Joyful Persistence & Messy Piles of Imperfect Things
The graduation speech that is (happily!) living rent free in my head
May into early June is, naturally, the season of graduation speeches published online. While it seems like a few always garner significant attention (either because of content or celebrity . . . sometimes both), the one that resonated with me this year and isn’t leaving my thoughts anytime soon was Sarah Leavitt’s speech on Joyful Persistence1 for the School of Creative Writing at the University of British Columbia. Leavitt is a cartoonist, educator, and author of these words:
I hope you’ll think of graduation not as a completion or a stopping place, but as a pause before getting up and continuing on whatever your own path turns out to be. I hope that through your own process of trial and error, you’ll find a way to keep working that is sustainable for many years to come, and that brings you deep joy. Please keep in touch with us. Please tell us about your publications and awards. But also, will you do this? Will you tell us about how you found your people? Will you share with us your messy piles of imperfect things? Will you tell us the secrets you’ve found for making art in the midst of heartbreak? I hope so.
Here are the things that keep me reading and re-reading the paragraph above:
Milestones are not stopping places. Be it graduating or publishing a book, opening an art show, or meeting your crowdfunding goal. Pausing to honor the accomplishment is important. And then we continue.
We continue “On whatever your own path turns out to be.” Which may be the thing you studied in school, or the same kind of writing, art, or business, you’ve done before. But also, maybe not. Sometimes the secret to continuing to find joy in your work is switching up the work. It’s important to make space for that. For joy.
Finding your community is as important as awards and accolades. And also takes work. It’s going to meet-ups and events or taking classes or joining organizations. It’s texting or calling to set up lunch dates. It’s risking rejection for great reward.
We create through it all. Heartbreak and grief. Through the exciting and the mundane. When everyone is looking and when no one is (or it feels that way).
All of these sentiments resonate and seem so important to carving out a creative practice, but it’s the words “messy piles of imperfect things” that have rolled over and over in my head, because they are just so succinct and true. Finding our way in the world, creating anything, be it art or community, is rarely linear or even patterned. Figuring it out feels messy and imperfect. And yet that’s part of it all. It’s easy to see the group of friends sharing a meal, or read the essay, or use the handmade clay vessel, or eat the amazing pie and think it arrived in the world fully formed and yet, that’s rarely the case.
What would it be like to share more about that part of the process?
I’m here for it, how about you?
This Time Last Year
Another popular theme that shows up around graduation time is the letter to my former self or what I wish I had known concept. I wrote my own take on that last year: Dear Self.
Here’s a list of little joyful things, circa June 2023. I'd totally forgotten that it's been a year since Ted Lasso ended. (And the Alex P. Keaton and Ellen train station scene referenced—totally timeless, IMHO.)
Mindful Moment
This grounding yoga practice is one I return to often, even when it's not Earth Day. Nothing reminds you of the beauty in messy imperfection like the tree pose!
Squirrel of the Week
Huge thanks to reader AJ for sending this delight my way:
I’m a 5 and and an 8 today- tired, but also have some fun stuff on the schedule!
Are there any unforgettable graduation speeches playing on repeat in your head these days? Where are you on the squirrel scale? Does messy imperfection resonate with you?
Please do go read the whole thing. It’s lovely. And there are beautiful illustrations too.