A Makeshift Commencement Address

Thankfully, I’m in my first of two years in an MFA playwriting program. I say thankfully because in the four weeks and five days since my school announced its transition to online learning, I’ve seen the second-year students’ dreams evaporate. Their thesis projects- full-length new plays- were to be presented by professional actors in a live reading in May. Now, like so many other aspects of our pre-Corona lives, they’ve been cancelled with no sign of rescheduling.

As a life-long theatre dork, my heart goes out to all the high school and college seniors who’ve had their own shows cancelled. The magic of standing with your community for the last time on the stage that shaped your education is a rite of passage. Some of my favorite memories are ugly-crying through my final high school and college performances- Fiddler on the Roof and Ragtime respectively- while secretly clutching my best friend’s hands on stage. We then transitioned to the local IHOP, where we could ugly-cry louder in public with the whole cast.

However, even more heartbreaking than cancelled shows has been the nationwide cancellation of commencements. More universal than theatre, or sports, or even senior prom is your long-prophesied graduation; the day celebrating your hard work and accomplishments when you finally receive the slip of paper that certifies you as a whatever-your-heart’s-desire-is.

While I’m not graduating again this year, when I moved home for the quaran-times I rediscovered my yearbooks in the time capsule that is my childhood bedroom. As I flipped through pages upon pages of spring activities, lost to the class of 2020, I’ve found myself thinking about commencements a lot.

I only recently realized it was odd to enjoy binging commencement speeches on Youtube the way my friends binge Vine compilations. Especially since I was never a valedictorian, nor gave a speech, at any graduation I’ve attended. Still, the hope, humor, and big ideas of these speeches have always drawn me in. No speech does this more so than the late great David Foster Wallace’s commencement address This Is Water, which he gave at Kenyon College in 2005. The essay was so memorable that it was later turned into a book, which is available on Amazon here.

The tag line of the book is “some thoughts, delivered on a significant occasion, about living a compassionate life.” I would argue that here and now is a pretty significant occasion, and I have some thoughts on this topic as well. So here is a commencement speech for those of you who might not otherwise get one, and those who just need to hear one. Whether you’re graduating or not, for the first time in a long time all of us humans are commencing a new stage in life together.

To understand the title This is Water, I have to preface by saying Foster Wallace begins his speech with a story. To briefly sum it up, two fish swimming in the ocean come across another older fish swimming in the other direction. In passing, the older fish remarks “Morning boys, how’s the water?” Later one of the younger fish turns to his friend and asks “What the hell is water?”

The purpose of this story is to help understand the meaning of living intentionally. Foster Wallace stresses that tiny gestures, everyday occurrences, can hold great importance on our lives. We underestimate the value of the totally obvious, because we operate on our default settings, to the point where we can miss details as apparent as the air- or in the fish’s case, water- we breathe.

Even though the adjustment to quarantine has been tough and unbelievable in so many ways, I still find myself slipping into routines. Now, entering week five of my quarantine, I can say for sure I’ve built myself a default daily setting.

It wasn’t hard. In fact, with everything going on in the world it felt at time like it was all I could do to be mindless. Then I rewatched this speech, and it catapulted me out of my comforter cocoon faster than Ron Weasley realizing he’s covered in spiders. I did it again, I thought. I took the easy way out.

This is Water posits that the real value of education is in teaching us awareness; how to pay attention. At just two years out of college, even I can support Foster Wallace’s assertion that much of being a “real adult” is boredom, routine, and petty frustration. Still, even he admits it’s unimaginably hard to remain conscious & aware in the adult world day in and day out. Which means you must constantly exercise your education throughout your entire life. We have to keep reminding ourselves over and over: “This is water.”

We can choose to make meaning out of the little things in our quarantines. Even things as monotonous and frustrating as being stuck in our parents’ houses or an endless cycle of daily Zoom calls. The key is to never be certain what’s coming next. As Foster Wallace says, “Absolute certainty is total imprisonment.” If you don’t consider the possibility of experiencing this time as anything other than miserable, that’s all it will ever be. Not to mention, lonely and self-centered, as our default worlds always are (I’m looking at you, sulking voice in the back of my head). You could have that long-overdue conversation with your Mom instead of using the same time to re-marathon Friends in your room. If you learn to be aware, you’ll see you can assign meaning to these bizarre times.

You hold the superpower of being able to make the ordinary sacred through simple awareness. That is what education gives you, and this awareness is real freedom. Awareness makes you able to truly to care about other people, which is what the world needs right now more than anything. It’s something you can practice from the safety of your own home; something we can all do, no matter how far apart we are or how long our social distancing lasts.

Who knows, maybe you’ll all get a delayed ceremony next fall. Maybe the curve will magically flatten just like the mystical “flat belly” we all so desperately seek, and we will be back in our respective dorms and apartment buildings tomorrow. Or maybe I’ll still be sitting in my childhood bedroom next year laughing at my optimism in this moment as I bemoan the impending death of my own thesis reading.

I don’t know. Neither do the world leaders, the scientists, or any other fallible human being alive on this planet right now. If they had, maybe I wouldn’t be sitting in my parents’ house flipping through my high school yearbook instead of seeing the Broadway musical Company tonight. But if this last month has taught me anything, it’s that David Foster Wallace knew what he was talking about when he said “blind certainty is total imprisonment.”

It’s when we become most sure of our place in life that the world likes to smirk and throw in a plot twist. The twist will be so brilliant and terrifying that you’ll drop the default manual you’ve clung to your entire life. And as terrifying as your new life without a manual will be, it could also be thrilling. For the same reason we attend horror movies and amusement parks in droves, we could view this time of change as exhilarating. We can become insatiably curious and compassionate. You can also focus on becoming more compassionate to yourself. Lord knows how many deep breathing meditations, puzzles, and adult coloring books I’ve completed in the last four weeks. Remember, your kindness can have a ripple effect.

So do what you need to do. But I beg you, don’t fall back into your default settings. You don’t have to focus on productivity. Focus on compassion. Get your older neighbor those groceries. Drink water, take a walk. Take a deep breath. And afterwards, take a second to look around your enclosed space and remind yourself:

This too is water. This is water.
Congratulations Class of 2020. Here’s that speech link again.