Wisdom From Your Local Graduate

Written by Arianna Brooks

Maggie Sanazaro, a tall, dark haired woman wearing a yellow dress, stands at a podium. On her left is Arianna Brooks, a shorter teen girl with curly hair and glasses. She is wearing heels, a graduation gown, and a graduation cap.
My lovely music teacher Maggie Sanazaro introducing me before my speech.

This month’s graduation was a privilege to participate in! Our speakers prepared eloquent and wonderful speeches that really helped make the day special. I was very humbled to give a student speech after those excellent turns. If you were in the audience at graduation, you got to hear me deliver this with a few tears. But for those unable to attend, I thought I would share it here. To the class of 2021, and all of our wonderful Berea family.


“It didn’t matter what I was doing. I was happy to be doing it.” 

My grandfather, or Opa as I called him, told me this all the time. It was probably his number one piece of wisdom to me- and he gave me a lot of wisdom. Opa loved to talk. He especially loved talking with me. He never held back from heavy conversations just because I was a child, and before he passed away, he gave me enough wisdom to last a lifetime. 

That particular piece, though, is the one that has stuck with me. His life wasn’t easy, and yet he was always happy, always smiling. I didn’t fully understand how much intentional effort this took at the time. I think I understand more now. Shortly before he died, I learned I had inherited the same neurodegenerative disease he had. I can’t pretend to understand his time with the army or his experience growing up, but I can at least empathize with the struggles caused by his failing nerves. Living with limited feeling in your hands is frustrating. It makes simple tasks a thousand times more difficult. Yet, even though he had much worse nerve damage than I do, he didn’t bemoan the things he could longer do. He celebrated the things he could. 

There have been times in my life when I’ve resented my situation. Sometimes over simple things, like washing a particularly dirty pan, or complicated ones, like my chronic illness diagnosis. In these moments, I take a deep breath and remember Opa’s words. I thank God that I have water to wash dishes, that I have treatment options to try. In the words of Mary Oliver, “it is a serious thing just to be alive on this fresh morning in this broken world.” The mere act of existing is something joyful.

I don’t expect this next phase of life to be easy all the time. Not for me, or my fellow graduates, or even the adults in the room. The future will hold times when you face sadness or frustration. My advice is the same as my Opa’s before me. Don’t let it matter what you’re doing. Find what you can be grateful for. Then you can be joyful in every experience.

Thank you.