Illustration by Walter Green

Class of 2050, faculty, alumni, family, and friends:

I remember when I sat where you sit today. The year was 2020. The fires from the Impact still smoldered in their craters. Madonna’s “Dance Dance Boom Boom” had just hit the airwaves. Athleisure was bigger than ever, and it seemed like everyone I knew was either dead or enslaved by the Tall Ones.

I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. I was all over the place. A couple of friends were talking about combing the wreckage for survivors, and a couple of other friends were talking about combing the wreckage for food. Meanwhile, my boyfriend was begging me to come with him to Chicago, to do improv. It all sounded good, and I didn’t know where to start.

I had no money, no flint, and no plan. Sure, I had a bachelor’s degree in English, but what was I going to do with that? Walk into some office and say, “Hi, I can use the theories of Derrida and Lacan to deconstruct your company’s use of language”? Fat chance. Plus, like many survivors, I no longer had skin on my face or my hands.

Luckily, it didn’t take me long to learn that there’s only one thing you have to worry about. And that’s following your passion. If you do what you love, you’ll never work a day in your life. So let your heart sing. Maybe you’re passionate about making spears, or cudgels, or daggers, to fend off our oversized invaders. Perhaps you’re more interested in nunchakus, or spikes, or clamps. Whatever it is—whether it’s slingshots, pikes, axes, or even maces, hammers, sickles, and arrows, simply follow your interest and have at it.

If you take away anything from this speech, let it be this: don’t buy into society’s definition of success. Success doesn’t mean having a big house or a fancy corner office. It’s not about how much money you have in the bank or how many cars you have in your garage. There’s only one true measure of success, and that’s how close you can get to deciphering the Mayan hieroglyph that will show humanity how to defeat the Tall Ones.

And keep in mind that you don’t know how your life will turn out. When I was your age, I had big plans for myself. I was going to find the glyph, which legend says is carved into a stalactite in a cenote, a freshwater underground pool. I was going to decode it and use its ancient wisdom to free my fellow-humans from our tragic captivity. But then you know what happened?

I fell in love with long-form journalism. I met the love of my life at U.S.C. We had two beautiful children, and, eventually, the cenote and the ancient hieroglyph and being humanity’s savior fell by the wayside.

Do I have regrets? Sometimes. The Tall Ones tore my husband and my children apart in front of my eyes. As I stared at their bodies melting in the pyre I’d lit to ward off marauders who would sell their corpses for meat, did I wish that I’d put in a little more glyph time? Sure. I made mistakes. That’s called being human. Remember: life is ten per cent what happens to you, ten per cent how you respond to it, and eighty per cent how good your reflexes are when the Tall Ones come at your throat with their pincers.

Today, you guys are going to be awarded diplomas. And that’s wonderful. You’ve earned it. But remember that a diploma’s just a piece of paper. What really matters is what you do with that piece of paper. And I strongly recommend burning it to ward off the Tall Ones, for they fear an open flame.

So, in conclusion, as my husband said right before he was ripped apart by the Tall Ones, “Karen, go to the garage and get the backup generator. Crank up the floodlights to six hundred to scare the fuckers off while you take the kids through the tunnels for help.”

So, Class of 2050: go to your garage, and get your backup generator. Laugh, love, take risks, and, if you find the carcass of a Tall One, preserve it in snowpack. They will barter for their dead.

Thank you, and good luck. ♦