BP1 Use attachment Ted Talk Provided BP2 Use The I believe essays provided BP3 Do research something related to the topics provided in the second page of this file BP4 Example of personal experience of grit(Make up one or write your own) Use this Outline to write all 4 paragraphs. THE KEY TO SUCCESS? GRIT Angela Lee Duckworth TED Talks Education, April 2013 Link:https://www.ted.com/talks/angela_lee_duckworth_grit_the_power_of_passion_and_pers everance# 0:11When I was 27 years old, I left a very demanding job in management consulting for a job that was even more demanding: teaching. I went to teach seventh graders math in the New York City public schools. And like any teacher, I made quizzes and tests. I gave out homework assignments. When the work came back, I calculated grades. 0:35What struck me was that IQ was not the only difference between my best and my worst students. Some of my strongest performers did not have stratospheric IQ scores. Some of my smartest kids weren't doing so well. And that got me thinking. The kinds of things you need to learn in seventh grade math, sure, they're hard: ratios, decimals, the area of a parallelogram. But these concepts are not impossible, and I was firmly convinced that every one of my students could learn the material if they worked hard and long enough. 1:15After several more years of teaching, I came to the conclusion that what we need in education is a much better understanding of students and learning from a motivational perspective, from a psychological perspective. In education, the one thing we know how to measure best is IQ. But what if doing well in school and in life depends on much more than your ability to learn quickly and easily? 1:47So I left the classroom, and I went to graduate school to become a psychologist. I started studying kids and adults in all kinds of super challenging settings, and in every study my question was, who is successful here and why? My research team and I went to West Point Military Academy. We tried to predict which cadets would stay in military training and which would drop out. We went to the National Spelling Bee and tried to predict which children would advance farthest in competition. We studied rookie teachers working in really tough neighborhoods, asking which teachers are still going to be here in teaching by the end of the school year, and of those, who will be the most effective at improving learning outcomes for their students? We partnered with private companies, asking, which of these salespeople is going to keep their jobs? And who's going to earn the most money? In all those very different contexts, one characteristic emerged as a significant predictor of success. And it wasn't social intelligence. It wasn't good looks, physical health, and it wasn't IQ. It was grit. 3:00Grit is passion and perseverance for very long-term goals. Grit is having stamina. Grit is sticking with your future, day in, day out, not just for the week, not just for the month, but for years, and working really hard to make that future a reality. Grit is living life like it's a marathon, not a sprint. 3:27A few years ago, I started studying grit in the Chicago public schools. I asked thousands of high school juniors to take grit questionnaires, and then waited around more than a year to see who would graduate. Turns out that grittier kids were significantly more likely to graduate, even when I matched them on every characteristic I could measure, things like family income, standardized achievement test scores, even how safe kids felt when they were at school. So it's not just at West Point or the National Spelling Bee that grit matters. It's also in school, especially for kids at risk for dropping out. 4:08To me, the most shocking thing about grit is how little we know, how little science knows, about building it. Every day, parents and teachers ask me, "How do I build grit in kids? What do I do to teach kids a solid work ethic? How do I keep them motivated for the long run?" The honest answer is, I don't know. 4:29(Laughter) 4:31What I do know is that talent doesn't make you gritty. Our data show very clearly that there are many talented individuals who simply do not follow through on their commitments. In fact, in our data, grit is usually unrelated or even inversely related to measures of talent. 4:51So far, the best idea I've heard about building grit in kids is something called "growth mindset." This is an idea developed at Stanford University by Carol Dweck, and it is the belief that the ability to learn is not fixed, that it can change with your effort. Dr. Dweck has shown that when kids read and learn about the brain and how it changes and grows in response to challenge, they're much more likely to persevere when they fail, because they don't believe that failure is a permanent condition. 5:28So growth mindset is a great idea for building grit. But we need more. And that's where I'm going to end my remarks, because that's where we are. That's the work that stands before us. We need to take our best ideas, our strongest intuitions, and we need to test them.We need to measure whether we've been successful, and we have to be willing to fail, to be wrong, to start over again with lessons learned. 5:55In other words, we need to be gritty about getting our kids grittier. 6:01Thank you. This I Believe Essays The American Dream Lives On Yasmina Shaush - Greeley, Colorado As heard on The Bob Edwards Show, March 29, 2013 In the opening scenes of Titanic, Jack Dawson and his Italian friend, Fabrizio, win tickets to travel aboard the ill-fated ship in an auspicious game of poker, and Fabrizio exuberantly yells, “We go-a to America!” Drawing inspiration from real life, Fabrizio exuded the hope and belief that immigrants throughout the world have regarded for America. For over two hundred years, America has served as a beacon of opportunity. America truly is the “Land of Opportunity,” a land where the self-made man is found on every corner; a land that serves as a litmus test to all other lands; a land where wealth and social status do not inhibit one’s potential. I believe that in America, anything is possible. Every day I am reminded of this possibility. I am an immigrant. To discern me from the crowd of purebred, made-in-Americans is impossible. I speak with no accent and dress no differently. I am American, through and through. The true distinction is found in my perspective. Each morning as I sleepily trudge off to school, my mother reminds me, “I brought you to this country, now do something with it.” The weight of that statement propels me through my myriad of classes: history, government, and especially math. With each class and homework assignment I complete, I feel the pressure of not only grades and deadlines, but the even more immense pressure of expectation—three generations of Ukrainian relatives. Instead of shying away from this prospect, I face it full-on. Regardless of birthplace, 310 million Americans face the same expectation. To be born in America is a gift, one that should never be wasted. Even through today’s pessimistic climate, I find it easy to be optimistic, simply because of where I live. While my mother grew up in the shadows of communism, I was raised in the light of freedom and democracy. Anything is possible in America, anything. The United States is one of a few countries that can boast the successful by-products of hard work. Abraham Lincoln was born in a log cabin and received no formal judicial education, yet rose to prominence as a lawyer, and later became Commander in Chief. Oprah Winfrey grew up in abject poverty, only to become one of the richest women in the world. And even Madeleine Albright emigrated from Czechoslovakia to become the first female Secretary of State. The true beauty of America lies not in its fruited plains or purple mountain majesties, but in the determination of its people. In lieu of the 9/11 attacks news outlets report that hatred for the United States is common. This is simply a fallacy. Countless people travel across oceans, jump across fences, and float in small boats to seek amnesty in America’s gilded doors. Just as millions of people sought refuge in the U.S. during the great migrations of the late 19th century, today that zeal to live in America still exists. The United States is a land of opportunity, and hard work and determination are vehicles for success. This, I truly believe. Yasmina Shaush's family came to the United States from Ukraine when she was only seven years old. Ms. Shaush wrote this essay as a high school senior when she was busily writing essays for college applications. In reflecting on how blessed she felt to be given the opportunity of going to college, she wrote this essay. Ms. Shaush is now a college student at the University of Colorado at Boulder. Independently produced by Dan Gediman for This I Believe, Inc. There Is Always a Way Out Morris Mchawia Mwavizo - Nairobi, Kenya As heard on The Bob Edwards Show, March 1, 2013 When I was growing up, I loved capturing ants and trapping them in mud cell walls that were either too high for the ant to climb over, or so wet that it would probably drown. And every time I would do that, I would be amazed at the determination that the ant would have to get out of whichever place it was in. The ant would struggle to get out, hour after hour, going from corner to corner, even though there might have been no way out. And it is this determination of finding a way out on which my life’s principles are founded. I believe there is always a way out of any situation you find yourself in. I have believed in this from my early childhood days and that belief has raised me into who I am. When I was in school, I wanted to become a writer—to work in a media house and study writing and journalism. But life took on a bitter twist after my parents broke up and I found that although I passed form four with flying colors, college was not an option for me. I took on several jobs, and was at times so broke that buying paper for writing was not an option. But through it all, I found a way to keep writing. I wrote on the insides of the paper that wrapped maize flour. Wrote on papers I picked up on the streets. I worked as a hawker during the day and wrote poetry and short stories in the evenings, hundreds of which I lost. I trained and worked as a carpenter and still dreamt of writing one day. To keep my dream alive, I wrote about wood and carpentry. In whichever circumstances I found myself, I never lost hope because I believed there was a way out. I found myself working in a construction firm and while there, I started an online course for writing. My fellow employees thought I was a joke. I tore up used cement bags and wrote on the insides of them. It took me more than a decade of dreaming and three years of study to get certified as a writer. And at 34, I have written for international papers, had my work published in magazines, and have worked for three media houses, all because I believed there was a way out. Writing has changed my life. I found a way out and it provided a way out of poverty for me. I believe it matters not where you are and what you are going through. There is always a way out. All you have to do is keep looking for it. Morris Mchawia Mwavizo is a creative writer living and working in Nairobi, Kenya. He is working on his first novel and runs a blog for short stories at: http://naandika.wordpress.com. This essay is part of the radio series entitled Cha Muhimu, which means Of Great Importance, featuring the personal beliefs of Kenyans of every walk of life. The Cha Muhimu project is facilitated by the U.S. Embassy in Nairobi for the people of Kenya. This episode of Cha Muhimu was independently produced by Koi Muchira Tirima and Kariuki Githau with support from Dan Gediman of This I Believe Incorporated in the United States. Special mention for assistance with this essay goes to Inoorero University, Muthoni Gathercha, Elkana Ochieng, Fred Wakimani, Japheth Musyoka, and Beatrice Ondago. The Art of Being a Neighbor Eve Birch - Martinsburg, West Virginia As heard on NPR’s Weekend Edition, April 12, 2009 I used to believe in the American Dream, which meant a job, a mortgage, cable TV, credit cards, warranties, success. I wanted it and worked toward it like everyone else, all of us separately chasing the same thing. One year, through a series of unhappy events, it all fell apart. I found myself homeless and alone. I had my truck and $56. I scoured the countryside for some place I could rent for the cheapest possible amount. I came upon a shack in an isolated hollow four miles up a winding mountain road over the Potomac River in West Virginia. It was abandoned, full of broken glass and rubbish. When I pried off the plywood over a window and climbed in, I found something I could put my hands to. I hadn’t been alone for twenty-five years. I was scared, but I hoped the hard work would distract and heal me. I found the owner and rented the place for $50 a month. I took a bedroll, a broom, a rope, a gun, and some cooking gear, and I cleared a corner to camp in while I worked. The locals knew nothing about me. But slowly, they started teaching me the art of being a neighbor. They dropped off blankets, candles, tools, and canned deer meat, and they began sticking around to chat. They asked if I wanted to meet cousin Albie or go fishing, maybe get drunk some night. They started to teach me a belief in a different American Dream—not the one of individual achievement but of neighborliness. Men would stop by with wild berries, ice cream, truck parts, and bullets to see if I was up for courting. I wasn’t, but they were civil anyway. The women on that mountain worked harder than any I’d ever met. They taught me how to use a whetstone to sharpen my knives, how to store food in the creek, and how to keep it cold and safe. I learned to keep enough food for an extra plate for company. What I had believed in, all those things I thought were the necessary accoutrements for a civilized life, were nonexistent in this place. Up on the mountain, my most valuable possessions were my relationships with my neighbors. After four years in that hollow, I moved back into town. I saw that a lot of people were having a really hard time, losing their jobs and homes. With the help of a real estate broker I chatted up at the grocery store, I managed to rent a big enough house to take in a handful of people. There are four of us now in the house, but over time I’ve had nine people come in and move on to other places from here. We’d all be in shelters if we hadn’t banded together. The American Dream I believe in now is a shared one. It’s not so much about what I can get for myself; it’s about how we can all get by together. Eve Birch is a librarian in Martinsburg, West Virginia, where she still works with the homeless, while also running a small construction business that provides day work for needy neighbors. Two stories Birch wrote about her life in the shack are featured in the anthology, The Green Rolling Hills. Independently produced for NPR by Jay Allison and Dan Gediman with John Gregory and Viki Merrick. There Is No Job More Important Than Parenting October 10, 200512:00 AM ET BENJAMIN CARSON The simplest way to say it is this: I believe in my mother. My belief began when I was just a kid. I dreamed of becoming a doctor. My mother was a domestic. Through her work, she observed that successful people spent a lot more time reading than they did watching television. She announced that my brother and I could only watch two to three pre-selected TV programs during the week. With our free time, we had to read two books each from the Detroit Public Library and submit to her written book reports. She would mark them up with check marks and highlights. Years later we realized her marks were a ruse. My mother was illiterate; she had only received a third-grade education. Although we had no money, between the covers of those books, I could go anywhere, do anything and be anybody. When I entered high school I was an A-student, but not for long. I wanted the fancy clothes. I wanted to hang out with the guys. I went from being an A-student to a B-student to a C-student, but I didn't care. I was getting the high fives and the low fives and the pats on the back. I was cool. One night my mother came home from working her multiple jobs and I complained about not having enough Italian knit shirts. She said, "Okay, I'll give you all the money I make this week scrubbing floors and cleaning bathrooms, and you can buy the family food and pay the bills. With everything left over, you can have all the Italian knit shirts you want." I was very pleased with that arrangement but once I got through allocating money, there was nothing left. I realized my mother was a financial genius to be able to keep a roof over our heads and any kind of food on the table, much less buy clothes. I also realized that immediate gratification wasn't going to get me anywhere. Success required intellectual preparation. I went back to my studies and became an A-student again, and eventually I fulfilled my dream and I became a doctor. Over the years my mother's steadfast faith in God has inspired me, particularly when I had to perform extremely difficult surgical procedures or when I found myself faced with my own medical scare. A few years ago I discovered I had a very aggressive form of prostate cancer; I was told it might have spread to my spine. My mother was steadfast in her faith in God. She never worried. She said that God was not through with me yet; there was no way that this was going to be a major problem. The abnormality in my spine turned out to be benign; I was able to have surgery and am cured. My story is really my mother's story — a woman with little formal education or worldly goods who used her position as a parent to change the lives of many people around the globe. There is no job more important than parenting. This I believe. Seeing with the Heart Stephanie Disney - Ashland, Kentucky As heard on NPR’s Tell Me More, September 11, 2008 Looking at my daughter, the clerk behind the counter asks, “What is she?” Since this is not the first time I have heard this question, the stored-up, smart-aleck answers swirl through my mind. Instead, understanding that I am my daughter’s role model for handling life issues, I stifle the negativity and respond, “She’s beautiful, and smart, and well behaved, too.” The clerk says, “Oh,” and glances at me, wondering if I just didn’t understand the question, and I smile because I understood the question right away, but I am only just now beginning to understand the real answer: that family is defined by bonds much deeper than birth, or skin color, or genetics. Like anyone lucky enough to experience “found” love, I believe that family is defined only by the heart. I met my daughter, Rudy, while working as an audiologist at the Commission for Children with Special Health Care Needs. She was a small, quiet, noncommunicative two-and-a-half-year-old—and my heart recognized her immediately. I am the whitest of white women, and my daughter is some indefinable combination of all that is beautiful from at least three races: curly, dark hair; petite features; freckles; a golden tan skin tone; one blue eye and one brown. If her race had only one name it would be perfection. My daughter and I share so much in common it never occurs to me that others might not see us as a family. That’s why I was startled the first time a stranger inquired about my daughter’s race and our relationship. I had forgotten that we didn’t look alike. The next time I was asked, I politely explained that we are mother and daughter and that Rudy’s race is unknown. The twentieth time somebody asked about my daughter’s race and our relationship, I explained why the questions were inappropriate. The fortieth time someone asked, I just pretended not to hear. Now, after much time to reflect about the purpose of these questions, I understand. I understand that everyone wants love and acceptance. And these are such rare gifts that when people see them freely demonstrated, they are compelled to seek the source. Recently, Rudy surprised me when a white-haired lady, standing right beside us, asked if I was her mother. Rudy threw the lady a disbelieving glance and said, “Well, she helps me with multiplication, fixes my hair, kisses me, and we both have freckles on our noses—who else could she be?” When Rudy asks me to explain why people need to ask questions like that, I tell her not to worry, it’s the answers that really matter. The questions of race and family can be complicated to be sure, but I believe all of the answers can be found by seeing people first with the heart. Clinical audiologist Stephanie Disney has led hearing screening programs for newborns and has served adults with mental disabilities and children with special health care needs. Independently produced for NPR by Jay Allison and Dan Gediman with John Gregory and Viki Merrick. Photo by Stephanie Clark. Speak Up Jay Frankston - Little River, California As heard on The Bob Edwards Show, April 12, 2013 In the late 1930s, Hitler’s anti-Semitism had spread to France. I was nine years old. On the notebooks I brought home from school, scribbled in children’s handwriting, were the words “DEATH TO JEWS” and “HANG THEM ALL.” My name then was Frankenstein, something other children could make fun of, but also something which labeled me as a Jew. So I ran from the horde of misguided children to avoid a black eye or a bloody nose and took refuge in the isolation of my room. Then the war came and the beginning of the Holocaust. Fifteen percent of the French people actively collaborated with the Germans, joining the militia and participating in raids to round up Jews for deportation to concentration camps, even taking children when the Nazis hadn’t asked them to do so, and denouncing Jews who were in hiding. My wife Monique’s parents were among those who were denounced and were deported. They died in Auschwitz. I have no feelings for those 15 percent who collaborated. They are like dead to me. But 80 percent of the French people did nothing. They just stood by while their friends and neighbors were carted off to their deaths in the ovens of the devil. They are the ones I hold accountable. And I can’t help wondering what would have happened if people had spoken up? The Danes spoke up. When the Nazis came out with an order that all Jews would have to wear the yellow star, the King and the Queen came out wearing the yellow star and many Danes followed suit. Then they took the Jews at night in their fishing boats and ferried them across to Sweden where they were safe and survived the war. So only a few thousand Danish Jews died in the Holocaust. Fifty percent of the German people were Catholics. What if the Pope had come out with an encyclical that Catholics shall not participate in the Nazi atrocities under penalty of excommunication? How different things might have turned out. And where are we today when so many things are happening in the world, in our country, in our cities, and in our neighborhoods? And what are we doing about it? I give Holocaust lectures at the middle school and at this point students point to Rwanda or Nigeria. “No,” I say. “Here! Right here!” And I tell them this story: I was sitting in my car at a red light. In back of me was a huge truck and I saw the truck driver throw a lit cigarette out of the cab. I could think it terrible and do nothing but I got out of my car, picked up the lit cigarette and threw it back into the truck and said, “You lost something.” The truck driver was a big man and he could have flattened me, but I had to do it. I believe in speaking up against wrongs no matter how small. We can all do that. Jay Frankston was raised in Paris and came to the U.S. in 1942. He became a lawyer and practiced in New York for 20 years. In 1972, he gave up law and New York and moved to California where he became a college instructor. He is the nationally published author of several books, some of which have been condensed in Reader’s Digest and translated into 15 languages. His book A Christmas Story: A True Story has been called a classic. He has recently published a small epic novel entitled El Sereno, which takes place in Spain and has an authentic historical background covering the period of the Spanish Civil War and the Franco dictatorship. Independently produced by Dan Gediman for This I Believe, Inc. with recording assistance from Rich Culbertson from KZXX in Mendocino, California The Triumph of Kindness Josh Stein - Woodsburgh, New York As heard on The Bob Edwards Show, March 15, 2013 I believe that when people come together, it’s a beautiful thing. And when someone who can’t do something tries to do it and everyone else helps, that is a great moment. One beautiful sunny day, I had a Little League baseball game. At the time it was very important to me, and I was really focused on doing well, as were the other seven-year-olds. It was our last game of the season, and we were all trying to have fun and to end it with a bang the best we could. As the game progressed the score got close. When we had our final chance to win at the end of the last inning, it was my turn to bat. I looked over at my coach, who was talking to my dad about something—probably the stock market or something like that. As I stepped into the batter’s box, my coach called me back to the dugout. He asked me a strange yet interesting question. He asked if it would be all right if my brother hit for me. My brother wasn’t on the team. He had never even played baseball due to his disability. He couldn’t stand, and he certainly couldn’t hit. But I responded very maturely for a kid my age. “Of course he can hit for me,” I said. I was still puzzled as to how, though. Thoughts ran through my mind, such as: Would the kids make fun of him? Would he hit the ball? As my dad carried him to the plate, I realized that without his wheelchair he would have to be held up. The joy on his face couldn’t be traded for anything in the world. Just being on the field gave him all the happiness he needed. What will the other kids think? I wondered. I heard someone call out, “C’mon, hit it outta here.” Then came another, “You can do it!” These words of acceptance showed me how great the moment really was. On the first swing, which was pretty much my dad holding Sam’s hands around the bat and my dad swinging, he—or they—hit the ball. The kids on the other team did something amazing then, something seven-year-olds should never know how or why to do. But in the spur of the moment, these seven-year-olds did. They purposely overthrew the ball. Three times. Sam had hit his first and only home run. And as my dad carried him around the bases, I knew this memory would stick with me and everyone else there forever. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. When people come together, it’s a beautiful thing. Josh Stein is an eleventh grader at Hewlett High School in Hewlett, New York. He enjoys playing tennis, basketball, and golf and hanging out with his brothers. The Person I Want to Bring Into This World Laura Shipler Chico - London, United Kingdom As heard on NPR’s All Things Considered, August 27, 2007 I am pregnant. In the brief moments between dramatic dashes to the bathroom and just as dramatic raids of the refrigerator, I sometimes sit and philosophize about what kind of person I would like to bring into this world. “If we had to boil it down to three basic personality traits,” I asked my husband, “what would they be?” I thought if I could name those three qualities, I could identify my own belief about what I value most. Just three, because I figured we’d be lucky to even get those, given our limited control over whoever pops out. “Honesty,” he said, without hesitating. That was first on my list, too. I believe when you’re honest you’re less likely to end up in jail. And when you’re honest, you’re willing to take the harder path sometimes and so you’re always pushing yourself to grow. When you’re honest, people trust you, and so soon you start to trust yourself. And when you can really trust yourself – well, I believe that that is the foundation for all the rest. After a pause, I said, “Caring about other people.” Honesty all on its own can be a bit harsh, but when an honest person cares about other people, that’s a powerful combination. When you care about other people, you’re (hopefully) not as likely to land in jail, and more likely to become a responsible world citizen. You’re less likely to be mean and more likely to have deep friendships. And when you care about other people, they tend to care about you and pretty soon you start to care about you, too. Oh, and I almost forgot: when you care about other people, you are more likely to know how to really love, and how to be loved back. Now, for the third: This was harder. This was when we started to get greedy, as though having a baby at all, and then having a healthy baby, and then having a healthy baby that grew up into an honest caring person wasn’t enough. A long list of qualities vied for our vote: industrious, adventurous, creative, smart, kind, playful, and so on. But most of the qualities could still be traced back to our first two or, if not, they seemed less fundamental somehow. And then I remembered what my grandmother taught my father and my father taught me: “You should always be able to laugh at yourself.” I believe if you can you laugh at yourself, it probably means you like yourself, deep down inside, and you know that you’re no better and you’re no worse than anybody else. You’ll probably have fun in life. And most importantly, you’re more likely to forgive yourself when you’re not always honest and you’re not always caring. And finally, we thought even if you do land in jail, at least you can laugh at your own stupidity for getting caught. Laura Shipler Chico works in cross-cultural communication and trauma recovery. She helped convene survivors and perpetrators of the 1994 genocide in Rwanda for intensive community reconciliation processes. Her first child, Benjamin Karr Chico, was born on August 29, 2007. Independently produced for NPR by Jay Allison and Dan Gediman with John Gregory and Viki Merrick. I didn’t wash my car last month Jeff - Columbia, Maryland Entered on April 28, 2006 I have something shocking to tell you. Are you sitting down? Brace yourself. Are you ready? Here goes. I didn’t wash my car last month. Isn’t that awful? What’s worse is this: I don’t intend to wash it this month either. Isn’t that terrible? Washing my car is one of the things I don’t do because it doesn’t pass my rocking chair test. When I’m an old man sitting in my rocking chair looking back at my life, I’m not going to be saying “Gee I wish I’d spent more time washing my car. If I’d only scrubbed those whitewalls a little more often, I could have had a really happy life.” Applying my rocking chair test keeps me from doing a whole host of wasteful things from dusting furniture to holding a grudge to eating spinach. It also keeps me from doing some really stupid things. I know I’m not going to be sitting in my rocking chair thinking “I wish I’d snorted coke” Of course it’s not always that simple. Take television. It’s not likely I’ll be sitting in my rocking chair thinking “I wish I’d watched more television.” However I might be thinking “I wish I had relaxed more” and watching television is a form of relaxation. Even trickier is reading. Will I be sitting in my rocking chair wishing I had read more? Or will I have wished I’d spent less time reading and more time experiencing things firsthand? Tough call. The best thing my rocking chair test does is to remind me that it’s better to do than to own. I may be in my rocking chair wishing I had taken more trips, gone to more ballgames, attended more concerts. It’s not likely that I’ll be thinking “Gee I wish I’d bought a bigger house and a fancier car” I’ve made this essay personal because the rocking chair test is personal. Thinks that flunk my rocking chair test may pass yours with flying colors and vice versa. But there’s one thing I suspect is true for all of us. That rocking chair is closer than we think.
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