Before reading, I strongly encourage that you watch the video of this speech, for those who have never seen it or for those who I addressed who need a refresher:
Four years ago, I stood on the stage of Avery Fisher Hall in Lincoln Center to deliver the commencement address at the graduation of the Class of 2009 of the Fiorello H. LaGuardia High School of Music & Art and Performing Arts. It remains one of the proudest moments of my young life, and I don't think I have yet to feel the same immense joy as I did on that day. My face hurt. It was numb from smiling so hard.
Now, as a college graduate with purportedly more life experience under my belt, I wanted to revisit my remarks from four years ago. I loved my speech, and I thought it was perfect. It still gives me chills when I watch it over again. It's pretty idealist and overly optimistic, but I was both of those things back then, and I guess I still am now. In retrospect, I have some comments about the speech, but I would never in a million years change any of it, and I have zero regrets.
Firstly, I still wonder why I was allowed to say a lot of the things I put in that speech. Though it was vetted numerous times by several high school administrators, a joke about my dream to be at the center of a homosexual tryst with several of the Jonas Brothers somehow made the cut. What ever happened to those guys anyway? Regardless, I guess that the rest of my speech still had that hopeful and encouraging tone that these kinds of things should have. It was pretty well thought out since I had drafts of it written down over a year before the speech finally came into fruition. I doubt that anyone else would have been able to say half of the things that I did, and that's what made the speech special.
I raised two main points: 1) Artists have a privileged, often misunderstood, point of view, and 2) With this privilege, artists must create a "mural," or some kind of large statement, that will serve as a legacy.
In my four years at the University of Rochester, I have experienced these two things firsthand. To this day, I still don't quite understand how I ended up at a school saturated with future doctors and engineers, but I fell in love with it, and this one fact alone changed the way I saw myself, my passions, and my future. Artists are definitely undermined, even in the world of academia, and this happened all the time at Rochester. It was difficult for some people, mostly those who spent their days in large science lectures and state-of-the-art laboratories, to grasp why being an artist was important. While they were off developing vaccines and studying monkey brains, I was in the dance studio. Or in a practice room trying to learn my way around a djembe, or an mbira, or a berimbau. In a world full of disease and despair, why would anyone spend their time studying something as frivolous as collegiate Indian folk dance teams?
It's because it's what keeps me inspired. It keeps my mind alert. It makes me think. The pursuit of knowledge is a never-ending one, so I'd rather pursue knowledge in something that makes me want to keep learning. It may not be practical, but who's to know what's practical anymore? Throughout college, I was challenged frequently about why I do what I do, and because of the academic environment at Rochester, I was also encouraged to branch out. We always hear that it's all about the chase, and that the journey is more important than the destination, and I couldn't find a better analogy than my undergraduate college career. My diploma sits on my bedroom floor under several loads of laundry and half-filled luggage bags. But what I experienced on the way to that diploma, most especially those things that didn't lead at all to attaining my degree, is what really helped me to develop as a student, a citizen, and a human being.
I realize now that artists are indeed privileged, but so is anyone blessed with any kind of education. Education is something that we must acknowledge gives us an upper hand, regardless of where we find our academic passion. The fact that, as college students, we are given the opportunity to learn about something that interests us, and spend a small fortune to do so, is the exception, not the rule. I've heard many different figures, but what I've gathered is that those who have received a diploma from an institution of higher learning are part of 1% of the world's population who can share in that achievement. What seems like a rite of passage for many people is actually an impossibility for most of the world and even much of America.
Artists are often seen as some kind of underdog, and I'd like to think that we still are, but the true underdogs are those artists, doctors, engineers, and what-have-you who did not have the opportunity to reach their potential. I hate to make this a grand social commentary, but I tend to do that. It's a shame that there are talented people out there who are unable to pursue what makes them happy, and I am so thankful to the universe (which is code for "my parents") for being able to do so.
As college graduates, we have extreme privilege, and with that, we have the responsibility to make the most of it. This is what I mean by creating your mural: we must use our status as a way to empower those who have none. We have to inspire, to engage, and to never lose sight of our passions because there are so many people whose dreams were crushed by the harsh reality of the cruel world around us. We must find the beauty that remains past the wretchedness we all encounter. That is our calling.
I still have the utmost faith that everyone has the capability to make this world a better place, and it is your responsibility to make a tangible difference. My sentiments from four years ago are still the same: create your mural in the image that you would like to see the world. More importantly, make a difference that only you can make. We each are here to contribute something important, and I can't wait to see what each of you do with that prophecy.
And as always, stay fierce, fabulous, and ferocious.
