I have a love for commencement speeches. If you have read my past blog, I posted two of my favourite commencement speeches done by 1) Steve Jobs for Stanford University in 2005 and 2) Conan O'Brien for Dartmouth University in 2011. Now I found another. It's Lisa Macuja's (best ballet dancer ---EVER!) speech for Ateneo graduates in 2015 YEY! (I'm yet-ing for Lisa Macuja not for my rival school heeheehee---GOTTA STAY TRUE GREEN-BLOODED LASALLIAN!! hehehe) Too bad I haven't found a video but this was the full text.
"You cannot imagine how great an honor it is for me to speak before you today. And that is certainly not a cliché or an exaggeration. Few people would ever guess that despite the many blessings I’ve received in over 30 years as a ballerina, most of my young life was spent pining for something that you all have and I don’t—a diploma from the Ateneo de Manila University.
You see, I come from a certified Blue Eagle family. My father, his brother and my siblings all graduated from the Ateneo, with all four men in my family in the Honors Class since their elementary grades. Although I married a magna cum laude from Harvard. (Sorry, my husband made sure that I stuck that in there somewhere.)
When I was seventeen, fresh out of high school, I found myself standing at a crossroad in my life: I was accepted in both the Ateneo and UP for college.
But I decided to go to Russia instead and pursue my dream of becoming a ballerina in the toughest ballet school in the world, as a cultural scholar of the former Soviet Union.
Given this opportunity, the diploma would have to wait. I struck a deal with my parents—I gave myself two years to devote to dancing, which was my first love. If it didn’t work out, I promised I would go back to school and become an accountant, which was what my grandparents wanted me to be.
That was the first big deadline I’ve ever set for myself.
When I told my parents I wanted to study ballet in Russia instead of enrolling in college like everyone else, my father’s reaction was: “What? So you will become a dancer and just learn to count to eight for the rest of your life?” My mom, on the other hand, was very supportive. She herself wanted to become a ballerina but was forced to stop when a ban in the 1950s prohibited girls from Catholic schools to dance ballet. My grandparents? Well, they still wanted me to become an accountant.
My dad probably thought I would find life in Russia so hard that I would hurry back home anyway, so finally, he relented. I left right after my 18th birthday and was assigned to the 7th year level of the Russian Ballet Academy in St Petersburg. It was 1982 and the first snow had just fallen when our plane touched down in what was then a bastion of communism.
In a way, my father was right. That first year in Russia was indeed the hardest year of my life. It was a life that was filled with change and adaptation—new culture, new language, new dogmas, a new method of ballet training, new weather conditions… Then eventually, I had to make new friends and satisfy new mentors. Beginnings are difficult.
But I stayed. Sometimes being stubborn has its rewards. There were many days in those cold ballet studios in the dead of winter when my body was ready to collapse from sheer exhaustion and it was just my stubborn will that pushed me to continue doing those drills again and again, day in and day out. Even in the many nights when I cried myself to sleep from homesickness or from the soreness of an injury, the pain was gently but obstinately pushed aside the minute I focused on my dream – the dream of becoming not just a ballerina but the best ballerina I could ever become. I substituted the occasional feelings of helplessness and anxiety with visions of achieving that dream. This—plus an attitude of gratitude, an overwhelming sense of appreciation for being exactly where I was and the miracle of how I even got there.
Despite the many sacrifices, my being in Russia was a great blessing and I survived by putting all my energy in practicing, learning and following directions as I was being mentored in the very difficult Russian Vaganova system of classical ballet training. I was like a horse with blinders. Nothing else mattered but my art. The discipline first shaped my mind and spirit—then my body eventually followed. Not only did I stay to finish the two years of ballet training, I stayed on for two more, this time as the first foreigner to be invited as an artist of the 250-year-old Kirov Ballet.
This is where that crossroad of my life has brought me. The journey was challenging but it was well worth it because I pursued a path that brought me closer to my heart’s calling. And when your heart speaks to you, you can never go wrong because it never lies. And it will push you to go forward and excel because at a certain point, your dream becomes like oxygen. You need it to breathe. You need it to grow. You need it to live.
However, in today’s world, the standards of success have become a bit more complicated. You can’t just drill; you need to create. You can’t just learn; you need to innovate. You can’t just follow; you need to lead.
Today, you find yourself in that same crucial intersection in life that I myself crossed many years ago. What can I tell you now that will make your next steps easier, if not more meaningful?
My father was right in saying that ballet dancers are drilled to count to eight. It is in these classic eight counts that a segment of movement is born. Then we start all over again with one. From this repetitive drill, choreography is born. So they actually serve as building blocks for creating something new and creative.
In this fashion, allow me to share with you my own “eight counts” which I hope would serve as helpful references as you find your own rhythm and direction in life:
FIRST
Decide and commit to something that you are passionate about. The earlier you do this, the better. Make a decision not just on what you want to do and what you want to achieve in the next few years, but try to picture where you want to be 20 years from now. This was something my father taught me. He was a very wise and logical man. After all, he was an Atenean right? When I was 15, he made me write a list of what I wanted to be and should have done by the age of 35. I came up with the following: to get a degree from the Ateneo and become a teacher; to dance all the classical ballerina roles at least once in my career; to own and operate my own ballet school; to have my own family and be a mom. I committed myself to these long-term goals alongside my short term ones and looking back, I seem to have done everything before I reached 35 – except for the first one. But wait, since I am a ballet teacher, I guess it’s just a matter of getting a diploma then. Hmmm…
SECOND
No pain, no gain. I cannot overemphasize this point. Nothing can take the place of hard work – not even talent. As they say, hard work beats talent when talent does not work hard. When my own daughter told me she wanted to become a ballerina, a part of me was excited for her and pleased that I could help her to achieve her dream. But part of me was also screaming NOOOOO because I wanted to protect her from all the blood, sweat, and tears that she would have to go through in order to achieve her dreams. In the end, she pursued her intention and now I know how my parents felt back then—extremely proud!
THIRD
Whatever your goal, get good at it! Whatever it is you are passionate about, you need to keep at it and practice. Repeat. Practice. Repeat. While you are practicing and repeating, don’t forget the “and” count — the “one-and-a-two-and-a-three” connecting counts that link together connecting steps in ballet. Bear in mind that there are also connecting points in life that are just as important as its highs and lows. These are the periods of rest, recreation, and stillness. These in-between moments are just as important because they give you a chance to breathe, to balance and to center. So keep on practicing – but take vacations too. Keep your focus… but remember it’s the linking “ands” that keep you connected.
FOURTH
Honor your emotions and acknowledge your fears. It’s okay to be nervous, to feel anxious or to have stage fright. That means you care and that you want to excel. After three decades of dancing, I still gag before going onstage! That’s why I make sure to fast before every performance. Seriously, it’s when you stop feeling nervous that you should start to worry because that means you are becoming apathetic towards what you are doing. And that’s a scary place to be in. Your emotions are a part of who you are. Being emotional doesn’t mean you’re weak. Whether you need to deal with pressure, loss, failure, hurt or rejection, our emotions are not a baggage. Instead, they make us human. They make us whole. So cry, laugh, smile, scream… it’s okay!
FIFTH
For a performing artist, the performance is the product and thus, the most important part of your work. All the classes, rehearsals, warm-ups and preparation culminate into that one performance. That is what the audience sees and that is what they will take away with them. Treat every time you get to practice your profession as a performance. Don’t save your best effort for another day. Always give 100% so you never have to regret anything.
But BE PREPARED. You know in jumping, the deeper you do this step called a “plié” which means to bend (in this case your knees) the higher you are able to propel yourself into the air. The plié is your preparation. The soaring into the air is the goal. The more prepared you are, whether for a presentation, a task or a performance, usually, the outcome is also better. Take this moment now to thank your parents, teachers, mentors, administrators, family, colleagues, your Manongs and Manangs and your friends. For they all helped out to prepare you well. And they will continue to support you in the years to come. Believe me, you will need their support.
SIXTH
Do something crazy. Do something that defies all logic at least once in your life. You never know what could happen from there. I once found myself in Cuba and was asked to dance the full-length Swan Lake. Now you have to know something about Swan Lake—it has the most difficult ballerina role ever. In fact, in Russia, I was warned by my own teacher—who I loved and respected and trusted—that I should never do the roles of Odette/Odile. It’s true. She told me when I graduated that I was already equipped to dance any role out there—except Odette/Odile. “Because Lisa, you will never be a Swan Queen,” she said frankly but with every good intention. Well, my “something crazy” happened twice in my life. First, I accepted the challenge of performing Swan Lake in Cuba with only FOUR DAYS to learn and rehearse it. And I performed what was for me the WORST Swan Lake I have ever done in my career! Honestly, I still cringe when I watch the video. But I did it. No regrets. My second crazy moment was when I resigned from my former company, where I was principal dancer, and formed Ballet Manila in 1995 with 11 other young dancers. No money, no connections, just a lot of drive and dreams to begin with.
Well, the company just celebrated its 20th anniversary last month with five times the number of dancers, plus a school and a scholarship foundation that promises a steady supply of well-trained ballet dancers to continue our mission of bringing ballet to the people and people to the ballet in the many years to come! Sometimes closing your eyes and taking that leap of faith will get you there—even if it makes you pass through a lot of heartaches and failure along the way.
SEVENTH
This one is a quote I saw on social media but which I felt was truly valid and real:“One of the hardest decisions you’ll ever face in life is choosing whether to walk away or try harder.” This is where setting a deadline for yourself is most important. I gave myself two years to become a ballerina, although honestly I do not know what I would have done if it didn’t work out. (You see I hate accounting. Working with numbers was never my forte—unless of course it involves counting to 8).
So push yourself through self-doubts, for they will certainly come. Push yourself through rejection. But also know when it’s time to re-direct. Re-boot. And then decide and commit all over again.
EIGHTH OR LASTLY …
Serve. Offer yourself to a cause bigger than your own needs or ambition. Find ways to make your dreams meaningful to others as well. One thing that I’ve learned from my family of Blue Eagles is that an Atenean means being a “man or woman for others.” You need to serve. Serve your whole life. Serve yourself sometimes. But serve others more often.
I met many of you during two separate visits to the Ateneo that have prepared me for today’s commencement speech. With today’s visit, I must say I haven’t been this often to Ateneo since I was in high school coming to watch Dulaang Sibol.
So what are my eight counts again?
Decide and commit
Work hard
Focus and get good
Honor your emotions
Prepare well
Take the leap
Set deadlines
and Serve.
Fly high Blue Eagle graduates! This is your time to soar!
there's something about commencement speeches that i like...
...somehow (as it should be) it gives people a renewed sense of hope for the future. that these amazing individuals who get to have experience life and able to impart words of wisdoms are truly awe-inspiring...
here are two of commencement speeches that struck me...
FIRST, Steve Job's 2005 Stanford Commencement Speech. I must say that this is one great inspirational speech!
(...in honor of the great innovator of our generation)
FULL TEXT AS FOLLOWS:
"I am honored to be with you today at your commencement from one of the finest universities in the world. I never graduated from college. Truth be told, this is the closest I've ever gotten to a college graduation. Today I want to tell you three stories from my life. That's it. No big deal. Just three stories.
The first story is about connecting the dots.
I dropped out of Reed College after the first 6 months, but then stayed around as a drop-in for another 18 months or so before I really quit. So why did I drop out?
It started before I was born. My biological mother was a young, unwed college graduate student, and she decided to put me up for adoption. She felt very strongly that I should be adopted by college graduates, so everything was all set for me to be adopted at birth by a lawyer and his wife. Except that when I popped out they decided at the last minute that they really wanted a girl. So my parents, who were on a waiting list, got a call in the middle of the night asking: "We have an unexpected baby boy; do you want him?" They said: "Of course." My biological mother later found out that my mother had never graduated from college and that my father had never graduated from high school. She refused to sign the final adoption papers. She only relented a few months later when my parents promised that I would someday go to college.
And 17 years later I did go to college. But I naively chose a college that was almost as expensive as Stanford, and all of my working-class parents' savings were being spent on my college tuition. After six months, I couldn't see the value in it. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life and no idea how college was going to help me figure it out. And here I was spending all of the money my parents had saved their entire life. So I decided to drop out and trust that it would all work out OK. It was pretty scary at the time, but looking back it was one of the best decisions I ever made. The minute I dropped out I could stop taking the required classes that didn't interest me, and begin dropping in on the ones that looked interesting.
It wasn't all romantic. I didn't have a dorm room, so I slept on the floor in friends' rooms, I returned coke bottles for the 5¢ deposits to buy food with, and I would walk the 7 miles across town every Sunday night to get one good meal a week at the Hare Krishna temple. I loved it. And much of what I stumbled into by following my curiosity and intuition turned out to be priceless later on. Let me give you one example:
Reed College at that time offered perhaps the best calligraphy instruction in the country. Throughout the campus every poster, every label on every drawer, was beautifully hand calligraphed. Because I had dropped out and didn't have to take the normal classes, I decided to take a calligraphy class to learn how to do this. I learned about serif and san serif typefaces, about varying the amount of space between different letter combinations, about what makes great typography great. It was beautiful, historical, artistically subtle in a way that science can't capture, and I found it fascinating.
None of this had even a hope of any practical application in my life. But ten years later, when we were designing the first Macintosh computer, it all came back to me. And we designed it all into the Mac. It was the first computer with beautiful typography. If I had never dropped in on that single course in college, the Mac would have never had multiple typefaces or proportionally spaced fonts. And since Windows just copied the Mac, it's likely that no personal computer would have them. If I had never dropped out, I would have never dropped in on this calligraphy class, and personal computers might not have the wonderful typography that they do. Of course it was impossible to connect the dots looking forward when I was in college. But it was very, very clear looking backwards ten years later.
Again, you can't connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something — your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life.
My second story is about love and loss.
I was lucky — I found what I loved to do early in life. Woz and I started Apple in my parents garage when I was 20. We worked hard, and in 10 years Apple had grown from just the two of us in a garage into a $2 billion company with over 4000 employees. We had just released our finest creation — the Macintosh — a year earlier, and I had just turned 30. And then I got fired. How can you get fired from a company you started? Well, as Apple grew we hired someone who I thought was very talented to run the company with me, and for the first year or so things went well. But then our visions of the future began to diverge and eventually we had a falling out. When we did, our Board of Directors sided with him. So at 30 I was out. And very publicly out. What had been the focus of my entire adult life was gone, and it was devastating.
I really didn't know what to do for a few months. I felt that I had let the previous generation of entrepreneurs down - that I had dropped the baton as it was being passed to me. I met with David Packard and Bob Noyce and tried to apologize for screwing up so badly. I was a very public failure, and I even thought about running away from the valley. But something slowly began to dawn on me — I still loved what I did. The turn of events at Apple had not changed that one bit. I had been rejected, but I was still in love. And so I decided to start over.
I didn't see it then, but it turned out that getting fired from Apple was the best thing that could have ever happened to me. The heaviness of being successful was replaced by the lightness of being a beginner again, less sure about everything. It freed me to enter one of the most creative periods of my life.
During the next five years, I started a company named NeXT, another company named Pixar, and fell in love with an amazing woman who would become my wife. Pixar went on to create the worlds first computer animated feature film, Toy Story, and is now the most successful animation studio in the world. In a remarkable turn of events, Apple bought NeXT, I returned to Apple, and the technology we developed at NeXT is at the heart of Apple's current renaissance. And Laurene and I have a wonderful family together.
I'm pretty sure none of this would have happened if I hadn't been fired from Apple. It was awful tasting medicine, but I guess the patient needed it. Sometimes life hits you in the head with a brick. Don't lose faith. I'm convinced that the only thing that kept me going was that I loved what I did. You've got to find what you love. And that is as true for your work as it is for your lovers. Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven't found it yet, keep looking. Don't settle. As with all matters of the heart, you'll know when you find it. And, like any great relationship, it just gets better and better as the years roll on. So keep looking until you find it. Don't settle.
My third story is about death.
When I was 17, I read a quote that went something like: "If you live each day as if it was your last, someday you'll most certainly be right." It made an impression on me, and since then, for the past 33 years, I have looked in the mirror every morning and asked myself: "If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?" And whenever the answer has been "No" for too many days in a row, I know I need to change something.
Remembering that I'll be dead soon is the most important tool I've ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything — all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure - these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.
About a year ago I was diagnosed with cancer. I had a scan at 7:30 in the morning, and it clearly showed a tumor on my pancreas. I didn't even know what a pancreas was. The doctors told me this was almost certainly a type of cancer that is incurable, and that I should expect to live no longer than three to six months. My doctor advised me to go home and get my affairs in order, which is doctor's code for prepare to die. It means to try to tell your kids everything you thought you'd have the next 10 years to tell them in just a few months. It means to make sure everything is buttoned up so that it will be as easy as possible for your family. It means to say your goodbyes.
I lived with that diagnosis all day. Later that evening I had a biopsy, where they stuck an endoscope down my throat, through my stomach and into my intestines, put a needle into my pancreas and got a few cells from the tumor. I was sedated, but my wife, who was there, told me that when they viewed the cells under a microscope the doctors started crying because it turned out to be a very rare form of pancreatic cancer that is curable with surgery. I had the surgery and I'm fine now.
This was the closest I've been to facing death, and I hope it's the closest I get for a few more decades. Having lived through it, I can now say this to you with a bit more certainty than when death was a useful but purely intellectual concept:
No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don't want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life's change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new. Right now the new is you, but someday not too long from now, you will gradually become the old and be cleared away. Sorry to be so dramatic, but it is quite true.
Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.
When I was young, there was an amazing publication called The Whole Earth Catalog, which was one of the bibles of my generation. It was created by a fellow named Stewart Brand not far from here in Menlo Park, and he brought it to life with his poetic touch. This was in the late 1960's, before personal computers and desktop publishing, so it was all made with typewriters, scissors, and polaroid cameras. It was sort of like Google in paperback form, 35 years before Google came along: it was idealistic, and overflowing with neat tools and great notions.
Stewart and his team put out several issues of The Whole Earth Catalog, and then when it had run its course, they put out a final issue. It was the mid-1970s, and I was your age. On the back cover of their final issue was a photograph of an early morning country road, the kind you might find yourself hitchhiking on if you were so adventurous. Beneath it were the words: "Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish." It was their farewell message as they signed off. Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish. And I have always wished that for myself. And now, as you graduate to begin anew, I wish that for you.
Thank you all very much.
Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish."
SECOND, Conan O' Brien's Darthmouth 2011 commencement speech! One of the most entertaining and yet moving speeches I've heard. It's fun but with some sense! :D
FULL TEXT AS FOLLOWS:
“I've been living in Los Angeles for two years, and I've never been this cold in my life. I will pay anyone here $300 for GORE-TEX gloves. Anybody. I'm serious. I have the cash.
Before I begin, I must point out that behind me sits a highly admired President of the United States and decorated war hero while I, a cable television talk show host, has been chosen to stand here and impart wisdom. I pray I never witness a more damning example of what is wrong with America today.
Graduates, faculty, parents, relatives, undergraduates, and old people that just come to these things: Good morning and congratulations to the Dartmouth Class of 2011. Today, you have achieved something special, something only 92 percent of Americans your age will ever know: a college diploma. That’s right, with your college diploma you now have a crushing advantage over 8 percent of the workforce. I'm talking about dropout losers like Bill Gates, Steve Jobs, and Mark Zuckerberg. Incidentally, speaking of Mr. Zuckerberg, only at Harvard would someone have to invent a massive social network just to talk with someone in the next room.
My first job as your commencement speaker is to illustrate that life is not fair. For example, you have worked tirelessly for four years to earn the diploma you’ll be receiving this weekend.
That was great.
And Dartmouth is giving me the same degree for interviewing the fourth lead in Twilight. Deal with it. Another example that life is not fair: if it does rain, the powerful rich people on stage get the tent. Deal with it.
I would like to thank President Kim for inviting me here today. After my phone call with President Kim, I decided to find out a little bit about the man. He goes by President Kim and Dr. Kim. To his friends, he's Jim Kim, J to the K, Special K, JK Rowling, the Just Kidding Kimster, and most puzzling, "Stinky Pete." He served as the chair of the Department of Global Health and Social Medicine at Harvard Medical School, spearheaded a task force for the World Health Organization on Global Health Initiatives, won a MacArthur Genius Grant, and was one of TIME Magazine's 100 Most Influential People in 2006. Good God, man, what the hell are you compensating for? Seriously. We get it. You're smart. By the way Dr. Kim, you were brought to Dartmouth to lead, and as a world-class anthropologist, you were also hired to figure out why each of these graduating students ran around a bonfire 111 times.
But I thank you for inviting me here, Stinky Pete, and it is an honor. Though some of you may see me as a celebrity, you should know that I once sat where you sit. Literally. Late last night I snuck out here and sat in every seat. I did it to prove a point: I am not bright and I have a lot of free time.
But this is a wonderful occasion and it is great to be here in New Hampshire, where I am getting an honorary degree and all the legal fireworks I can fit in the trunk of my car.
You know, New Hampshire is such a special place. When I arrived I took a deep breath of this crisp New England air and thought, "Wow, I'm in the state that's next to the state where Ben and Jerry's ice cream is made."
But don't get me wrong, I take my task today very seriously. When I got the call two months ago to be your speaker, I decided to prepare with the same intensity many of you have devoted to an important term paper. So late last night, I began. I drank two cans of Red Bull, snorted some Adderall, played a few hours of Call of Duty, and then opened my browser. I think Wikipedia put it best when they said "Dartmouth College is a private Ivy League University in Hanover, New Hampshire, United States." Thank you and good luck.
To communicate with you students today, I have gone to great lengths to become well-versed in your unique linguistic patterns. In fact, just this morning I left Baker Berry with my tripee Barry to eat a Billy Bob at the Bema when my flitz to Francesca was Blitz jacked by some d-bag on his FSP.
Yes, I've done my research. This college was named after the Second Earl of Dartmouth, a good friend of the Third Earl of UC Santa Cruz and the Duke of the Barbizon School of Beauty. Your school motto is "Vox clamantis in deserto," which means "Voice crying out in the wilderness." This is easily the most pathetic school motto I have ever heard. Apparently, it narrowly beat out "Silently Weeping in Thick Shrub" and "Whimpering in Moist Leaves without Pants." Your school color is green, and this color was chosen by Frederick Mather in 1867 because, and this is true—I looked it up—"it was the only color that had not been taken already." I cannot remember hearing anything so sad. Dartmouth, you have an inferiority complex, and you should not. You have graduated more great fictitious Americans than any other college. Meredith Grey of Grey's Anatomy. Pete Campbell from Mad Men. Michael Corleone from The Godfather. In fact, I look forward to next years' Valedictory Address by your esteemed classmate, Count Chocula. Of course, your greatest fictitious graduate is Treasury Secretary Timothy Geithner. Man, can you imagine if a real Treasury Secretary made those kinds of decisions? Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. Now I know what you're going to say, Dartmouth, you're going to say, well "We've got Dr. Seuss." Well guess what, we're all tired of hearing about Dr. Seuss. Face it: The man rhymed fafloozle with saznoozle. In the literary community, that's called cheating.
Your insecurity is so great, Dartmouth, that you don't even think you deserve a real podium. I'm sorry. What the hell is this thing? It looks like you stole it from the set of Survivor: Nova Scotia. Seriously, it looks like something a bear would use at an AA meeting.
No, Dartmouth, you must stand tall. Raise your heads high and feel proud.
Because if Harvard, Yale, and Princeton are your self-involved, vain, name-dropping older brothers, you are the cool, sexually confident, lacrosse playing younger sibling who knows how to throw a party and looks good in a down vest. Brown, of course, is your lesbian sister who never leaves her room. And Penn, Columbia, and Cornell—well, frankly, who gives a shit.
Yes, I've always had a special bond with this school. In fact, this is my second time coming here. When I was 17 years old and touring colleges, way back in the fall of 1980, I came to Dartmouth. Dartmouth was a very different place back then. I made the trip up from Boston on a mule and, after asking the blacksmith in West Leb for directions, I came to this beautiful campus. No dormitories had been built yet, so I stayed with a family of fur traders in White River Junction. It snowed heavily during my visit and I was trapped here for four months. I was forced to eat the mule, who a week earlier had been forced to eat the fur traders. Still, I loved Dartmouth and I vowed to return.
But fate dealt a heavy blow. With no money, I was forced to enroll in a small, local commuter school, a pulsating sore on a muddy elbow of the Charles River. I was a miserable wretch, and to this day I cannot help but wonder: What if I had gone to Dartmouth?
If I had gone to Dartmouth, I might have spent at least some of my college years outside and today I might not be allergic to all plant life, as well as most types of rock.
If I had gone to Dartmouth, right now I'd be wearing a fleece thong instead of a lace thong.
If I had gone to Dartmouth, I still wouldn't know the second verse to "Dear Old Dartmouth." Face it, none of you do. You all mumble that part.
If I had gone to Dartmouth, I'd have a liver the size and consistency of a bean bag chair.
Finally, if I had gone to Dartmouth, today I'd be getting an honorary degree at Harvard. Imagine how awesome that would be.
You are a great school, and you deserve a historic commencement address. That's right, I want my message today to be forever remembered because it changed the world. To do this, I must suggest groundbreaking policy. Winston Churchill gave his famous "Iron Curtain" speech at Westminster College in 1946. JFK outlined his nuclear disarmament policy at American University in 1963. Today, I would like to set forth my own policy here at Dartmouth: I call it "The Conan Doctrine." Under "The Conan Doctrine":
All bachelor degrees will be upgraded to master's degrees. All master's degrees will be upgraded to PhDs. And all MBA students will be immediately transferred to a white collar prison.
Under "The Conan Doctrine," Winter Carnival will become Winter Carnivale and be moved to Rio. Clothing will be optional, all expenses paid by the Alumni Association.
Your nickname, the Big Green, will be changed to something more kick-ass like "The Jade Blade," the "Seafoam Avenger," or simply "Lime-Zilla."
The D-Plan and "quarter system" will finally be updated to "the one sixty-fourth system." Semesters will last three days. Students will be encouraged to take 48 semesters off. They must, however, be on campus during their Sophomore 4th of July.
Under "The Conan Doctrine," I will re-instate Tubestock. And I will punish those who tried to replace it with Fieldstock. Rafting and beer are a much better combination than a field and a beer. I happen to know that in two years, they were going to downgrade Fieldstock to Deskstock, seven hours of fun sitting quietly at your desk. Don't let those bastards do it.
And finally, under "The Conan Doctrine," all commencement speakers who shamelessly pander with cheap, inside references designed to get childish applause, will be forced to apologize—to the greatest graduating class in the history of the world. Dartmouth class of 2011 rules!
Besides policy, another hallmark of great commencement speeches is deep, profound advice like "reach for the stars." Well today, I am not going to waste your time with empty clichés. Instead, I am going to give you real, practical advice that you will need to know if you are going to survive the next few years.
First, adult acne lasts longer than you think. I almost cancelled two days ago because I had a zit on my eye.
Guys, this is important: You cannot iron a shirt while wearing it.
Here's another one. If you live on Ramen Noodles for too long, you lose all feelings in your hands and your stool becomes a white gel.
And finally, wearing colorful Converse high-tops beneath your graduation robe is a great way to tell your classmates that this is just the first of many horrible decisions you plan to make with the rest of your life.
Of course there are many parents here and I have real advice for them as well. Parents, you should write this down:
Many of your children you haven't seen them in four years. Well, now you are about to see them every day when they come out of the basement to tell you the wi-fi isn't working.
If your child majored in fine arts or philosophy, you have good reason to be worried. The only place where they are now really qualified to get a job is ancient Greece. Good luck with that degree.
The traffic today on East Wheelock is going to be murder, so once they start handing out diplomas, you should slip out in the middle of the K's.
And, I have to tell you this:
You will spend more money framing your child's diploma than they will earn in the next six months. It's tough out there, so be patient. The only people hiring right now are Panera Bread and Mexican drug cartels.
Yes, you parents must be patient because it is indeed a grim job market out there. And one of the reasons it's so tough finding work is that aging baby boomers refuse to leave their jobs. Trust me on this. Even when they promise you for five years that they are going to leave—and say it on television—I mean you can go on YouTube right now and watch the guy do it, there is no guarantee they won't come back. Of course I'm speaking generally.
But enough. This is not a time for grim prognostications or negativity. No, I came here today because, believe it or not, I actually do have something real to tell you.
Eleven years ago I gave an address to a graduating class at Harvard. I have not spoken at a graduation since because I thought I had nothing left to say. But then 2010 came. And now I'm here, three thousand miles from my home, because I learned a hard but profound lesson last year and I'd like to share it with you. In 2000, I told graduates "Don't be afraid to fail." Well now I'm here to tell you that, though you should not fear failure, you should do your very best to avoid it. Nietzsche famously said "Whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger." But what he failed to stress is that it almost kills you. Disappointment stings and, for driven, successful people like yourselves it is disorienting. What Nietzsche should have said is "Whatever doesn't kill you, makes you watch a lot of Cartoon Network and drink mid-price Chardonnay at 11 in the morning."
Now, by definition, Commencement speakers at an Ivy League college are considered successful. But a little over a year ago, I experienced a profound and very public disappointment. I did not get what I wanted, and I left a system that had nurtured and helped define me for the better part of 17 years. I went from being in the center of the grid to not only off the grid, but underneath the coffee table that the grid sits on, lost in the shag carpeting that is underneath the coffee table supporting the grid. It was the making of a career disaster, and a terrible analogy.
But then something spectacular happened. Fogbound, with no compass, and adrift, I started trying things. I grew a strange, cinnamon beard. I dove into the world of social media. I started tweeting my comedy. I threw together a national tour. I played the guitar. I did stand-up, wore a skin-tight blue leather suit, recorded an album, made a documentary, and frightened my friends and family. Ultimately, I abandoned all preconceived perceptions of my career path and stature and took a job on basic cable with a network most famous for showing reruns, along with sitcoms created by a tall, black man who dresses like an old, black woman. I did a lot of silly, unconventional, spontaneous and seemingly irrational things and guess what: with the exception of the blue leather suit, it was the most satisfying and fascinating year of my professional life. To this day I still don't understand exactly what happened, but I have never had more fun, been more challenged—and this is important—had more conviction about what I was doing.
How could this be true? Well, it's simple: There are few things more liberating in this life than having your worst fear realized. I went to college with many people who prided themselves on knowing exactly who they were and exactly where they were going. At Harvard, five different guys in my class told me that they would one day be President of the United States. Four of them were later killed in motel shoot-outs. The other one briefly hosted Blues Clues, before dying senselessly in yet another motel shoot-out. Your path at 22 will not necessarily be your path at 32 or 42. One's dream is constantly evolving, rising and falling, changing course. This happens in every job, but because I have worked in comedy for twenty-five years, I can probably speak best about my own profession.
Way back in the 1940s there was a very, very funny man named Jack Benny. He was a giant star, easily one of the greatest comedians of his generation. And a much younger man named Johnny Carson wanted very much to be Jack Benny. In some ways he was, but in many ways he wasn't. He emulated Jack Benny, but his own quirks and mannerisms, along with a changing medium, pulled him in a different direction. And yet his failure to completely become his hero made him the funniest person of his generation. David Letterman wanted to be Johnny Carson, and was not, and as a result my generation of comedians wanted to be David Letterman. And none of us are. My peers and I have all missed that mark in a thousand different ways. But the point is this : It is our failure to become our perceived ideal that ultimately defines us and makes us unique. It's not easy, but if you accept your misfortune and handle it right, your perceived failure can become a catalyst for profound re-invention.
So, at the age of 47, after 25 years of obsessively pursuing my dream, that dream changed. For decades, in show business, the ultimate goal of every comedian was to host The Tonight Show. It was the Holy Grail, and like many people I thought that achieving that goal would define me as successful. But that is not true. No specific job or career goal defines me, and it should not define you. In 2000—in 2000—I told graduates to not be afraid to fail, and I still believe that. But today I tell you that whether you fear it or not, disappointment will come. The beauty is that through disappointment you can gain clarity, and with clarity comes conviction and true originality.
Many of you here today are getting your diploma at this Ivy League school because you have committed yourself to a dream and worked hard to achieve it. And there is no greater cliché in a commencement address than "follow your dream." Well I am here to tell you that whatever you think your dream is now, it will probably change. And that's okay. Four years ago, many of you had a specific vision of what your college experience was going to be and who you were going to become. And I bet, today, most of you would admit that your time here was very different from what you imagined. Your roommates changed, your major changed, for some of you your sexual orientation changed. I bet some of you have changed your sexual orientation since I began this speech. I know I have. But through the good and especially the bad, the person you are now is someone you could never have conjured in the fall of 2007.
I have told you many things today, most of it foolish but some of it true. I'd like to end my address by breaking a taboo and quoting myself from 17 months ago. At the end of my final program with NBC, just before signing off, I said "Work hard, be kind, and amazing things will happen." Today, receiving this honor and speaking to the Dartmouth Class of 2011 from behind a tree-trunk, I have never believed that more.
Thank you very much, and congratulations.”
These are just two (so far) of the speeches that (for me) struck to the core! :D
As Mr. Jobs said, let us all stay foolish!
prettytwistedchick
