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.
I loved this piece the first time I read it (sometime in 2004) and still identify with its simplicity and truth. Baz Luhrmann reads this out word for word in his hit "Everybody's Free (To Wear Sunscreen)".
I do it for gustation, glory and the satisfaction of a job well done. Toiling on cooking a meal and then enjoying it by yourself or with the people you put in the effort for is quite a gratifying experience. Good food notwithstanding, the icing on the cake (pun unintended) is the appreciation. It's a lovely feeling- a mix of pride at having done all that work, wonder that it is actually tasty (in the initial days, wonder is more common when you find that your creation is edible), a satiated feeling after having consumed it, a smug feeling when you think of the calor
ies you did not consume in the office cafeteria and triumph when folks back home ask if you're eating well and you recite the menu from the last meal! I also must mention that it's a very useful pastime for an idle weekend; thats usually when I try out all the new recipes and test them on my unsuspecting flat mate ;-)
We reached the peak soon afterwards and found that it was uncomfortably cold even with warm clothing and cap-fulls (yes, honestly!) of sweet tea. There was a motley crowd atop the peak who'd either camped there all night or reached before us and the remnants of bonfires looked inviting. We munched on chocolates and biscuits and rubbed our hands together waiting for the Sun to make an appearance, which it did after half an hour. And it was breathtakingly beautiful. From a pinkish violet to marigold to brilliant golden hues, the transformation was fantastic. Once the Sun was a neat orb in the azure skies, we got moving again. Different path, different challenges, different sights but equally beautiful. The rolling white mist was being chased away by the rays of the morning sun and made for some lovely glimpses of the valley below. It was refreshing to walk through neck high weeds with the scent of dew, wet earth and wild mountain flowers. As we reached the base, a dog howled plaintively somewhere in the distance. Yes, we too were sad that the trek had come to an end.
The unplanned trips turn out to be the most fun. It was quite an eclectic group that accompanied me to Nagarjunsagar- a batchmate, a junior, a once-upon-a-time neighbour, flatmate's friend. Happily it was a no hang-ups group and everyone got along.
