I was told that the purpose of this speech was to be “lighthearted,”
but when I was trying to write it, and I looked at the commencement
schedule, I realized how difficult this would be. Most of the events
have so much natural comic value that they’re almost impossible
to match: the salutatorian’s address delivered entirely in
Aramaic with English subtitles, the P-rade, where the second-oldest
alumnus Charlestons fiercely behind the oldest alumnus, waiting
for him to collapse and drop the Cane of Power, the Step Sing, where
families are forced to watch the children whose education cost them
over a hundred-and-sixty-thousand dollars bargle out a mass, drunken
chorus of I’ve Got Friends in Low Places. Even the period
leading up to commencement is tough to follow. During the time when
other schools have a “Senior Week” with a variety of
university-sponsored events like booze cruises, we have a “Dead
Week” with a variety of biblical plagues, like hail and locusts.
It’s hard to get much lighter.
So, to amplify the light impact that I hope to have on your hearts,
at this time when there are many things that could possibly weigh
them down, I thought I’d explore some of my more overpowering
anxieties from the past four years.
It was unnerving to come to Princeton as an uninformed suburban
Jew and enter a room full of bright blond people standing in unison
to a stirring anthem and thrusting their fists into the air. It’s
been explained to me on many occasions that this gesture during
the alma mater is derived from such innocuous and outdated practices
as raising caps, or hoisting steins, or flogging servants, but I’m
still sometimes a bit unsettled by it. During Freshman and Sophomore
years, this anxiety dovetailed with the rejection anxiety that I
felt during Princeton’s patented Application and Exclusivity
Decathlon. Like most students, during my first two years, I was
rejected from freshman seminars, improv companies, dinner, intramural
sports, voicemail set-up. During junior year, my anxieties were
more subdued; did I choose the right major? does participating in
my eating club affiliate me with the communist party? am I the only
one who still wears a retainer?
But when I came back to campus at the beginning of this year,
I was finally accustomed to the way things work here, and I thought,
This is right, I’ve always been ready to be a senior. If I
could have been a senior the whole time, I would have been able
to take advantage of so much more; if I could have been a senior
the whole time, I might have known not to open that old manuscript
in the Rare Books Room that gave me cholera; if I could have been
a senior the whole time, I never would have gotten that $18 Rialto
haircut from a barber who watched an entire episode of Charles in
Charge while shaving my head without looking down. But some things
have to be learned through experience.
Today, breathing the proto-nostalgic air of commencement, I don’t
know if I’m ready to be whatever it is that comes after being
a senior. All this structure is about to dissolve. Many of us are
prepared for this. Some of us still want to cling to the warm glowing
warming glow of Princeton. But even though it may be hard to leave
this place, I have faith in the class of two-thousand ought four,
many of whose members will, as the old wisdom goes, walk out of
here as the servicers of humanity, or the vanguard of our nation’s
illustrious stock banks, banking markets, market houses, and stocking
marts. I might not join them. [In fact, my future employment is
still completely undetermined, Mr. Stewart]. But today, to show
my gratitude for having had this place and its people as part of
my life, I will do my best to throw off my anxieties and raise my
fist during that stirring old chorus, thrusting it up heartily,
one last time.