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从前的我独立、自信、固执，拒绝任何帮助;而在那件事之后，慢慢地，我开始学会接受帮助，并向需要的人伸出援手。 I have always been an independent person. If you ask my parents or any of my old boyfriends, they will tell you I’m too independent. When I was little, I wanted to be a tightrope[1] walker. I would practice on the back of our couch, insisting my parents not hover nearby with nervous, outstretched hands.[2] I preferred falling on my own to succeeding with someone else’s help. In between high school graduation and the completion of my doctorate in biology, I visited 52 countries, mostly solo.[3] I was the sort of traveler who never asks for directions, choosing instead to struggle with maps and signs until I found my way. My independence was a mix of pride, daring, stubbornness, luck, and innocence. It worked only because I had never been truly lost. Then one day on the island of Koh Phangan[4], in Thailand, everything changed. I was swimming in the ocean with Sean, my fiancé, when he was stung by a box jellyfish.[5] He died within three minutes. He was 25 years old. I never felt so terrifyingly alone. Yet when onlookers and travelers on the beach that day asked if I wanted company, stubborn pride, force of habit, and overwhelming grief prevented me from accepting. I no longer knew how to relate to other people, as if I suddenly spoke a language no one in the world understood. And I didn’t see how anything anyone could do would possibly help. I even declined repeated offers from my parents, who desperately wanted to join me. But two young Israeli women, despite my protests, refused to leave. | 
