給未來(lái)自己的禮物

查爾斯遞給我一個(gè)紅色筆記本，從此改變了我的人生。他說(shuō)：年輕人，你精彩的一生即將開(kāi)始，你覺(jué)得所有的事情——那些令人興奮、令人心動(dòng)、令人悲傷的點(diǎn)滴——都會(huì)留在腦海中，但聽(tīng)我的，你肯定會(huì)忘卻，除非把它們記下來(lái)。42年過(guò)去了，我翻開(kāi)記錄著自己一生的筆記本。這一刻，我才真正體會(huì)到，原來(lái)這些筆記是為未來(lái)的自己——此刻的我——而寫(xiě)的。

By Steve Gardiner 華林 選注

When Charles Lee handed me the small red notebook in 1974, he changed my life. “While you are traveling, you should keep notes on the things you see and do,” he explained.

I was 20 years old, a junior in college, spending a semester at the University of London. Charles was a retired traveling salesman. I was staying with him in his cottage in Kendal, located in the Lake District of northern England. It was a one-week homestay the university arranged for us before classes began.

“You are young and doing a lot of exciting things,” Charles said. “It seems as though you will always remember these things, but I promise, you will forget them if you don’t write them down.”

I took his advice. I wrote in the notebook every day during the homestay. Back in London, I recorded weekend trips to Wales, Yorkshire, France, and Spain. I commented on my classes, professors, and classmates. I contrasted my life at a small college in western Nebraska with my wandering through the streets of London, my introduction to life in a big city, my initial travels outside the United States. I tracked ideas I had about my life and my future.

When I wrote in the notebook, I struggled with a sense of my audience and purpose. Who would read this? Were these writings just for me, or did I want others to read them? Was I recording events and ideas just as a prompt to memory, or was there some larger purpose for this daily exercise?

I developed a sense of vision for the task. I was recording events, thoughts, words that were important to my life. I imagined a future me sitting down to read the pages. I wondered what it would feel like to read those words later. I wondered where I would be, what my life would be like.

I filled the notebook Charles gave me. I bought a new one and filled it. Then another and another. I continued writing in notebooks for four decades. By that time, they filled two boxes in my garage.

I had reread some of the journals. Specific volumes had provided me with the background I needed for dozens of articles for magazines and newspapers. But I had never read them all.

Recently, I decided to bring my collection of notebooks into my office and replay my life. As I opened the first box, I suddenly became nervous. Would I like the former me portrayed on those pages? There was a risk in opening that first notebook. I did it anyway.

Charles had been right. I remembered the big events, the central happenings, but on each page were details I hadn’t retained.

The pages revealed highlights from college classes and stories about roommates and friends. I read anxious comments I’d written as I’d launched my teaching career, learned to write lesson plans, assigned grades for student work, and solved discipline problems. I reflected on my coming marriage, then the wedding, and eventually the proud moments when I held each of our three daughters. I recounted more trips—returning to Europe, teaching in South America, taking a photo safari in Africa, exploring Greenland. I relived memories of trails hiked, rivers paddled, mountains climbed, dreams shared.

The writings in those journals framed my life. I hadn’t written every day. I often skipped a few days or even weeks, but I always picked up the writing when it felt important. Journals went with me when I traveled, and I often wrote in them at school when my own students were writing. I modeled the behavior I wanted my students to perform. I encouraged them to keep journals of their own, passing on the lesson Charles had given me.

These writings formed a continuous thread through events in my life, a connection between my own past, present, and future. They gave me the chance to record my life, sort out my thoughts and emotions, play with ideas, see patterns and themes in my experience, decide what was important to me and what was not.

It took several long evenings to read through the notebooks, taking me on a retrospective tour spanning 42 years. As I read, I could recall sitting on a bench in Trafalgar Square in London, in our apartment in Peru, on a mountaintop in Wyoming, writing to the future me. It was then I realized: I am now the person I was writing to throughout those years.

Vocabulary

1. cottage: 鄉(xiāng)村小屋;Kendal: 肯德?tīng)?，是英格蘭湖區(qū)南部的一個(gè)小鎮(zhèn);Lake District: 英格蘭湖區(qū)，位于英格蘭西北海岸，因其湖光山色和湖畔詩(shī)人(尤其是華茲華斯)而聞名。

2. homestay: 寄宿家庭，為外國(guó)留學(xué)生提供住房和基本生活設(shè)施的服務(wù)。寄宿家庭在發(fā)達(dá)國(guó)家已經(jīng)有很長(zhǎng)時(shí)間歷史，主要是為了幫助外國(guó)留學(xué)生解決住宿問(wèn)題，提高外語(yǔ)水平，更好地融入當(dāng)?shù)厣鐣?huì)。

3. Wales: 威爾士，位于英國(guó)西南部，東臨英格蘭;Yorkshire: 約克郡，位于英格蘭東北部，是英國(guó)重要的文化之鄉(xiāng)。

4. 我在倫敦街頭漫無(wú)目的的閑逛、我第一次在大城市中的生活以及我走出美國(guó)的最初幾次旅行——我把當(dāng)下的生活與之前在內(nèi)布拉斯加州西部一所很小的大學(xué)中的生活做了對(duì)比。Nebraska: 內(nèi)布拉斯加州，美國(guó)中西部大平原區(qū)的一個(gè)州。

5. track: 跟蹤(表現(xiàn)或進(jìn)展情況)。

6. prompt: 提示，提醒。

7. vision: 構(gòu)想，遠(yuǎn)見(jiàn)。

8. 某幾本特定的日記還為我的數(shù)十篇報(bào)刊投稿提供了所需的背景材料。volume: (書(shū)的)一本，一冊(cè)。此處指代作者這些年來(lái)寫(xiě)滿的這么多本日記本。

9. retain: 記住。

10. reveal: 展現(xiàn)，顯露;highlight: 最突出(精彩)的場(chǎng)面。

11. 我讀著自己剛剛步入教師行列時(shí)寫(xiě)下的種種焦慮：學(xué)習(xí)寫(xiě)教學(xué)計(jì)劃、給學(xué)生作業(yè)打分，還有解決紀(jì)律問(wèn)題。launch: 開(kāi)始從事;assign: 分配，分派。

12. recount: 敘述，描述;safari: (尤指在非洲的)野外觀獸旅行;Greenland: 格陵蘭，全境大部分在北極圈內(nèi)，氣候寒冷，隔海峽與冰島和加拿大兩國(guó)相望。

13. paddle: 用槳?jiǎng)?小船)。

14. frame: 勾畫(huà)。

15. 我為了教育自己的學(xué)生而以身作則。

16. 如同一條連綿的線，這些文字將我的一生串連起來(lái)，系起我的過(guò)去、現(xiàn)在和未來(lái)。

17. sort out: 整理，梳理。

18. 我花了幾個(gè)晚上翻看這些日記直到深夜，完成了一次跨越42年的人生回顧。retrospective: 涉及以往的，回顧的;span: 持續(xù)，貫穿。

19. Trafalgar Square: 特拉法爾加廣場(chǎng)，英國(guó)倫敦著名廣場(chǎng)，名勝之一;Peru: 秘魯，南美洲西部的一個(gè)國(guó)家;Wyoming: 懷俄明州，位于美國(guó)西部落基山區(qū)。