J.K. Rowling
Copyright June 2008
As prepared for delivery
President Faust, members of the Harvard Corporation and the Board of Overseers, members of the (faculty), proud parents, and, above all, graduates,
The first thing I would like to say is 'thank you.' Not only has Harvard given me an (extraordinary honour), but the weeks of fear and (nausea) I've experienced at the thought of giving this commencement address have made me lose weight. A win-win situation! Now all I have to do is take deep breaths, (squint) at the red banners and fool myself into believing I am at the world's best-educated Harry Potter convention.
Delivering a commencement address is a great responsibility; or so I thought until I (cast) my mind back to my own graduation. The commencement speaker that day was the distinguished British philosopher Baroness Mary Warnock. Reflecting on her speech has helped me (enormously) in writing this one, because it turns out that I can't remember a single word she said. This liberating discovery enables me to proceed without any fear that I might inadvertently influence you to abandon (promising) careers in business, law or politics for the (giddy delights) of becoming a gay wizard.
You see? If all you remember in years to come is the 'gay wizard' joke, I've still come out ahead of Baroness Mary Warnock. Achievable goals: the first step towards personal improvement.
Actually, I have (wracked) my mind and heart for what I ought to say to you today. I have asked myself what I wish I had known at my own graduation, and what important lessons I have learned in the 21 years that has expired between that day and this.
I have come up with two answers. On this wonderful day when we are gathered together to celebrate your academic success, I have decided to talk to you about the benefits of failure. And as you stand on the (threshold) of what is sometimes called 'real life', I want to (extol) the crucial importance of imagination.
These might seem (quixotic) or (paradoxical) choices, but please bear with me.
Looking back at the 21-year-old that I was at graduation, is a slightly uncomfortable experience for the 42-year-old that she has become. Half my lifetime ago, I was striking an uneasy balance between the (ambition) I had for myself, and what those closest to me expected of me.
I was (convinced) that the only thing I wanted to do, ever, was to write novels. However, my parents, both of whom came from (impoverished backgrounds) and neither of whom had been to college, took the view that my overactive imagination was an amusing personal (quirk) that could never pay a (mortgage), or secure a pension.
They had hoped that I would take a (vocational degree); I wanted to study English Literature. A compromise was reached that in (retrospect) satisfied nobody, and I went up to study Modern Languages. Hardly had my parents' car rounded the corner at the end of the road than I ditched German and (scuttled off) down the Classics corridor.
I cannot remember telling my parents that I was studying Classics; they might well have found out for the first time on graduation day. Of all subjects on this planet, I think they would have been hard put to name one less useful than Greek mythology when it came to securing the keys to an executive bathroom.
I would like to make it clear, (in parenthesis), that I do not blame my parents for their point of view. There is an (expiry) date on blaming your parents for (steering) you in the wrong direction; the moment you are old enough to take the wheel, responsibility lies with you. What is more, I cannot criticise my parents for hoping that I would never experience poverty. They had been poor themselves, and I have since been poor, and I quite agree with them that it is not an (ennobling) experience. Poverty (entails) fear, and stress, and sometimes depression; it means a thousand petty (humiliations) and hardships. Climbing out of poverty by your own efforts, that is indeed something on which to pride yourself, but poverty itself is romanticised only by fools.
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