Oh, the pride and privilege of our youth. I’m certain that Shakespeare and our mothers warned us about such things.
Yes, let us be clear that we never knew as much as we knew when we were 17.
For those of us who are a bit older now and only somewhat wiser, it really is a great honor and blessing to congratulate our young people and join in the celebration of graduates everywhere. Here’s to each and every one of you!
If I could get the attention of our graduates even for a moment (which is unlikely), I would offer a bit of advice.
I would ask them to slow down, to take in these final few moments of their youth and experience them in slow motion, to imbibe the wonderful trappings around them with great intentionality, to drink up every last sip of friendships and lasting memories.
Of course, I know this because I am older now and have learned to slow down, to enjoy life’s fleeting moments and (get this) to listen very closely. So there it is, graduates. A bit of free advice: Listen closely, for you just might hear something interesting.
It is the same advice that a teacher gave a student once when he asked about why we make students read all those old books, penned by authors who are long since gone. She told him that it’s the same reason that we listen to symphonies arranged so many years ago. It’s why we stare at ancient paintings and walk among the relics, longing to grasp the artist’s thoughts and meaning.
You see, graduates, when we do that, we recognize that the ancients are speaking to us. Yes, they are speaking to us still. Those who come before you have so much to say, for they too have lived this life that you now live. They too struggled through school, defied their elders, challenged old theories, and collapsed in crushing defeat. Like you, they too have mourned life’s most gut-wrenching losses and reveled in its most gracious victories.
Graduation advice: Listen and then dare
So here it is. In these days, as you prepare for what life brings next, allow those of us who are much older than you to give you a bit of advice on behalf of the collective voices of all the teachers and artists and parents and mentors who have preceded us, and who learned what they know from the teachers, parents, and elders who preceded them.
Someone once said: “We do not inherit the earth from our ancestors. We borrow it from our children.”
Yes, it is true. The ceremonies we celebrate are symbols of how older generations pass the world unto you. It is with this in mind that we give you the past only so you can form the future. Yes. Yes. It is true that you cannot pass go without $200, but you can’t even do that if you don’t first roll the dice.
You see, what you must know is that young lives are not created to preserve what is old, but to mend such things, or even paint over them, and discover something new. In fact, there was a time when men stared at the heavens and wondered. Now, we can look at the stars knowing that there are footprints on the moon.
Graduation advice: Listen and then sing
So make no mistake. We do not seek to learn from our elders because they are always right. It’s just that they have more experience in being wrong.
If you have learned nothing else in your young lives, you must know that your parents will always think that they are smarter than you. It’s okay. Let them think that, if for no other reason than they graduated from high school long before Wikipedia.
So consider this advice if you dare. Listen closely as you stroll the museums and stare are the relics, and linger a moment there in quiet consideration of what might be. Listen intently as you wander the gravestones, or as you take in the sounds of the symphony.
Of course, this is commissioned from a universal truth that your parents have been trying to tell you for years. It’s only when we stop talking and listen that we actually hear things.
To all graduates in all places, please allow those who are a bit older to give you a bit of advice today only so we can contribute to a conversation that has lasted for centuries. Yes, you are now part of that conversation.
Take that responsibility seriously.
Whatever you do in life, leave your mark, write your lyrics, pen your story, sing to your children your own sweet lullaby. Because, in doing so, you will be remembered. You may never be famous, but you will be remembered.
For we are all but one measure in this magnificent symphony, and the band plays on.
