OMG, you're in charge: MCAD commencement speech - part 2

Pretty good deal, actually. A mountain of debt, and an important, important lesson: that there is no plan. I meet too many young people, not here so much, but at other colleges and universities, who have these carefully articulated, intricately architected career plans. They'll major in this, which will land them a job here, which will lead to a job there, which will get them into this graduate school, which will inevitably result in that position. And hearing this always makes me sad, because life is not an algebra problem where X will lead to Y and Y will lead to Z. It doesn't work that way. Now, that doesn't mean that as you leave here with your 700 stories, you should approach things— willy-nilly. But you can make decisions throughout the rest of your lives, in your work and in your life, for 2 kinds of reasons. You can make decisions for Instrumental reasons, because you think it will lead to something else. I'll major in this subject not because it's interesting, but because it'll get me a job. I'll work at this place even though it stinks, because I think it will credential me to work somewhere else. Or you can make decisions for fundamental reasons, because you want to do it, because it's inherently valuable, because it's part of who you are. Here's a dirty little secret. That I wish I had known 25 years ago. Instrumental reasons never work. The world is too tumultuous, too unpredictable, too hard to game. Those careful plans, believe me, those careful plans quickly become a cosmic joke. The most successful people, not all the time, but really most of the time, most of the time, make decisions for Fundamental reasons. They take a job or join an organization because it'll let them do interesting work in a cool place, even though they don't know exactly where it will lead. In my own life, once I switched from making instrumental decisions to making fundamental decisions, not only was I happier, I did better work. And that's how I ended up in my mid-40s writing a comic book. I mean a graphic novel. A graphic novel. Sorry. It's how I ended up working with Barb Schultz, a faculty member here and an expert inker, when a few years ago, I didn't know there were inkers. And it's how I ended up collaborating for 8 months with a sideburn-sporting, anime-watching guy roughly half my age who has a degree from this very school, Rob Tempus. Do you think that was part of some elaborate algebraic plan? No. No way. But I'm sure glad I did. And I'm sure glad Rob's here. And I'm sure glad Rob was able to lend his talent to my humble project, The Adventures of Johnny Bunko. Which, parents, you shouldn't borrow from your kids. You really should buy your own copy. If you still don't believe me, that's not in the prepared remarks. If you still don't believe me about the importance of not having a plan, I want you to try this experiment. Seriously, I want you to do this. Find someone who's doing something interesting, something you admire, something that has an impact on the world. Then ask that person how he or she ended up doing what he or she is doing. I guarantee you, I guarantee you that 99 out of 100 of the most interesting, accomplished, impactful people When you ask them how they got to do what they were doing, will answer this way: Ah, it's a long story. Why? Because they made decisions for fundamental reasons and then lived with the ambiguity of not knowing what was going to happen next. That kept them out of ruts and alert to opportunities. On to the second lesson. When I was younger and starting out as a writer, I believed that talent was everything, and that had me worried. But before long, I noticed something strange, something very strange. Some of my very talented peers soon started falling behind. And the people who passed them by often had less innate talent but did what their more blessed contemporaries did not. They showed up. And they showed up the next day. And the next, and the next, and the next. Class of 2008, be warned. The world is littered with talented people who didn't persist, who didn't put in the time, who thought they could ride on talent alone. Meanwhile, the people who do really great things, who truly leave an imprint, are often those who stuck with it the longest. In any field of endeavor, especially creative fields like yours, Persistence trumps talent. Persistence trumps talent. That's the second thing I'd like you to remember. There are massive returns to doggedness. Massive returns to doggedness. Now, the third and final thought that I'd like to leave you with, and here let me dole out to you, Generation Y, Z, whatever, Let me dole out a few spoonfuls of tough love to fortify the heaping bowls of self-esteem you've been fed in your young lives. The third thing I want you to remember: it's not about you. The world does not exist to make you happy, satisfied, and fulfilled. Other people are not on the planet to ensure that you are happy, Satisfied and fulfilled. Believe me, I actually want you to be happy, satisfied, and fulfilled. I really do. But the way to achieve that exalted state is to stop gazing at your navel and start looking at the wider world. The people who really thrive hitch their personal strengths, desires, and interests to a cause larger than themselves. I don't mean you have to end world hunger or solve the climate crisis. Though if you want to try that, that's cool by me. I mean that the people who are truly successful, not to mention happy, satisfied, and fulfilled, realize in the end it's not about them. They succeed at work by delighting the customer, by serving the client, or by helping their teammates shine. They succeed at art by enthralling the viewer or jolting the audience into a new way of seeing the world. They succeed at life by asking not what they can get, but what they can give. There is no plan. Persistence trumps talent. It's not about you. Let me say that again. There is no plan. Persistence trumps talent. It's not about you. Next week, you'll strike your senior show, pick up your diploma, and head into what everybody likes to call the real world. As you do that, there's one more story I want you to remember. Peggy Noonan, who wrote speeches for President Reagan, once explained that she had a 3-stage reaction to working in the White House. In stage 1, she looked around and she said, I hope nobody realizes how dumb I am. In stage 2, a little while later, she said, hey, I'm as smart as everyone here. And in stage 3, she said, oh my God, we're in charge? That was the same reaction that I had to working in the White House. In fact, that has been the reaction to pretty much everything that I have done in my adult life. But now it's your turn. Oh my God, you're in charge. That may terrify you, but it actually truly exhilarates me because I am impressed by your talent, because I am in awe of your persistence, and because I know that the very best among you, the ones whose names we'll know 20 years from now, the ones who will create the future for the rest of us, don't have a plan. Thank you. Congratulations. Now go out and change the world. Thank you. Thank you, Dan. Thanks very much. Wonderful. Thank you.