Secret WishesTED演讲
I was one of the only kids in college who had a reason to go to the P.O.bo_ at the end of the day, and that was mainly becau my mother has neverbelieved in email, in Facebook, in te_ting or cell phones in general. And sowhile other kids were BBM-ing their parents, I was literally waiting by themailbo_ to get a letter from home to e how the weekend had gone, which was alittle frustrating when Grandma was in the hospital, but I was just looking forsome sort of scribble, some unkempt cursive from my mother.species
ibs>if only 电影
And so when I moved to New York City after college and got completelysucker-punched in the face by depression, I did the only thing I could think ofat the time. I wrote tho same kinds of letters that my mother had written mefor strangers, and tucked them all throughout the city, dozens and dozens ofthem. I left them everywhere, in cafes and in libraries, at the U.N.,everywhere. I blogged about tho letters and the days when they were necessary,and I pod a kind of crazy promi t
gummoo the Internet: that if you asked me for ahand-written letter, I would write you one, no questions asked. Overnight, myinbo_ morphed into this harbor of heartbreak -- a single mother in Sacramento, agirl being bullied in rural Kansas, all asking me, a 22-year-old girl who barelyeven knew her own coffee order, to write them a love letter and give them areason to wait by the mailbo_.
英语四级成绩什么时候出 Well, today I fuel a global organization that is fueled by tho trips tothe mailbo_, fueled by the ways in which we can harness social media like neverbefore to write and mail strangers letters when they need them most, but most ofall, fueled by crates of mail like this one, my trusty mail crate, filled withthe scriptings of ordinary people, strangers writing letters to other strangersnot becau they're ever going to meet and laugh over a cup of coffee, butbecau they have found one another by way of letter-writing.
夏季彩妆
But, you know, the thing that always gets me about the letters is thatmost of them have been written by people that have never known themlves lovedon a pie
afinitorce of paper. They could not tell you about the ink of their own loveletters. They're the ones from my generation, the ones of us that have grown upinto a world where everything is paperless, and where some of our bestconversations have happened upon a screen. We have learned to diary our painonto Facebook, and we speak swiftly in 140 characters or less.
bet>j test But what if it's not about efficiency this time? I was on the subwayyesterday with this mail crate, which is a conversation starter, let me tellyou. If you ever need one, just carry one of the. (Laughter) And a man juststared at me, and he was like, "Well, why don't you u the Internet?" And Ithought, "Well, sir, I am not a strategist, nor am I specialist. I am merely astoryteller." And so I could tell you about a woman who husband has just comehome from Afghanistan, and she is having a hard time unearthing this thingcalled conversation, and so she tucks love letters throughout the hou as a wayto say, "Come back to me. Find me when you can." Or a girl who decides that sheis going to leave love letters around her campus in Dubuque, Iowa, only to findher efforts ripple-effected the ne_t day when
she walks out onto the quad andfinds love letters hanging from the trees, tucked in the bushes and the benches.Or the man who decides that he is going to take his life, us Facebook as a wayto say goodbye to friends and family. Well, tonight he sleeps safely with astack of letters just like this one tucked beneath his pillow, scripted bystrangers who were there for him when.
