[Oe List ...] Commencement speech by Anna Quindlen--a great witness

[Alice Baumbach]

This is the commencement speech by the novelist, Anna Quindlen, to the

graduates at Villanova this year.(2006)



"It's a great honor for me to be the third member of my family to receive

an honorary doctorate from this great university. It's an honor to 
follow my

great Uncle Jim, who was a gifted physician, and my Uncle Jack, who is a 
remarkable

businessman. Both of them could have told you something important about

their professions, about medicine or commerce. I have no specialized field

of interest or expertise, which puts me at a disadvantage talking to you

today. I'm a novelist.



My work is human nature. Real life is all I know. Don't ever confuse the

two, your life and your work. The second is only part of the first. Don't

ever forget what a friend once wrote Senator Paul Tsongas when the 
senator decided not

to run for re-election because he had been diagnosed with cancer:

"No man ever said on his deathbed, 'I wish I had spent more time at the

office.'"



I'll never forget the words my father sent me on a postcard last year, "If

you win the rat race, you're still a rat." Or what John Lennon wrote before

he was gunned down in the driveway of the Dakota, "Life is what happens 
while you are

busy making other plans." You will walk out of here this afternoon with 
only one thing

 

that no one else has. There will be hundreds of people out there with 
your same degree;

there will be thousands of people doing what you want to do for a 
living. But you will

be the only person alive who has sole custody of your life. Your particular

life. Your entire life. Not just your life at a desk, or your life on a 
bus, or in a

car, or at the computer. Not just the life of your mind, but the life of

your heart. Not just your bank account but your soul. People don't talk 
about the soul

 

very much anymore.



It's so much easier to write a resume than to craft a spirit. But a resume

is a cold comfort on a winter night or when you're sad, or broke, or 
lonely,

or when, you've gotten back the test results and they're not so good.



Here is my resume: I am a good mother to three children. I have tried never

to let my profession stand in the way of being a good parent. I no longer

consider myself the center of the universe. I show up. I listen. I try 
to laugh. I

am a good friend to my husband. I have tried to make marriage vows mean 
what

they say. I am a good friend to my friends, and they to me. Without them,

there would be nothing to say to you today, because I would be a cardboard

cut out. But I call them on the phone, and I meet them for lunch. I 
would be

rotten, or at best mediocre at my job, if those other things were not true.

You cannot be really first rate at your work if your work is all you are.



So here's what I wanted to tell you today: Get a life. A real life, not a

manic pursuit of the next promotion - the bigger paycheck, the larger 
house.

Do you think you'd care so very much about those things if you blew an

aneurysm one afternoon, or found a lump in your breast? Get a life in which

you notice the smell of salt water pushing itself on a breeze over 
seaside heights - a

life in which you stop and watch how a red tailed hawk circles over the

water or the way a baby scowls with concentration when she tries to pick 
up a Cheerio

with her thumb and first finger.



Get a life in which you are not alone. Find people you love, and who love

you. And remember that love is not leisure, it is work. Pick up the phone.

Send an e-mail. Write a letter. Get a life in which you are generous. 
And realize

that life is the best thing ever, and that you have no business taking it

for granted.



Care so deeply about its goodness that you want to spread it around. Take

money you would have spent on beers and give it to charity. Work in a soup

kitchen. Be a big brother or sister. All of you want to do well. But if 
you do not

do good too, then doing well will never be enough.



It is so easy to waste our lives, our days, our hours, our minutes. It is

so easy to take for granted the color of our kids' eyes, the way the melody

in a song rises and falls and disappears and rises again. It is so easy to

exist instead of to live.



I learned to live many years ago. Something really, really bad happened to

me, something that changed my life in ways that, if I had my druthers, it

would never have been changed at all. And what I learned from it is 
what, today,

seems to be the hardest lessons of all:



* I learned to love the journey, not the destination.

* I learned that it is not a dress rehearsal, and that today is the only

guarantee you get.

* I learned to look at all the good in the world and try to give some of it

back because I believed in it, completely and utterly. And I tried to do

that, in part, by telling others what I had learned.

* Consider the lilies of the field.

* Look at the fuzz on a baby's ear.

* Read in the backyard with the sun on your face.

* Learn to be happy.

* Think of life as a terminal illness, because if you do, you will live it

with joy and passion as it ought to be lived."