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ted演讲稿【第一篇】

少年pi的全名叫：派西尼。莫利托。帕特尔，方便起见，就叫他派好了。

派是一个从小生活在动物园的孩子，一次，为了搬去加拿大，派一家与动物们登上了开往大洋彼岸的货船“齐姆楚姆号”。

天有不测风云，在一个风雨交加的早晨，船沉了。睡梦中的人们还不知道发生了什么，就沉入了这蔚蓝色的海洋。只有派与一只斑马，一只红猩猩，一只鬣狗，还有一只名叫理查德。帕克的成年孟加拉虎乘上了救生艇，

弱肉强食的生存法则毫不意外地在这里被印证。

一艘小小的救生艇自然无法满足他们的生存需求，所以自然而然的，鬣狗吃掉了斑马与红猩猩，有被老虎吃掉。只剩下派与理查德。帕克了。

我本以为派也会被老虎吃掉，之后老虎死于缺水，在之后全剧终。可看着剩下200多页纸的厚度，我便打消了这可笑的念头。

不出所料，奇迹发生了。

派与这只孟加拉虎，在这条长仅26英尺的小艇上和谐共存了几个月，直至获救。

看到这里，我不得不对派肃然起敬。他是如此的勇敢，坚强。换做是我，或许早就因老虎的利爪或缺水而死了，但他却能用自己仅有的一切，与一只老虎在一望无边的太平洋上共存，这需要多么强烈的求生意志，多么强大的自信心啊！

在对比一下自己，整日无所事事，得过且过，无抱负无追求，为什么派可以超越自己的极限？我想，是压力的缘故吧。

派的压力来自于死亡，为了生存下来，他可以发挥出自己的全部潜质，是死亡的压力拯救了他。

而我的压力主要来自父母和老师。只要成绩有些进步，就可以说失去了压力，一个失去压力的人一定不会有什么大成就，因为压力就像燃油，是我们前进时不可缺少的动力。没有了动力，我们只能停下，倒退，最终被淘汰。

有压力是好事，但也要适度。就像汽车超速了会被罚款，压力过大了，也会使我们不负重担。只有适当的压力加上灿烂的微笑，美好的未来才会向我们挥手。

所以，朋友们，让我们用双手去拥抱这可爱的压力吧。

无压力，不动力！

ted演讲稿【第二篇】

大家好！

有位哲人说得好：如果你不能成为大道，那就当一条小路；如果你不能成为太阳，那就当一颗星星。决定成败的不是尺寸的大小，而在于做一个的你。

也许你常常抱怨自己没有怡人的相貌，没有动人的歌喉，没有惊人的壮举，没有骄人的成绩，没有……也许我们每个人都有自己无法实现的梦想，也许理想和现实总存在着差距。那么，面对这些，你是无奈，是悲痛，还是积极进取？我想每一位有上进心的人都是不甘沉沦的。

再次回顾哲人那段话，我想，大道固然引人注目，但小路也自有小路的风味；太阳虽然被人高歌，受人关注，但哪一颗星星不是“太阳”?只不过它距离我们太遥远罢了，而实际上，它或许比太阳更大，更亮。

总之，社会需要各种人才，每个人都有适合自己的位置。我们不必去追求那些遥不可及的梦想，只要做一个真实的、的你就可以了，不是吗？

ted演讲稿【第三篇】

简介：残奥会短跑冠军aimee mullins天生没有腓骨，从小就要学习靠义肢走路和奔跑。如今，她不仅是短跑选手、演员、模特，还是一位稳健的演讲者。她不喜欢字典中 “disabled”这个词，因为负面词汇足以毁掉一个人。但是，坦然面对不幸，你会发现等待你的是更多的机会。

i'd like to share with you a discovery that i made a few months ago while writing an article for italian wired. i always keep my thesaurus handy whenever i'm writing anything, but i'd already finished editing the piece, and i realized that i had never once in my life looked up the word "disabled" to see what i'd find.

let me read you the entry. "disabled, adjective: crippled, helpless, useless, wrecked, stalled, maimed, wounded, mangled, lame, mutilated, run-down, worn-out, weakened, impotent, castrated, paralyzed, handicapped, senile, decrepit, laid-up, done-up, done-for, done-in cracked-up, counted-out; see also hurt, useless and weak. antonyms, healthy, strong, capable." i was reading this list out loud to a friend and at first was laughing, it was so ludicrous, but i'd just gotten past "mangled," and my voice broke, and i had to stop and collect myself from the emotional shock and impact that the assault from these words unleashed.

you know, of course, this is my raggedy old thesaurus so i'm thinking this must be an ancient print date, right? but, in fact, the print date was the early 1980s, when i would have been starting primary school and forming an understanding of myself outside the family unit and as related to the other kids and the world around me. and, needless to say, thank god i wasn't using a thesaurus back then. i mean, from this entry, it would seem that i was born into a world that perceived someone like me to have nothing positive whatsoever going for them, when in fact, today i'm celebrated for the opportunities and adventures my life has procured.

so, i immediately went to look up the __ online edition, e_pecting to find a revision worth noting. here's the updated version of this entry. unfortunately, it's not much better. i find the last two words under "near antonyms," particularly unsettling: "whole" and "wholesome."

so, it's not just about the words. it's what we believe about people when we name them with these words. it's about the values behind the words, and how we construct those values. our language affects our thinking and how we view the world and how we view other people. in fact, many ancient societies, including the greeks and the romans, believed that to utter a curse verbally was so powerful, because to say the thing out loud brought it into e_istence. so, what reality do we want to call into e_istence: a person who is limited, or a person who's empowered? by casually doing something as simple as naming a person, a child, we might be putting lids and casting shadows on their power. wouldn't we want to open doors for them instead?

one such person who opened doors for me was my childhood doctor at the dupont institute in wilmington, delaware. his name was dr. pizzutillo, an italian american, whose name, apparently, was too difficult for most americans to pronounce, so he went by dr. p. and dr. p always wore really colorful bow ties and had the very perfect disposition to work with children.

i loved almost everything about my time spent at this hospital, with the e_ception of my physical therapy sessions. i had to do what seemed like innumerable repetitions of e_ercises with these thick, elastic bands -- different colors, you know -- to help build up my leg muscles, and i hated these bands more than anything -- i hated them, had names for them. i hated them. and, you know, i was already bargaining, as a five year-old child, with dr. p to try to get out of doing these e_ercises, unsuccessfully, of course. and, one day, he came in to my session -- e_haustive and unforgiving, these sessions -- and he said to me, "wow. aimee, you are such a strong and powerful little girl, i think you're going to break one of those bands. when you do break it, i'm going to give you a hundred bucks."

now, of course, this was a simple ploy on dr. p's part to get me to do the e_ercises i didn't want to do before the prospect of being the richest five-year-old in the second floor ward, but what he effectively did for me was reshape an awful daily occurrence into a new and promising e_perience for me. and i have to wonder today to what e_tent his vision and his declaration of me as a strong and powerful little girl shaped my own view of myself as an inherently strong, powerful and athletic person well into the future.

this is an e_ample of how adults in positions of power can ignite the power of a child. but, in the previous instances of those thesaurus entries, our language isn't allowing us to evolve into the reality that we would all want, the possibility of an individual to see themselves as capable. our language hasn't caught up with the changes in our society, many of which have been brought about by technology. certainly, from a medical standpoint, my legs, laser surgery for vision impairment, titanium knees and hip replacements for aging bodies that are allowing people to more fully engage with their abilities, and move beyond the limits that nature has imposed on them -- not to mention social networking platforms allow people to self-identify, to claim their own descriptions of themselves, so they can go align with global groups of their own choosing. so, perhaps technology is revealing more clearly to us now what has always been a truth: that everyone has something rare and powerful to offer our society, and that the human ability to adapt is our greatest asset.

the human ability to adapt, it's an interesting thing, because people have continually wanted to talk to me about overcoming adversity, and i'm going to make an admission: this phrase never sat right with me, and i always felt uneasy trying to answer people's questions about it, and i think i'm starting to figure out why. implicit in this phrase of "overcoming adversity" is the idea that success, or happiness, is about emerging on the other side of a challenging e_perience unscathed or unmarked by the e_perience, as if my successes in life have come about from an ability to sidestep or circumnavigate the presumed pitfalls of a life with prosthetics, or what other people perceive as my disability. but, in fact, we are changed. we are marked, of course, by a challenge, whether physically, emotionally or both. and i'm going to suggest that this is a good thing. adversity isn't an obstacle that we need to get around in order to resume living our life. it's part of our life. and i tend to think of it like my shadow. sometimes i see a lot of it, sometimes there's very little, but it's always with me. and, certainly, i'm not trying to diminish the impact, the weight, of a person's struggle.

there is adversity and challenge in life, and it's all very real and relative to every single person, but the question isn't whether or not you're going to meet adversity, but how you're going to meet it. so, our responsibility is not simply shielding those we care for from adversity, but preparing them to meet it well. and we do a disservice to our kids when we make them feel that they're not equipped to adapt. there's an important difference and distinction between the objective medical fact of my being an amputee and the subjective societal opinion of whether or not i'm disabled. and, truthfully, the only real and consistent disability i've had to confront is the world ever thinking that i could be described by those definitions.

in our desire to protect those we care about by giving them the cold, hard truth about their medical prognosis, or, indeed, a prognosis on the e_pected quality of their life, we have to make sure that we don't put the first brick in a wall that will actually disable someone. perhaps the e_isting model of only looking at what is broken in you and how do we fi_ it, serves to be more disabling to the individual than the pathology itself.

by not treating the wholeness of a person, by not acknowledging their potency, we are creating another ill on top of whatever natural struggle they might have. we are effectively grading someone's worth to our community. so we need to see through the pathology and into the range of human capability. and, most importantly, there's a partnership between those perceived deficiencies and our greatest creative ability. so it's not about devaluing, or negating, these more trying times as something we want to avoid or sweep under the rug, but instead to find those opportunities wrapped in the adversity. so maybe the idea i want to put out there is not so much overcoming adversity as it is opening ourselves up to it, embracing it, grappling with it, to use a wrestling term, maybe even dancing with it. and, perhaps, if we see adversity as natural, consistent and useful, we're less burdened by the presence of it.

this year we celebrate the 200th birthday of charles darwin, and it was 150 years ago, when writing about evolution, that darwin illustrated, i think, a truth about the human character. to paraphrase: it's not the strongest of the species that survives, nor is it the most intelligent that survives; it is the one that is most adaptable to change. conflict is the genesis of creation. from darwin's work, amongst others, we can recognize that the human ability to survive and flourish is driven by the struggle of the human spirit through conflict into transformation. so, again, transformation, adaptation, is our greatest human skill. and, perhaps, until we're tested, we don't know what we're made of. maybe that's what adversity gives us: a sense of self, a sense of our own power. so, we can give ourselves a gift. we can re-imagine adversity as something more than just tough times. maybe we can see it as change. adversity is just change that we haven't adapted ourselves to yet.

i think the greatest adversity that we've created for ourselves is this idea of normalcy. now, who's normal? there's no normal. there's common, there's typical. there's no normal, and would you want to meet that poor, beige person if they e_isted? (laughter) i don't think so. if we can change this paradigm from one of achieving normalcy to one of possibility -- or potency, to be even a little bit more dangerous -- we can release the power of so many more children, and invite them to engage their rare and valuable abilities with the community.

anthropologists tell us that the one thing we as humans have always required of our community members is to be of use, to be able to contribute. there's evidence that neanderthals, 60,000 years ago, carried their elderly and those with serious physical injury, and perhaps it's because the life e_perience of survival of these people proved of value to the community. they didn't view these people as broken and useless; they were seen as rare and valuable.

a few years ago, i was in a food market in the town where i grew up in that red zone in northeastern pennsylvania, and i was standing over a bushel of tomatoes. it was summertime: i had shorts on. i hear this guy, his voice behind me say, "well, if it isn't aimee mullins." and i turn around, and it's this older man. i have no idea who he is.

and i said, "i'm sorry, sir, have we met? i don't remember meeting you."

he said, "well, you wouldn't remember meeting me. i mean, when we met i was delivering you from your mother's womb." (laughter) oh, that guy. and, but of course, actually, it did click.

this man was dr. kean, a man that i had only known about through my mother's stories of that day, because, of course, typical fashion, i arrived late for my birthday by two weeks. and so my mother's prenatal physician had gone on vacation, so the man who delivered me was a complete stranger to my parents. and, because i was born without the fibula bones, and had feet turned in, and a few toes in this foot and a few toes in that, he had to be the bearer -- this stranger had to be the bearer of bad news.

he said to me, "i had to give this prognosis to your parents that you would never walk, and you would never have the kind of mobility that other kids have or any kind of life of independence, and you've been making liar out of me ever since." (laughter) (applause)

the e_traordinary thing is that he said he had saved newspaper clippings throughout my whole childhood, whether winning a second grade spelling bee, marching with the girl scouts, you know, the halloween parade, winning my college scholarship, or any of my sports victories, and he was using it, and integrating it into teaching resident students, med students from hahnemann medical school and hershey medical school. and he called this part of the course the _ factor, the potential of the human will. no prognosis can account for how powerful this could be as a determinant in the quality of someone's life. and dr. kean went on to tell me, he said, "in my e_perience, unless repeatedly told otherwise, and even if given a modicum of support, if left to their own devices, a child will achieve."

see, dr. kean made that shift in thinking. he understood that there's a difference between the medical condition and what someone might do with it. and there's been a shift in my thinking over time, in that, if you had asked me at 15 years old, if i would have traded prosthetics for flesh-and-bone legs, i wouldn't have hesitated for a second. i aspired to that kind of normalcy back then. but if you ask me today, i'm not so sure. and it's because of the e_periences i've had with them, not in spite of the e_periences i've had with them. and perhaps this shift in me has happened because i've been e_posed to more people who have opened doors for me than those who have put lids and cast shadows on me.

see, all you really need is one person to show you the epiphany of your own power, and you're off. if you can hand somebody the key to their own power -- the human spirit is so receptive -- if you can do that and open a door for someone at a crucial moment, you are educating them in the best sense. you're teaching them to open doors for themselves. in fact, the e_act meaning of the word "educate" comes from the root word "educe." it means "to bring forth what is within, to bring out potential." so again, which potential do we want to bring out?

there was a case study done in 1960s britain, when they were moving from grammar schools to comprehensive schools. it's called the streaming trials. we call it "tracking" here in the states. it's separating students from a, b, c, d and so on. and the "a students" get the tougher curriculum, the best teachers, etc. well, they took, over a three-month period, d-level students, gave them a's, told them they were "a's," told them they were bright, and at the end of this three-month period, they were performing at a-level.

and, of course, the heartbreaking, flip side of this study, is that they took the "a students" and told them they were "d's." and that's what happened at the end of that three-month period. those who were still around in school, besides the people who had dropped out. a crucial part of this case study was that the teachers were duped too. the teachers didn't know a switch had been made. they were simply told, "these are the 'a-students,' these are the 'd-students.'" and that's how they went about teaching them and treating them.

so, i think that the only true disability is a crushed spirit, a spirit that's been crushed doesn't have hope, it doesn't see beauty, it no longer has our natural, childlike curiosity and our innate ability to imagine. if instead, we can bolster a human spirit to keep hope, to see beauty in themselves and others, to be curious and imaginative, then we are truly using our power well. when a spirit has those qualities, we are able to create new realities and new ways of being.

i'd like to leave you with a poem by a fourteenth-century persian poet named hafiz that my friend, jacques dembois told me about, and the poem is called "the god who only knows four words": "every child has known god, not the god of names, not the god of don'ts, but the god who only knows four words and keeps repeating them, saying, 'come dance with me. come, dance with me. come, dance with me.'"

thank you. (applause)

ted演讲稿【第四篇】

I was one of the only kids in college who had a reason to go to the bo_ at the end of the day, and that was mainly because my mother has never believed in email, in Facebook, in te_ting or cell phones in general. And so while other kids were BBM-ing their parents, I was literally waiting by the mailbo_ to get a letter from home to see how the weekend had gone, which was a little frustrating when Grandma was in the hospital, but I was just looking for some sort of scribble, some unkempt cursive from my mother.

And so when I moved to New York City after college and got completely sucker-punched in the face by depression, I did the only thing I could think of at the time. I wrote those same kinds of letters that my mother had written me for strangers, and tucked them all throughout the city, dozens and dozens of them. I left them everywhere, in cafes and in libraries, at the ， everywhere. I blogged about those letters and the days when they were necessary, and I posed a kind of crazy promise to the Internet: that if you asked me for a hand-written letter, I would write you one, no questions asked. Overnight, my inbo_ morphed into this harbor of heartbreak -- a single mother in Sacramento, a girl being bullied in rural Kansas, all asking me, a 22-year-old girl who barely even knew her own coffee order, to write them a love letter and give them a reason to wait by the mailbo_.

Well, today I fuel a global organization that is fueled by those trips to the mailbo_, fueled by the ways in which we can harness social media like never before to write and mail strangers letters when they need them most, but most of all, fueled by crates of mail like this one, my trusty mail crate, filled with the scriptings of ordinary people, strangers writing letters to other strangers not because they're ever going to meet and laugh over a cup of coffee, but because they have found one another by way of letter-writing.

But, you know, the thing that always gets me about these letters is that most of them have been written by people that have never known themselves loved on a piece of paper. They could not tell you about the ink of their own love letters. They're the ones from my generation, the ones of us that have grown up into a world where everything is paperless, and where some of our best conversations have happened upon a screen. We have learned to diary our pain onto Facebook, and we speak swiftly in 140 characters or less.

But what if it's not about efficiency this time? I was on the subway yesterday with this mail crate, which is a conversation starter, let me tell you. If you ever need one, just carry one of these. (Laughter) And a man just stared at me, and he was like, "Well, why don't you use the Internet?" And I thought, "Well, sir, I am not a strategist, nor am I specialist. I am merely a storyteller." And so I could tell you about a woman whose husband has just come home from Afghanistan, and she is having a hard time unearthing this thing called conversation, and so she tucks love letters throughout the house as a way to say, "Come back to me. Find me when you can." Or a girl who decides that she is going to leave love letters around her campus in Dubuque, Iowa, only to find her efforts ripple-effected the ne_t day when she walks out onto the quad and finds 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, uses Facebook as a way to say goodbye to friends and family. Well, tonight he sleeps safely with a stack of letters just like this one tucked beneath his pillow, scripted by strangers who were there for him when.

These are the kinds of stories that convinced me that letter-writing will never again need to flip back her hair and talk about efficiency, because she is an art form now, all the parts of her, the signing, the scripting, the mailing, the doodles in the margins. The mere fact that somebody would even just sit down, pull out a piece of paper and think about someone the whole way through, with an intention that is so much harder to unearth when the browser is up and the iPhone is pinging and we've got si_ conversations rolling in at once, that is an art form that does not fall down to the Goliath of "get faster," no matter how many social networks we might join. We still clutch close these letters to our chest, to the words that speak louder than loud, when we turn pages into palettes to say the things that we have needed to say, the words that we have needed to write, to sisters and brothers and even to strangers, for far too long. Thank you. (Applause) (Applause)