I participated in 5 commencement ceremonies this past Friday and Saturday, one for graduate studies and one for each college at the University of Southern Indiana. Each time, I donned my regalia, carried a gonfalon*, and sat as a member of the platform party. Some elements of the ceremonies were the same, but each had its own student reflection and commencement speaker.

In the space of about 26 hours, I heard 5 commencement speakers…which led me to think…what would *I* tell the Class of 2019? What would I say during a commencement speech?

So…here’s my stab at some advice for graduating students. Or for non-graduating students. Or non-students and other people. Any people. For whomever happens to be reading this blog. I think this is kind of my all-around life advice, but let’s pretend it’s a commencement speech.

*I cannot say “I carried a gonfalon” without immediately thinking “I carried a watermelon” and I really wish that we had started dirty dancing with our gonfalons. ALSO: a gonfalon is a fancy-ass word for a banner. When I received the email inviting me to be a gonfalonier at our ceremonies, I had to google it. Yup. So much for that PhD. ALSO ALSO: in case you’re wondering, I carry a gonfalon because I’m the Director of our Honors Program and the Honors Program now has a gonfalon! It’s kind of exciting! Almost as exciting as a watermelon!!

Image of a drum, two drum sticks, and the words “Drum Roll Sound.” Cuz I’m cheesy like that.

Head shot of me looking really goofy in my regalia and tam with bright red lipstick. (My lipstick looks on point!)

Graduates! Or whoever’s reading this blog! Congratulations on graduating! Or not, if you’re not graduating–that’s cool too. Congratulations on just being awesome enough to read this blog.

A lot of commencement speakers urge you to work hard, to seize every opportunity, to leave your mark, to follow your dreams no matter what.

Yeah, that’s all well and good. I mean, I’m not going to tell you NOT to do those things. But I want to focus on a few things that I find more important.

FIRST, be your own best friend. And by this I mean: Be gentle with yourself. Watch your self-talk. When you hear that little voice in your head, the one you use to talk to yourself, make sure you’re talking to yourself as kindly and gently as you would talk to your best friend. Think about it. You would NEVER tell your best friend that they are a failure, that they look horrible and disgusting, that they are stupid, that they are a loser, that everyone hates them. And yet? We say these kinds of thing to ourselves all the time.

Stop it. Tell yourself that you tried hard and you’re still learning, tell yourself that you’re smart and capable and worthy of love.

Don’t say anything to yourself that you wouldn’t say to your best friend. Be gentle.

SECOND, you’re going to hear a lot of crap about what you should and shouldn’t do with your body. Watch sugar. No, watch carbs. No, actually eat only raw food. No, you should actually fast half the time. Actually, now we’ve discovered you should eat only pink, polka-dotted foods…

Here’s what I believe: eat intuitively, move joyfully, and radically love your body.

Eat what you want to, what your body asks for, and ENJOY what you eat. Move in ways that bring you joy, whether that’s running marathons, dancing in clubs, hula-hooping, splashing in the pool with your dog, knitting on your couch, gardening, making funny faces, high fiving someone, having a thumb war–whatever it is for you.

Most importantly, embrace radical acceptance and love for your body. It doesn’t matter if you’re thin or fat or average, tall or short or in between, able-bodied or living with a physical or mental disability or illness. Love yourself. You’re the only you you’ll ever have. Love. Don’t seek to control and shape and tame your body like it’s some kind of enemy. Embrace yourself and love yourself right this minute. Your body is not a project to be fixed. Your body is lovely. Right now.

Eat intuitively, move joyfully, and radically love your body.

THIRD, make time to engage in creative play. That might mean painting or drawing, writing fiction or designing web art. But it could also look like playing board games or Dungeons & Dragons. Playing tags with the neighbor kids. Going to the arcade. Crocheting Marvel superheroes. Make time for creative play.

FOURTH, be your most authentic self. That’s it. Be yourself. Surround yourself with people who encourage you–who make it easy for you–to be your authentic self.

If you’re like me, you may have grown up with people thinking you’re too much. I’ve always been told I have too many opinions. I care too much. I think too much. I talk to much.

Or maybe you feel like you’re not enough. If only you were more This, maybe that person wouldn’t have dumped you. If you were more That, maybe you’d have more friends. If you had more The Other Thing, somebody would like you more and give you some kind of opportunity.

You know what?

None of that is true. I’m here to promise you–PROMISE YOU–you are enough. You are enough.

You are not too much. You are not too little. You are exactly enough. You, just as you are, this most authentic you.

Be you. You are enough.

FIFTH–and this is the last point, I promise–be nice. Every person you encounter, from the jerk who tailgates you on the Lloyd Expressway to the boss at your new job, from your own parents to the person working the drive through at Starbucks, from the custodian to the President of this university–every single person is going through something that you don’t know about. Treat everyone you meet as if they’re doing the best they can with what they’ve got at that moment, because that’s probably true. Assume the best about people, until you’re sure of the opposite.

David Foster Wallace talked about this much better in the commencement speech he gave at Kenyon College in 2005. If you want to hear a REALLY good commencement speech, please listen to his.

But you didn’t get David Foster Wallace. You got me.

And I think these five things are the best I have for you.

• Be your own best friend, with gentleness and compassion for yourself.
• Eat intuitively, move joyfully, and radically love your body.
• Make time to engage in creative play.
• Be your most authentic self. You are enough.
• And be kind. Always.

Thank you.

Picture of a bright orange goldfish on a white background. The fish is looking at you. AT YOU. If you have no idea why there’s a fish, follow the link to David Foster Wallace’s speech. You’ll be glad you did.

In spite of it all, spring comes.

This morning, I woke up and read about forty-nine people murdered in Christchurch, about the horrid, insidious spread of white nationalism, about hatred so entrenched someone justifies live-streaming a massacre.

Then my daughter spoke with me about her worries for a friend: how depressed are they? are they suicidal? how can we reach out and help people? how do we help and care while maintaining boundaries that allow us to be healthy? what are healthy boundaries? how do we keep others’ problems from consuming us?

Then when it was just my son and me in the car on the way to school, my son says: Mom, it seems like Gary is just getting worse and worse. Will he keep getting worse? Will he die?

So we had a long conversation about incurable, degenerative disease. We’ve had this talk before, but we revisit as needed. Yes. That means it gets worse. No, Parkinson’s doesn’t kill people, but, yes, it’s likely Gary will have a shorter lifespan than he would have. But no, he’s not in any imminent danger of death. And yes, we’ve lost things. It’s okay to mourn. It’s okay to be sad, because we wish Gary didn’t have Parkinson’s. It’s okay to grieve. And yet, we can still hold onto the good moments, the things we have left, the things we share, the things we can do together, the love we all still have. But, yes, my sensitive, loving son, there is a ton of grief.

That was today, so far.

Yesterday was also kind of a rough and weird day, especially for my son. All of us were stuck in our respective work/school safe areas for about two hours during a tornado warning. He lost his favorite hoodie, which may have walked away with another kid. He had a number of other small, but meaningful-to-him disappointments. While I tucked him in, he burst into tears and said, “I think I’ve ruined my life.”

I was a bad mom in that moment. I laughed. I laughed without meaning to. I laughed at the over-intense drama. I laughed because he’s 12 and there’s no way he’s done anything close to ruining his life. I laughed because he’s wonderful and in no way ruined.

He immediately said, “Don’t laugh!” and all the angst and anguish, the giant life emotions, the earnestness of his pain rang in his voice.

“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry. You feel awful and you’re right: no one should ever laugh at you for feeling awful. Your feelings matter.”

No one should laugh at pain.

I held him while he cried and eventually fell asleep.

He said, “I think I’ve ruined my life,” but I think what he meant was this: Why is life so hard? Why is there suffering? Why do I feel bad? If I feel bad, I must have done something wrong. Why do I feel like I must have done something wrong when I don’t even know what that would have been? There must have been something I did wrong for the world to have come to such a state–a state of sorrow and grief, frustration and anger, loneliness, pain, hatred, death. Why? WHY? How can I fix the world? How can it be possible that I can’t fix the world? If you’re telling me I didn’t do anything wrong and this is just the way the world is, then that means I can’t even fix it?? If I can’t fix the world, then what next? Why oh why is there such suffering? Am I powerless over the suffering?

There is so much grief and suffering. The weight of it, when I allow myself to feel it, threatens to smother me.

And yet.

Yesterday, the first of our crocuses bloomed. Purple ones, which are my favorite. I didn’t plant these. In fact, I didn’t even know they were there.

We moved into a new house last May and these little gifts–these miracles–these bulbs now twine upward into the sun. Purple crocuses around one tree. Clusters of green stems and leaves race to show in our flower beds. Will they be tulips? Daffodils? Irises? Hyacinths? I have no idea. They are shockingly joyful surprises and I will watch them unfold.

Somehow this all makes sense to me, the way the pain and suffering intertwines with the gentle reminder of life and beauty, the notice me of love and light.

Yes. I will notice you, little bulbs. I will celebrate your beauty and bravery. I will let you remind me.

In spite of it all, spring comes.

A cluster of five purple crocus blooms and green leaves popping up in brown mulch.

I’m back.

I think. Mostly. Or at least kind of.

January was a hectic, busy, overwhelming month where I took NOT ONE, BUT TWO Odyssey online writing classes (because I’m an overzealous glutton for work?). I learned a lot. I spent at least 15 hours a week on the classes (some weeks more). I wrote 24k words in total–and these weren’t first draft words, but were at least semi-edited and ready for classmates/teacher critique.

I also did all the normal things of life, like, you know, my actual paying job, parenting 3 kids, care-partnering with Gary, cooking at least some of the time (we survived on more frozen food than usual), and cleaning a bit (um, the house did suffer).

By the end of the month, I was pretty damned exhausted. I took the last 4 weeks off from any expectation of writing–I looked at a few things once or twice, but accomplished mostly nothing except rejuvenation. And that’s okay!!!!

So, Sarah, what did you think of the Odyssey online classes? 

I learned a lot and I’m still absorbing everything. I would NOT recommend taking two at the same time (SO MUCH), but also? I’m glad I did, because the two classes were so very different–the teachers were quite different, the “style” of the classes were different–if I’d only taken one, I might have a completely different picture of the classes writ large. I’m proud of myself for working as hard as I did.

What were your classes about?

One focused on “emotional truth”–depicting realistic, evocative, compelling emotional stories in writing. The other focused on “realistic descriptions”–using descriptive text to establish character, mood, POV, etc.

I went in thinking the topics would be quite different, but actually felt an amazing level of congruity in what I learned. I’m ready to put some of this thinking and some of these techniques to work.

Would you recommend the Odyssey classes?

ABSOLUTELY. You’ll get as much out of them as you put in.

What are you going to do now? 

I’m getting back to long-overdue edits for Rising Wolf, adapting SMASH for an adult market, and getting back to Marked. Edits first. Must finish or my editor may hunt me down.

Will you be around more on this blog and social media?

Uh, I’m not sure who’s asking, because I’m not 100% convinced anyone missed my presence, but YES, I’m gonna try really hard to be present. 🙂

Woot.

You know what human beings are really good at?

Moving goal posts.

There was a point in time when I thought: “If only I could actually finish writing a novel–a whole novel–it wouldn’t even matter if anyone else read it or liked it.”

Then I wrote a novel (NOT a good one) and it became: “Okay, if only I could write a GOOD novel that would get PUBLISHED and people would enjoy it!”

Then I published two novels and started to think: “Okay, the people who read my novels really enjoy them, but not enough people are reading my work. These two novels were with a small press. If only I could get a good agent and publish something with a better press.”

And I think: “I want to sell enough short stories to professional markets that I can become a member of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America.”

I start sending out stories. Some of my pieces make it to the final rounds of cuts in really high quality markets. I get a number of personal rejections, not just form rejections. That’s all good. I know that’s good. I see the statistics on The Submission Grinder and I know how hard this is.

I sign with Irene Goodman, who is a fantastic agent–encouraging, thoughtful, and kind, with great connections and a solid reputation. She’s shopping around SMASH: Tearing Down Gender Rules. 

I’m publishing book three of Calling the Moon in 2019 with the small press.

I’m working on Marked, a young adult fantasy novel that I’m really excited about.

I got selected to attend a really cool online writing workshop and I’ll get to learn a bunch there (more news on that when I’m allowed to share it).

I write at least 5 days out of 7, even if it’s only 400 words some days.

Why do I keep moving my own goal posts instead of recognizing my accomplishments and appreciating how hard I’m working?

I don’t think I’m alone in this, right? Some of you feel this way, too? I think many of us have a hard time celebrating ourselves. Instead, we’re filled with imposter syndrome. As soon as we accomplish something, we move the goal posts for ourselves. We want to meet the NEXT goal.

I’m going to start thinking more consciously about this–about celebrating myself. You know how some football players do crazy dances in the end zone? They strut and prance and carry on a bit?

We need to do that more in life. We need to celebrate ourselves. We need to embrace our accomplishments and bask in them. We need to remember what we HAVE done–instead of always moving toward the next thing we want to do.

I’m going to work on this. Celebrating.