Hi,
This was a speech made by Pulitzer Prize-winning author,
Anna Quindlen at the graduation ceremony of an American university where she
was awarded an Honorary PhD.
"I'm a novelist. My work is human nature. Real life is
all I know. Don't ever confuse the two, your life and your work. You will walk
out of here this afternoon with only one thing that no one else has. There will
be hundreds of people out there with your same degree: there will be thousands
of people doing what you want to do for a living. But you will be the only
person alive who has sole custody of your life. Your particular life. Your
entire life. Not just your life at a desk or your life on a bus or in a car or
at the computer. Not just the life of your mind, but the life of your heart. Not
just your bank accounts but also your soul.
People don't talk about the soul very much anymore. It's so
much easier to write a resume than to craft a spirit. But a resume is cold
comfort on a winter's night, or when you're sad, or broke, or lonely, or when
you've received your test results and they're not so good.
Here is my resume: I am a good mother to three children. I
have tried never to let my work stand in the way of being a good parent. I no
longer consider myself the center of the universe. I show up. I listen. I try
to laugh. I am a good friend to my husband. I have tried to make marriage vows
mean what they say. I am a good friend to my friends and them to me. Without
them, there would be nothing to say to you today, because I would be a cardboard
cutout. But I call them on the phone and I meet them for lunch. I would be
rotten, at best mediocre, at my job if those other things were not true.
You cannot be really first rate at your work if your work is
all you are. So here's what I wanted to tell you today: Get a life. A real
life, not a manic pursuit of the next promotion, the bigger pay cheque, the
larger house. Do you think you'd care so very much about those things if you
blew an aneurysm one afternoon or found a lump in your breast?
Get a life in which you notice the smell of salt water
pushing itself on a breeze at the seaside, a life in which you stop and watch
how a red-tailed hawk circles over the water, or the way a baby scowls with
concentration when she tries to pick up a sweet with her thumb and first
finger.
Get a life in which you are not alone. Find people you love,
and who love you. And remember that love is not leisure, it is work. Pick up
the phone. Send an email. Write a letter. Get a life in which you are generous.
And realize that life is the best thing ever, and that you have no business
taking it for granted. Care so deeply about its goodness that you want to
spread it around. Take money you would have spent on beer and give it to
charity. Work in a soup kitchen. Be a big brother or sister. All of you want to
do well. But if you do not do good too, then doing well will never be enough.
It is so easy to waste our lives, our days, our hours, and
our minutes. It is so easy to take for granted the colour of our kids' eyes,
the way the melody in a symphony rises and falls and disappears and rises
again. It is so easy to exist instead of to live.
I learned to live many years ago. I learned to love the
journey, not the destination. I learned that it is not a dress rehearsal, and
that today is the only guarantee you get. I learned to look at all the good in
the world and try to give some of it back because I believed in it, completely
and utterly. And I tried to do that, in part, by telling others what I had
learned. By telling them this: Consider the lilies of the field. Look at the
fuzz on a baby's ear. Read in the back yard with the sun on your face.
Learn to be happy. And think of life as a terminal illness,
because if you do, you will live it with joy and passion as it ought to be
lived".
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