It was my honor to deliver the keynote address for the Class of 2018 last night:
Dear Class of 2018,
thank you for inviting me to speak with you and our guests tonight.
We are going to start
with a little experiment. I am going to say some words, and you are going to
listen and pay attention to what you hear.
Yanny.
Laurel.
Jenny.
Laurel.
Maybe you heard me say Laurel.
Maybe you heard Yanny. I sneaked a Jenny in there too, in deference to the fact that many of you will start calling me that at
about 9:00 tonight if you haven’t already.
Recently, the internet
introduced us to this Yanny/Laurel sound file, and mysteriously, most of
us could only hear one of those words when it played. This prompted an
online debate reminiscent of the photo of the famous dress that circulated in
2015, which people declared to be either blue and black, or white and
gold. We now know that hearing Yanny or Laurel depends on the
frequencies your particular ears hear, and the color of the dress is related to
how your brain processes ambient light.
When I was a teenager I copied quotes from
song lyrics I thought were deep or relevant or really spoke to the devastating
romantic moment I was going through, and I would share them with my best
friend who was like, you listen to the lyrics? I listen to the
guitars. My mind was kind of blown.
To me songs were mostly about their meaning. To her,
they were about music. We were both listening to Oingo Boingo and hearing
different parts.
So what I find
fascinating about our reactions to these internet debates about words and
dresses is our absolute certainty that what WE perceive is the THE RIGHT ANSWER: “It’s Laurel, and the rest of you are crazy,” “the
dress is blue. There is no white.”
WHY is it so shocking to be
confronted with evidence that we see and hear things differently from one
another? After all, there are people who like pineapple on pizza
and who enjoy the smell of gasoline, and who can even walk on burning rocks
without flinching. Some of us are warm tonight, and others are cold, and
you cannot tell someone they’re not cold. We see, hear, taste, smell, and feel
things differently. We also find different things beautiful,
and funny, and gross, and sad, as well as easy and difficult. We believe
differently too.
Thank goodness, by the
way. I enjoy having friends with houses of different styles and colors
and eating dishes other people cook and I’ve appreciated YOUR unique approaches
to fashion and differing preferences and viewpoints and influences. I’m
urging us to move beyond it HAS to be Laurel, it’s ONLY EVER a white dress,
Crocs are universally ugly, and peanut butter and pickle sandwiches can never
be good. How about a different approach, like OMG, you love crocs?
Please tell me more about this affection you have for wide plastic shoes!
And then, we listen intently instead of shaking our heads in an inability
to understand and ACCEPT that some people enthusiastically rock crocs. Last
week my daughter asked me to put diced apples in her tuna sandwich and I was
like ewww, okay. And then I was hungry, and there was extra tuna, and I
tried it. You guys. This could be a new thing, like chicken
and waffles, or bacon with maple syrup.
We could stop replaying
the Yanny and Laurel loop in search of hidden syllables (or to prove ourselves
so very right about what we hear), and instead seek to understand one
another a little more--how others’ backgrounds, experiences, and influences
affect THEIR RESPONSES to the world and how things makes them feel--so
often differently from ourselves. I believe that’s one of the valuable
lessons from Anthony Bourdain, who found no cuisine, from a villager’s
daily porridge to the most expensive dish at a high-end restaurant, unworthy
of his exploration and our attention. Similarly, he valued the stories of
the people he met, both humble and famous, and championed the challenges
and contributions of dishwashers and executive chefs alike--as all essential
members of culinary teams who feed us.
Ms. Bice and I talked
recently about how critical it is for everyone, regardless of age and
experience, to feel they have stories to tell worthy of others’ ears.
She and your teachers have obviously had the purpose of teaching you,
but the essence of that purpose has been to prompt and elicit your OWN analyses
and understandings of what you’ve heard, read, seen, and experienced. Our
jobs are made joyful by the fact that WE KNOW your stories already
matter, and that they’re important and instructive.
We have much to learn
from generations before and after us, if we don’t condemn them for lack of
relevance or experience. We are watching the elders in our society grow
in understanding that high school students can be the greatest experts on
topics which affect them most acutely, and when they speak up and demand to be
heard. Millennials are teaching our parents and my generation that
money is best spent on experiences vs. things. It’s wise to to befriend
and consult older folks, too, particularly as you cross thresholds of life--we
elders can empathize and share our own experiences of self doubt, of loves
lost, of career pivots, and generally make you feel like you can get through,
too, as we have before you.
Class of 2018, you’ve
already demonstrated the depth of your awareness and ability to listen
carefully and perceptively not only to each other, but to members of your
community. You’ve paid attention.
It’s a quality of this class we
admire and celebrate. You’ve honored
contributions of all types of people who’ve supported you through your
recognitions and recent notes of gratitude to teachers, coaches, youth group
leaders, tutors, office staff, security guards, administrators, and substitute
teachers.
And on this journey we’ve all shared together students, staff, and families, we’ve listened to one another debate, play, sing, shout, joke, lecture, present, recite, whine, plead, argue, laugh, cry, apologize, and congratulate. These are all sounds of being human, recognizable no matter what frequencies our own ears hear. I’m grateful you and I were human here at CHS together. Graduates, keep your eyes and ears and minds and hearts open, seeking to understand more about this rich, diverse, and fascinating world you’ll help shape. Thank you, and love you all.
