My social media has been a hive of activities these last few weeks: the naturalist and TV presenter Chris Packham is organizing a People’s Walk For Wildlife in London, and has asked me to recite   ‘Anthropocene’. I call it a ‘poem’ but I’m not sure it is. I feel it would be good to say aloud, to a crowd. I’ve only written a few ‘poems’   in the past, none of which was memorable, but with this one the words spilled out and I kind of’ performed’ them, recorded and shared them on Twitter. Bare upon the earth, we were weightless... Will my generation see the rightful, rising? Lots of people liked it, including Chris. It’s always a surprise to me, that people appreciate what I say and how I share it.

These past weeks I’ve been helping raise awareness for the walk in London by doing videos and Tweeting lots. It’s an exciting prospect: hundreds, if not thousands of people marching on behalf of wildlife. I’m not worried about speaking. I actually find it easier if there are lots of people, because I don’t have to make eye contact and it’s much easier to blur them into a mass. Speaking to smaller groups, that’s a killer: you feel the heat of their gaze, every twitch, each sigh.

So I have an early flight to London with Mum in the morning. I feel bad for flying, we both do, knowing the damage emission do to our world. Ideally, we should be taking a boat and driving to London, or taking the train, but it’s beyond us financially right now, and I can’t get more time off school so soon without getting into trouble. The walk feels like important work, something we should do.

I’ve already got the poem locked in my head now. I know it off by heart. We want birdsong, abundant fluttering, humming, no more poison, destruction. I feel excited. Perhaps it is the right time for me. Tomorrow will be epic.

One day, a few years ago, I was rushing from the pool when a man stopped me and said, “You must come to swim with the team.” I was in my early 50s--- too old for a swim team, I thought. But the coach--- Igor was his name---insisted: “I can see you are a good swimmer.”

Encouraged, I joined his group of swimmers. Workouts started at 5:30 in the morning when most people were still in bed. Although we were all at different swimming levels, we had one thing in common: We wanted to get better.

After a few days, a bunch of us were complaining about how little progress we were making, how slow we were. Igor smiled and said, “You are all confused! Speed is not the goal; it is the result of perfectly beautiful technique.” What really mattered to Igor was the technique. Once you mastered that, he argued, speed would follow naturally. Speed was simply the welcome side effect of swimming well.

I’ve been thinking lately that there’s a lesson here that goes beyond the pool. We all wanted to swim faster and the more hysterically （歇斯底里般地）we tried, the more speed escaped us. The same goes for happiness. Everyone wants to be happy, yet the more directly we go after happiness, the more elusive （难以捕捉的）it becomes.

Research shows that thinking too much about how to be happy actually weakens well-being. This is in part because all that thinking consumes a fair amount of time, and is not itself enjoyable. Study after study shows that good social relationships are the strongest, most consistent predictor of a happy life.

Our technique has improved, thanks to Igor. Some days, 1 swim only a little faster than I did before. But even if 1 don’t, I feel great.

In the end, happiness is a side effect of living well—-just like speed can be the result of excellent swimming technique. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to the pool.

My poor mother would be the first to tell you that having a food scientist for a daughter was not always easy.

One weekend visit home,I stood in her kitchen and surveyed her food preparation techniques.

“You know,”I said,“there’s no nutrition left when you overcook the vegetables like that.”

She smiled at me patiently and said,“Oh my!It’s a miracle(奇迹)that after all these years,my kid even survived at all!”

Survive we did.Mom’s meals were simple but well-balanced.My sisters and I grew up with a variety of food on our family table.When it came to vegetables,we ate almost everything—from green chilies to turnip greens.

On school mornings,Mom switched on our bedroom light to silently tell us it was time to get up.Then she’d rush to the kitchen to make a nourishing(有营养的)breakfast we’d eat before heading out the door.

In the summer,Mom always had fresh tomatoes and plenty of zucchini in her garden and on the dinner table.And I learned to love green beans from visits to our cousins.My aunt would sit me on the back porch(门廊)and have me take the ends off fresh beans.Years later I would learn that kids are more likely to accept foods when they are involved with them in some way.

One thing surprised me at the time but became very clear after I had a child myself.My mother LOVED it when I took the initiative(主动)to prepare a meal.She went back to work when I was in high school,so I was often the first one home.One day,after I’d finished homework and taken care of the dogs and horses,I decided to try a recipe from one of Mom’s cookbooks.

It wasn’t a perfect meal.But when she got home and saw the table set and dinner ready,she was so happy.That was an enjoyable moment for me.

Now I understand that food is only one way we receive nutrition.We also need soul food,and my mom did a good job with that.She taught me humility(谦逊),thankfulness and unconditional love.

I hope I could cook a meal for her this year.I’d even try not to overcook the vegetables.