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06/23/2021 07:00 AMGood evening everybody,
I’d like to start off by saying thank you to Ms. Riffle and Mr. A for their kind introduction. It’s an honor to speak in front of all of you today and I couldn’t be more excited. I also couldn’t be more nervous. For those who remember the 8th grade graduation, you might recall that public speaking isn’t exactly my forte. I couldn’t even make it through “Please rise for the Pledge of Allegiance” without messing it up, so good work Anthony and Ryan. Anyways, I’m back at another graduation four years later, this time with five whole minutes to fill with words of gratitude and reflection.
While writing this speech, I had to carefully examine my high school experience to pick out what I felt was worthy of sharing. Though I feel like I still have so much to learn, there are many important lessons that I’ve gained in these last few years. One of these lessons deals with a phrase called delayed gratification, which is essentially the opposite of procrastination. It means that you put aside any immediate desires in order to do something that you don’t necessarily enjoy, with the hope and expectation that at some point in the future it will all be worth it. A good work ethic is important, of course. But I noticed that this forward-looking attitude can become quite dangerous if taken to an extreme. Especially during my freshman and sophomore years, I became so fixated on future success that school felt more like a means to an end rather than a fulfilling experience in and of itself, causing me to obsessively complete each assignment I received as meticulously as I could. Then junior year rolled around, and my approach to school quickly became unsustainable. I faced a decision: I could either burn out, or I could loosen up. The latter option was much more appealing.
Though I still put my best foot forward, I’ve learned where to draw the line. I’ve drifted away from my fixation on delayed gratification and have instead realized the importance of being mindful in the present, leading me to one of my greatest achievements in high school, which happened during last year’s midterms. It was the night before my chemistry exam and I had just finished a swim meet with Hand high school in Madison. Afterwards, the team decided that they wanted to go out to dinner in Guilford. At first, I didn’t even consider going with them. By this point, I was already out much later than I’d anticipated, and I hadn’t studied much at all. But, as I pulled out of the parking lot, my hands started turning the steering wheel away from the mountain of chemistry notes sitting on my bed and instead towards my teammates who were heading towards the restaurant. I know this moment seems like an easy choice. But believe me when I say, this was not very characteristic of me. Looking back, I’m quite surprised and grateful that I chose to go out with the team that night. I still remember some of the conversations we had, including a dispute about the physiological benefits of putting salt in drinking water. Oddly enough, a question about a sodium chloride solution appeared on the exam the next day. But that’s besides the point. What I’m trying to say is that you should always measure the importance of your studies. Ask yourself, what’s more valuable? A night out with friends and family, or a few more hours of studying? Sometimes the answer might actually be studying—I’m not encouraging anyone to go out every night. But never become too consumed with your work to lose sight of the other things in life that matter much more than any grade.
Now that I’ve discussed the importance of living in the moment, I thought I could shift gears to an analysis of a 2007 cinematic masterpiece: the Bee Movie. The film opens with the following lines: “According to all known laws of aviation, there is no way a bee should be able to fly. Its wings are too small to get its fat little body off the ground. The bee, of course, flies anyway, because bees don’t care what humans think is impossible.” First, I’d like to point out that this quote is factually inaccurate. Many scientists have studied the flight of bees, and it’s undoubtedly within the limits of physical possibilities. But the principle is still there: Bees defy human doubt. And I’m here to argue that we should all do the same.
Throughout my life, I’ve occasionally made strides against my own doubt by setting some pretty outrageous goals—the types of goals that appear so unrealistic that they would make your middle school focus advisor cringe. I love these lofty aspirations because they are distinctly separate from personal standards and expectations. This means that if you don’t ever accomplish them, you wouldn’t be too bummed out. But if you do, it feels like you’ve proven somebody—maybe even yourself—wrong. As this class of students graduates, I hope that everyone sprinkles in a few wild, seemingly unattainable goals into their internalized aspirations. I bet everyone sitting here today is more capable than they might think; we all have the potential to fly against all odds like the ever-impressive bumblebee.
I give credit to my parents for instilling this ambition within me, for raising me with the attitude that nothing is out of my reach. With all of the nostalgia that I’ve felt in these last few weeks, I went to look at some old photos the other night—from way back when I was still too small to walk. In nearly every single photo, I noticed the pure excitement in my parent’s faces, and I realized that this enthusiasm hasn’t faded over the years. Thank you mom and dad for supporting me unconditionally all this time. I couldn’t be the person I am today without the values that you’ve given me.
While I’m at it, there’s a few other thank you’s I need to make. Thank you to the teachers who helped guide my interests, who have helped me complete an independent study, an internship, advised a club or team—and of course to the teachers who have taught me so many new things. Thank you to the administration and the guidance office for helping me navigate each year’s course load as well as the college and scholarship application process. And thank you to my peers: the Class of 2021. I have known many of you since my earliest days of school, and some of you have been in my memory for as far back as it can go. Whether you’ve been in this graduating class all along or joined us along the way, our group of people has become like a second family. We’ve been through a lot together—especially this year—and in the process we’ve grown closer and closer. Among these peers, I’d like to give a special shoutout to my friends who consistently pull me out of my house and stay on FaceTime with me until 3 a.m. while I make tuna salad and talk about my feelings. Taylor, I know how much you love listening to that. And lastly, within this group of friends is someone who I gladly invite to the stage after I step off—someone who never fails to impress me with his intellect and who consistently makes me laugh until my eyes water: our valedictorian, Mr. Joe Bradley.
Finally, as I’m sure you’ll hear many times tonight, congratulations to this amazing class. I’ve loved growing up with all of you. Thank you!