“I’m a novelist. My work is human nature. Real life is all I know. Don’t
 ever confuse the two, your life and your work. You will walk out of here
 this afternoon with only one thing that no one else has.
 
 There will be hundreds of people out there with your same degree: there
 will be thousands of people doing what you want to do for a living. But you
 will be the only person alive who has sole custody of your life. Your particular life. Your entire life. Not just your life at a desk, or your
 life on a bus, or in a car, or at the computer. Not just the life of your
 mind, but the life of your heart. Not just your bank accounts but also your
 soul.
 
 People don’t talk about the soul very much anymore. It’s so much easier to
 write a resume than to craft a spirit. But a resume is cold comfort on a
 winter’s night, or when you’re sad, or broke, or lonely, or when you’ve
 received your test results and they’re not so good.
Here is my resume: I am a good mother to three children. I have tried
 never to let my work stand in the way of being a good parent. I no longer
 consider myself the centre of the universe. I show up. I listen. I try to
 laugh. I am a good friend to my husband. I have tried to make marriage vows
 mean what they say. I am a good friend to my friends and they to me.
 Without them, there would be nothing to say to you today, because I would
 be a cardboard cut out. But I call them on the phone, and I meet them for
 lunch. I would be rotten, at best mediocre, at my job if those other things
 were not true. You cannot be really first rate at your work if your work is
 all you are.
 
 So here’s what I wanted to tell you today: Get a life. A real life, not a
 manic pursuit of the next promotion, the bigger pay cheque, the larger
 house. Do you think you’d care so very much about those things if you blew
 an aneurysm one afternoon, or found a lump in your breast?
 Get a life in which you notice the smell of salt water pushing itself on a
 breeze at the seaside, a life in which you stop and watch how a red-tailed
 hawk circles over the water, or the way a baby scowls with concentration
 when she tries to pick up a sweet with her thumb and first finger.
 
 Get a life in which you are not alone. Find people you love, and who love
 you. And remember that love is not leisure, it is work. Pick up the phone.
 Send an email. Write a letter.
 
 Get a life in which you are generous. And realize that life is the best
 thing ever, and that you have no business taking it for granted. Care so
 deeply about its goodness that you want to spread it around. Take money you
 would have spent on beer and give it to charity. Work in a soup kitchen. Be
 a big brother or sister. All of you want to do well. But if you do not do
 good too, then doing well will never be enough.
 It is so easy to waste our lives, our days, our hours, and our minutes. It
 is so easy to take for granted the color of our kids’ eyes, the way the
 melody in a symphony rises and falls and disappears and rises again. It is
 so easy to exist instead of to live. I learned to live many years ago. I learned to love the journey, not the
 destination. I learned that it is not a dress rehearsal, and that today is
 the only guarantee you get. I learned to look at all the good in the world
 and try to give some of it back because I believed in it, completely and
 utterly. And I tried to do that, in part, by telling others what I had
 learned. By telling them this: Consider the lilies of the field. Look at
 the fuzz on a baby’s ear. Read in the back yard with the sun on your face.
Learn to be happy. And think of life as a terminal illness, because if you
 do, you will live it with joy and passion as it ought to be lived.”
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