybe 2 or 3 feet of snow on the ground and I remembered he shoveled my driveway for me last snowfall. So I took out my shovel and took care of both our sidewalks and driveways because it was time to do a favor back. It took a while but I finished and got into my car for work. What I didn’t realize was that Orlando had to work that day too.

Fast forward to this morning I got a knock on my door. It was him. He immediately shook my hand and informed me that because I shoveled his driveway and sidewalk for him, he was able to get to work earlier. As soon as he started his shift, a call came through that a young boy was in a medical emergency. Luckily he and his partner were only about 2 minutes away, but the next closest ambulance was in 10 minutes. This kid did not have 10 minutes. He barely had 2 minutes. Because my neighbor got to work sooner, the young boy got to live his life.

This isn’t humble brag(吹牛). This is to inform others that even the smallest favors can have the biggest impacts. It wasn’t too much of trouble to shovel his driveway for him, but because I did, the young kid got to see his family again, go back to school again, talk to his friends again and live his life.

A flash of light, then an explosion — BAM! I sit upright up out of a sound sleep. I’m not thinking clearly, but I know I’m on a mountaintop, in a fire tower, in the middle of the night and a lightning storm in progress and it seems there is a fire outside the house. With my headlamp on, I step out into the night storm to put the fire out...

That was in mid-August, 2018.

There are thousands of such fire spotters like me across the US national parks. Some of them are paid, and some are volunteers. My fire tower in Montana’s Glacier National Park was built in 1934.

Everything about the towers are designed to look out. My tiny home has 19 large windows and one windowed door. All the furniture sits no higher than two feet, so none of the windows are blocked.

Even in bad fire years, there’s a rhythm to the days. I usually wake up to early morning light, make a steamy cup of coffee on my stove and drink it outside on a chair, while listening to the birds and insects. Without a doubt, this is my favorite part of the day.

After the drink, I use my powerful telescope to scan miles of the edges where mountains meet the sky in case something wrong has escaped my eyes. At 10 am, I report to the Forest Service Center in Kalispell the weather at my location.

My official working day ends at 4:30 pm. It means I’m free to take a walk before I return to my tower to enjoy the beautiful sunset! This is a long-drawn-out process with breath-taking color and light changes. If I don’t think it’s a show worth watching, I should probably find another job.

Despite living in such a quiet house with killer views, fire spotters’ life is definitely not for everyone. The first summer that I was hired in the 1970s, I was the third fire spotter of the season—the first two decided in a matter of days that it wasn’t what they imagined, or perhaps they never imagined how the loneliness would affect them.