Action is Worry's Worst Enemy

Each year my seniors conclude by presenting ten-minute long commencement speeches. It has become a tradition for me to write one as well, my final message as they head out into the world that awaits. Here is this year's speech. 

Some morning near the end of high school, I stood on the beach in Ocean City and watched the sunrise. I remember seeing that sunrise as the perfect symbol of my own new beginnings. I was only weeks away from graduation, and I was ready for the next step in my life.

That year Nelson Mandela had been elected the first black president of South Africa, and I was positive that was proof of the world leaving racism behind. That year the Irish Republican Army agreed to a ceasefire, ending years of bombings and shootings, and I was certain that was evidence of the world turning its back on terrorism. That year the United States and Russia agreed to stop pointing nuclear weapons at each other, and I was sure that signaled end of governments threatening mutual annihilation.

I saw in that sunrise all the promise of a world turning its back on hate, and moving toward a just and peaceful future. I was young and filled with hope.

That was 1994, nearly a quarter century ago. The world has not progressed the way my teenage self believed it would. Of the ills I thought were disappearing, many are even stronger today. These days the events of the world errode my sense of idealism and hope almost as surely as a strong nor’easter can erode the shoreline I stood upon all those years ago. Some days I think the undertow might just pull my sense of hope right out from beneath my feet and wash it out to sea.

On those days I feel especially grateful that I get to be a teacher. Being a teacher gives me a daily reminder that there is an army of young people already fighting to fix the mess they see around them. Over the last couple of weeks, as you have all spoken so honestly about what you have learned in your life so far and your hopes for the future, you have helped replenish my sense of hope.

One of the anecdotes shared during your speeches - that of the burgundy car - really got me thinking.

Since not all of you have heard Dan’s story of the burgundy car, here is a quick recap. He was walking alone along the side of the road one afternoon when a car passed by and then pulled to the shoulder. No one got out; the car just sat there. In his mind, he began to worry. You see, Dan knew that we live in world filled with menace. He knew from Trayvon Martin that when you are a young black man, just walking along the street can end in death. He began to worry.

Well, as that sense of worry took hold that afternoon on the side of the road, Dan took a good hard look at that burgundy car and said without hesitation: “Fuck this. I’m out.”

There are more and more days I want to do just that. There are days I want to retreat with my wife and sons to the secluded hills of Vermont, get some goats and maybe a cow, plant a vegetable garden, throw up some solar panels, and live totally off the grid. Because then, I imagine, I could finally stop worrying.

Removed from society like that, I would be able to ignore racism’s resurgence in this country. Without wi-fi and cell service I would be able to ignore the stories of another powerful man using his position to assault and abuse women. I could homeschool my kids and ensure they are never the focus of a candlelight vigil and the thoughts and prayers of the leaders who have failed them. I could stop worrying that the world being turned over to you is a total mess.

“Fuck this,” I could say to all that worries me. “I’m out.”

I have contemplated this a lot this year - your graduation year- because it has offered wave upon wave of worry. There are all sorts of things for you, the class of 2018, to be worried about as you head out into the world.

You should worry that climate change continues to drive storms that used to come once a century, but now come closer to once a year. You should worry that our government’s response to Hurricane Maria may have been slowed by the fact that the people living there did not have skin the color of mine, or fatter wallets, or stock portfolios and second homes.

You should worry that the frequency of school shootings in this country has driven your English teacher - a man who has never held, much less fired, a gun - to endorse the idea of training and arming teachers so we can shoot back. You should worry that our elected officials continue to take money from the NRA, a process that holds gun reform hostage. You should worry about all the inner-city kids being shot down in American streets that look more like a warzone than the land of the free.

You should worry that it feels like a relief to me to have sons in a world where men of power prey on our daughters.

You should worry that not everyone in our country believes that #BlackLivesMatter, just as you should worry about cheering for a sport that has just told its athletes to be quiet and stop drawing attention to the racial injustices we face.

You should worry about the threat of a nuclear war with North Korea, about the separation of immigrants from their children, about the opioid epidemic, about the growing gap between the wealthy and the poor.

Wave upon wave of worry crashing upon our collective sense of hope. “Fuck this,” I am so tempted to say. “I’m out.”

But, here is the thing: not getting involved won’t lessen the hold worry has on me about our future. Trying to ignore the ills of society won’t make them any less real, any less damaging, or any less frightening. Whether someone disappears into the hills, or into the distractions of money and material possessions, ignoring it won’t fix anything. So here is the message I want to send you as you contemplate what your place in this world will be: ACTION IS WORRY’S WORST ENEMY.

I got that from a fortune cookie. My wife hung it up on our refrigerator and it has been a guiding principle for me since. As I have struggled to take what has been bleak year of headlines and create a commencement speech to conclude the year, I thought that was the answer. A fortune cookie. Being older and wiser, I would enlighten you with this one final message before you leave us for good.

Then you all started presenting your year-end speeches. It was listening to you that I realized, you have apparently already gotten that fortune with your lo mein noodles. You have already learned that action is worry’s worst enemy, and many of you already do it better than I ever have. That gives me hope. I still sometimes look at the world and think, “Fuck this.” But, your embodiment of that simple fortune-cookie phrase helps me follow that thought up with the words “I’m in” rather than “I’m out.” You inspire me to act.

When Talia saw a friend of hers disappearing in the grip of an eating disorder, she was worried as all of us would have been. But then she risked the very friendship she hoped to save by acting upon her concern and telling some adults who could get her friend the help she needed. When Casey then walked into a room of adults who now new her secret, she was worried. Then she committed to taking action, and she worked her way back to health.

When Garret worried about socializing, he put a smile on his face and made it his mission to befriend his coworkers. Robb worries about the little girl he saw on that emergency call, beaten and terrified. His worry does not paralyze him into inaction; instead it gets him back out in the ambulance for another shift. Alex and Marissa were worried about the abusive relationships they were in, and they found themselves a way out. Anthony was worried about the homeless woman he saw outside of Shoprite every week, so he humanized her, and talked to her. Tyler and Emily were worried they might not be able to make it in this life, but they fought to find hope and something to stick around for. Antonios was worried about a prom date, so he asked. Musa was worried about racism and a language barrier, so he studied harder.

Turns out the lesson I thought I could teach you was one you had already learned. The young men and women you have become offers me hope that alleviates much of my worry. You have shown clearly over the last couple of weeks that you know action is worry’s worst enemy.

I don’t sleep as soundly as I did when I was in high school. Driven from bed by some nagging worry I see more sunrises than I used to, and they always do the same thing. They remind me of new beginnings. They remind me that while every generation has its problems, we can act to change them. It is in those acts that we give our lives meaning, that we find our purpose, that we connect with others, and hopefully it is through those acts that we take a step toward making this a better place despite it all.

So here, instead of some wise piece of advice, I have for you - the Class of 2018 - a plea. As you set about deciding your future, consider how you will act to combat our collective worry. At a time in your lives when many will counsel you to focus on a career that will make more money and buy more material possessions, think deeply about how your career will work to change the things that worry you. Action, not money, is worry’s worst enemy.

I hope that as you move forward through life you are pulled from sleep a little before your alarm by some nagging worry, because if you are not worried, it means you are not paying attention. I hope you then look out your window at a sunrise and see in it a new start and a chance to act. I hope you live lives dedicated to that principle: action is worry’s worst enemy.

I am proud of you the way a father is proud of his own children. Because of you, I am hopeful for our collective future. I will miss all of you next year. I wish you all confidence and happiness.

Congratulations.