The following is the Commencement Address
that Kurt Vonnegut gave
recently at MIT. It really is
worth taking a few moments to read. And
while it may sound silly at first,
give it some time and thought and it
will begin to sound, well like some
good advice. Enjoy.
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Ladies and gentlemen of the class of '98:
Wear sunscreen.
If I could offer you only one tip for
the future, sunscreen would be
it. The long-term benefits of sunscreen
have been proved by scientists,
whereas the rest of my advice has
no basis more reliable than my own
meandering experience. I will dispense
this advice now.
Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth.
Oh, never mind. You will not
understand the power and beauty of your
youth until they've faded. But
trust me, in 20 years, you'll look back
at photos of yourself and
recall in a way you can't grasp
now how much possibility lay before you
and how fabulous you really looked.
You are not as fat as you imagine.
Don't worry about the future. Or worry,
but know that worrying is as
effective as trying to solve an algebra
equation by chewing bubble gum.
The real troubles in your life are apt
to be things that never crossed
your worried mind, the kind that blindside
you at 4 pm on some idle
Tuesday.
Do one thing every day that scares you.
Sing.
Don't be reckless with other people's
hearts. Don't put up with people
who are reckless with yours.
Floss.
Don't waste your time on jealousy. Sometimes
you're ahead, sometimes
you're behind. The race is long and, in
the end, it's only with
yourself.
Remember compliments you receive. Forget
the insults. If you succeed
in doing this, tell me how.
Keep your old love letters. Throw away
your old bank statements.
Stretch.
Don't feel guilty if you don't know what
you want to do with your
life. The most interesting people I know
didn't know at 22 what they
wanted to do with their lives. Some
of the most interesting
40-year-olds I know still don't.
Get plenty of calcium.
Be kind to your knees. You'll miss them
when they're gone.
Maybe you'll marry, maybe you won't.
Maybe you'll have children,
maybe you won't. Maybe you'll divorce
at 40, maybe you'll dance the
funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary.
Whatever you do, don't
congratulate yourself too much, or berate
yourself either. Your choices
are half chance. So are everybody
else's.
Enjoy your body. Use it every way
you can. Don't be afraid of it or
of what other people think of it.
It's the greatest instrument you'll
ever own.
Dance, even if you have nowhere to do
it but your living room.
Read the directions, even if you don't
follow them.
Do not read beauty magazines. They will
only make you feel ugly.
Get to know your parents. You never know
when they'll be gone for good..
Be nice to your siblings. They're your
best link to your past and the
people most likely to stick with you in
the future.
Understand that friends come and go, but
with a precious few you
should hold on. Work hard to bridge the
gaps in geography and lifestyle,
because the older you get, the more you
need the people who knew you
when you were young.
Live in New York City once, but leave
before it makes you hard.
Live in Northern California once, but
leave before it makes you soft.
Travel.
Accept certain inalienable truths: Prices
will rise. Politicians will
philander. You, too, will get old. And
when you do, you'll fantasize
that when you were young, prices were
reasonable, politicians were
noble,
and children respected their elders.
Respect your elders.
Don't expect anyone else to support you.
Maybe you have a trust fund.
Maybe you'll have a wealthy spouse.
But you never know when either
one might run out.
Don't mess too much with your hair or
by the time you're 40 it will
look 85.
Be careful whose advice you buy, but be
patient with those who supply
it. Advice is a form of nostalgia.
Dispensing it is a way of fishing
the
past from the disposal, wiping it off,
painting over the ugly parts and
recycling it for more than it's worth.
But trust me on the sunscreen.