My Graduation Speech: Slow Down, You're Doing Fine

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Preface: I never thought I would have written a graduation speech senior year if the opportunity hadn’t practically fallen into my lap. My high school English teacher at the time, Mrs. Holbrook - who, if she is reading this, better know she is one of the greatest teachers I’ve ever had - was on the committee who decided which students got to speak at graduation. I did know I had plenty to say about my time at Duxbury, especially considering I am one of the most sentimental, nostalgic people in the world, so I decided to workshop a speech and see if it could lead to anything. 

And then I got hooked. 

I wanted my speech to be something that every student sitting in the audience could take away from. I also wanted it to be a message to myself. High School wasn’t easy and I knew that many people felt the same, so I wanted a chance to speak on the most memorable moments in school: the small ones. When I performed my speech in front of the committee for evaluation, I knew that even if I wasn’t picked, I was proud of myself for writing it at all.

And then I got picked. 

I spent every day drafting, editing, copying, changing, and solidifying my speech. I spoke it in a way that still makes me feel unbelievably proud of myself (sorry, but some self-love is okay on my own blog) and I did not need anybody else’s opinion to know it was good. But so many of my classmates ran over to me to tell me how much it had resonated with them, and it took me a few weeks to ride off that high completely. 

This is still one of my best pieces of writing and I am still extremely proud of it. It may not make sense to those that did not attend my public school system, but I still think its underlying message is what I still remind myself as I go through college. 

Here is my graduation speech. 

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To all here today: Dr. Klingaman, Mr. Donovan, administrators, teachers, staff, and the family and friends who have supported us through these four years: Hi! How are we? For the longest time, I tried to fit in a joke about how the heat wasn’t the reason I was sweating while standing before you, but the bottom line is, I am a bit nervous.

I’d like to thank the parents and guardians who have made today possible. I speak on behalf of our class when I say that we appreciate all of the packed lunches, drives to extracurriculars, and homework help. To the incredible faculty in our school district, your dedication to each one of us ensured that the quality of our education and our passion for learning never faltered, even during uncertain times. Thank you. 

And to the Class of 2022: We did it! We have faced great challenges and obstacles unprecedented for a high school experience. Miraculously, we became a class not divided but more connected and spirited than ever. We searched through plans B to Z, ensuring that our memories of high school would be as powerful as we hoped–and how lucky we are to not only have had our Spirit Week, but also our Senior Night Out, and our prom, and to be here…one last time…together. 

As I look back at what we have shared as a class, I am reminded of the regular scenes of high school we all remember: the hike up three flights of stairs, waiting in the long lunch line for pizza, and of course, that liberating bell at 2:48 p.m. Now, when that bell rings every afternoon, I fight my way through the crowd of students on Main Street, rushing alongside my peers to bust through the double doors and sprint to my car. Leaving the building efficiently requires the dexterity and agility of an Olympian: I must reach my car and escape the dreaded student lot before the never-ending wave of buses turns St. George Street into a sea of yellow. If I succeed, I am blessed with a quick drive to my house, able to get a jump on my homework, or…well…to probably procrastinate on my assignments and play with my dog (his name is Mookie, by the way). Yet, if I don’t succeed, I feel trapped. I become angry. Impatient. Horns are blaring, cars are cutting each other off, students are accelerating to flee faster. 

We are restless. And this feeling undoubtedly resonates outside of our student parking lot. 

You see, to me, we are always rushing. Anticipating. As we grow up, we are always asking questions like, When can I learn to ride my bike? When can I leave middle school? When can I get my license or vote? I find that in most aspects of my life, I am rushing. 

I am constantly antsy to move forward to “the next big thing.” But there’s a place where I am not–and it is at Duxbury Beach. When I feel overwhelmed, I drive down Washington Street. I roll down my windows to smell the marshes…hot take, the smell is lovely even at low tide…glancing at the perfect tree overlooking the bay before my tires ultimately cross onto our beloved wooden bridge. I park in the sand in a precise location to watch the waves crash endlessly onto the shore. Hopefully, I see the glistening sun descend on the horizon, its rays casting warm colors of orange, red, and pink: a photo op like no other, a Duxbury Bay sunset sure to be added to the 20,000 other pics cluttering my camera roll. Whether I am with friends or completely alone, the world goes quiet, and I am able to reflect. I am able to breathe. I do not rush; I just sit, and I watch.

As students, we have spent twelve years of our lives rushing through our education for…what? Racing where? Why? High school is hard, but like many journeys, we cannot wish it away. Which means we cannot wish our lives away. 

Or, really, we should not. Because as much as we all want to leave, as much as we think we are ready for that next “big thing,” we will miss all of the small moments that are happening right now. We lived those moments, indifferent to their significance. We’ll probably remain unaware of just how special they were until, one day, we’re longing for a Crumbl Cookie expedition or a Friday night football game. As the remnants of our younger selves appear vividly, we will wish to go back to the days of outdoor recess and Disney Channel original movie nights, even the laps around the hallways with friends in between classes. 

So, what can we do? Well, simply, we can slow down. We can look around a bit more at the small moments because eventually, however daunting it may seem, those moments sum up our whole lives. When we rush through the day, we risk not savoring the tiny details that make life beautiful–the first Farfar’s ice cream trip of the season or seeing friends pass by at Brothers. The instances where you danced to “Pump It Up” during our pep rally or felt incomprehensible pride while holding hands at the curtain call of Senior Class Plays. Our memories are special, unique, and cherishable. Let’s not throw them away. Because neglecting our past doesn’t prepare us for the future any better. It only makes life seem faster, maybe even less delightful. But it is those little joys, after all, that we will look back on and truly treasure. 

You may have been here since Chandler field days, or you joined our crew later on, but the memories of the people you sat with at lunch, shared a laugh with, or were simply parking-spot neighbors with will stay with you forever. 

But, Class of 2022, today marks the day we start a new chapter. And as much as I am excited for all of you, as much as I cannot wait to watch each and every one of us walk proudly on this stage as a final goodbye, I ask you all to take a deep breath. Really, breathe. Look around at the people you have known for what seems like our whole lives. I also ask you to look back and appreciate the people who guided you here. Embrace the gym-class shenanigans or pre-class cookouts. Whether you have loved every second of your time here or maybe aren't so sad to say farewell, this moment here is surreal. Don’t rush through it. 

And maybe once we throw our caps in the air and we hug our loved ones, you can take a drive down Powder Point. Go the speed limit, and park in the sand. Watch the sun set as it does every day, take a deep breath, and remember how beautiful it is to be a part of it all.