Advice, like youth, probably
just wasted on the young
by Mary Schmich
Chicago Tribune June 1, 1997
Inside every adult lurks a graduation speaker dying to get
out, some world-weary pundit eager to pontificate on life to
young people who'd rather be Rollerblading. Most of us, alas,
will never be invited to sow our words of wisdom among an
audience of caps and gowns, but there's no reason we can't
entertain ourselves by composing a Guide to Life for Graduates.
I encourage anyone over 26 to try this and thank you for
indulging my attempt.
Ladies and gentlemen of the class of '97:
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 p.m. 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.