In November I wrote an article inciting people of a certain age to jack in their fancy jobs and join me in training to be a teacher at a tough London school. It was a tall order, but I hoped to rustle up enough interest for a small pilot project. A few dozen applications would have been decent. So far, Now Teach, the organisation I co-founded, has received nearly 800.
去年11月我写过一篇文章，鼓励特定年纪的人们辞去光鲜的工作，跟我一起去伦敦一所富有挑战性的学校当老师。那是一份无法轻易应承的邀约，但我当时还是希望能有足够多的人响应，让我们能先搞一个试点小项目。本来能收到几十份申请就不错了。但截至目前，Now Teach，这家我和别人一同创立的机构，已经收到将近800份申请。
While sifting through them I have been looking for patterns, many of which are much as I expected — notably that the charms of the corporate world dwindle with time, while the desire to do something more useful gets stronger.
在筛选这些申请时我一直在寻找规律，其中有很多都不出我所料，特别典型的一种情况是：在大公司工作的魅力随着时间推移慢慢减退，而想要做点有益于社会的事情的愿望却越来越强烈。
But there is one thing that has surprised me: the part played by death.
然而有一件事情让我十分惊讶：那就是死亡对人们的影响。
Last week, a prospective teacher told me that what did it for him was the funeral of someone he had been at business school with. This man had become a distinguished doctor who had done so much good in his life. His former classmate looked at his own achievements in marketing and in property and resolved to do better.
前不久，一位申请者告诉我，促使他申请的契机源自一位商学院同学的葬礼。他的这位同学生前是颇具声望的医生，一生中做过很多善事。这让他审视自己在营销和地产业中取得的成就，并决定要做些更有益的事。
Mostly, the death in question is that of a parent, and often the last remaining one. Becoming an orphan in your fifties seems to encourage all sorts of people to stop doing something comfortable (like being a partner in an accountancy firm) and apply to do something exhausting and possibly very uncomfortable indeed (like being a physics teacher).
通常，具有这种影响的是父母一方的离世，而且往往是晚走的那个的离去。在50多岁成了孤儿，似乎确实能令各色人等放弃驾轻就熟的工作（比如在会计师事务所做合伙人）转而投身于一份辛苦又很不熟悉的事业（比如做个物理老师）。
I ought not to be surprised by this, given it is precisely what happened to me. In May, my father died. He was 90 and had had a good innings. A couple of days after his death I dragged myself into work, knowing that Dad would have disapproved of my malingering at home.
我原本不该对此感到惊讶，因为这正是我的切身经历。去年5月，我父亲去世了。父亲享年90岁，算是终其天年。把他送走后过了几天，我强迫自己去工作，因为我知道我爸不会赞成我躲在家里装病。
I remember listening to colleagues arguing over a headline and gawping at them with incredulity. Seriously? I thought. I could not imagine how intelligent, grown-up people could care so much about which of two almost identical sets of words was better.
我记得当时听到同事们为了一个标题争论不休的时候，我难以置信地盯着他们。不是吧？我心想。我当时无法想象，几个有脑子的成年人怎么会那么斤斤计较两句几乎相同的话到底哪句更好一点。
At the end of that miserable first week, I told close friends I needed to do something different with my life, to which they all said the same thing: don’t. They pointed out that it would be mad to do anything rash when you are bereaved. This disconnected feeling, they warned, would not last.
就在那艰难的一周快要过去时，我对几个亲密的朋友说，我要用余生干点不一样的事，这些人听了之后都是一个反应：你别。他们指出，在失去亲人时贸然行事是很疯狂的。他们提醒我，这种孤立无援的感觉不会持续很久。
I knew they were right about the last bit. When my mother died 10 years earlier, I had entertained a brief teacher fantasy but it did not last and, within a couple of months, journalism seemed as charming as it had before.
我知道他们最后那一点提醒得没错。10年前我母亲去世时，我曾有过当老师的念头，但这个想法没维持多久，几个月后，新闻业在我眼中就恢复了从前的魅力。
But when Dad died, I knew that waiting would be fatal. Within six weeks I had found a partner to help me set up Now Teach and a couple of weeks after that I had told the Financial Times about my plans.
然而当我爸爸去世时，我知道自己不能再等了。不出6个星期，我就找到了一位合伙人来帮我创立Now Teach，几周后我就把自己的计划告诉了英国《金融时报》(Financial Times)。
Now that I discover my story is commonplace, I have been wondering what it is about death that is quite so galvanising. Most obviously, it forces you to ask yourself if you are doing what you really want to do. There is a cheesy trick practised by career coaches, in which they make you imagine your own eulogy. This has always struck me as too morbid and artificial to work, but the real death of someone you love makes you take stock, whether you want to or not.
自从发觉自己的经历很普遍，我就一直在思考，是什么让死亡具有如此强大的激励作用。最显而易见的就是，死亡迫使人们扪心自问，当下做的是否就是自己真正想做的事。求职指导顾问有一种套路，就是让人们想象自己葬礼上的悼词。我总觉得这种演习太病态、太做作，根本起不到作用，但不管你愿不愿意，你所爱的人真的离世能让你盘点自己的人生。
Second, death tears into routine. Part of the reason people trundle along in the same jobs is because it is easier to keep doing them than to stop. The brutality of death is a disrupter of habit — it stops the living in their tracks.
其次，死亡粉碎了我们习以为常的一切。人们会囿于一成不变的工作，部分原因在于维持现状要比停下来容易。死亡的残酷在于它打乱了人们的习惯——让生者在自己原本行进的轨道上停下来。

Becoming an orphan in late middle age can be liberating. It has made me more willing to take risks, with no parents to try to please or to care for in their declining years. With my children grown, I have fewer ties. So if I want to do something risky, there is no one to stop me.
在即将步入晚年时成为孤儿可以让人自由。这使我更想去冒冒险，因为我不再需要取悦双亲或是在他们的垂暮之年悉心侍奉。我的孩子们已经长大，我的牵绊也越来越少。因此如果我想去冒险，再没有谁需要顾忌。
The final point is about mortality. Everyone says the death of both parents forces you to think: it is my turn soon. But for me the reverse has been true. Given my father lived to 90, I will probably live longer still. I have just typed my details into an online life expectancy tool, which assures me that I will live until I am 94. “Thirty-seven years left!” it declared.
最后一个问题就是人终有一死的命运。人们都说，父母都已离世逼得人去想：很快就轮到我了。但对我而言，情况却正好相反。考虑到我父亲活到了90岁，我可能会活得更长。不久前我在一个预测寿命的在线工具中输入了自己的信息，结果说我能活到94岁。“还有37年！”它如此宣称。
Instead of time being frighteningly short, it may be even more frighteningly long. What the death of my father has taught me is that in late middle age there is plenty of time to start all over again.
比起时日无多，来日方长也许更令人胆寒。父亲的离世教会我，在中年时代快要结束时，还有充足的时间可以从头来过。