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So here we are… commencement2… life’s great forward-looking ceremony. Commencement is life’s great ceremonial beginning. And your ceremonial costume… shapeless， uniform， one-size-fitsall.3 Whether male or female， tall or short， scholar or slacker，4 each of you is dressed exactly the same. And your diploma… but for your name， exactly the same.
You are not special. You are not exceptional5. Contrary to what your u9 soccer trophy suggests， your glowing seventh grade report card… you’re nothing special.6
Yes， you’ve been pampered， cosseted， doted upon， helmeted， bubble-wrapped.7 Yes， capable adults with other things to do have held you， kissed you， fed you， wiped your mouth， wiped your bottom， trained you， taught you， tutored you， coached you， listened to you， counseled you， encouraged you. You’ve been nudged， cajoled， wheedled and implored.8 You’ve been feted and fawned over and called sweetie pie.9 And now you’ve conquered high school… and， indisputably， here we all have gathered for you， the pride and joy of this fine community.
But do not get the idea you’re anything special. Because you’re not.
The empirical10 evidence is everywhere. Across the country no fewer than 3.2 million seniors are graduating about now from more than 37，000 high schools. So think about this： even if you’re one in a million， on a planet of 6.8 billion， that means there’re nearly 7，000 people just like you. And consider for a moment the bigger picture： your planet is not the center of its solar system， your solar system is not the center of its galaxy， your galaxy is not the center of the universe.11 In fact， astrophysicists12 assure us the universe has no center； therefore， you cannot be it.
Neither can Donald Trump… which someone should tell him…
“But， Dave，” you cry， “Walt Whitman tells me I’m my own version of perfection！ Epictetus tells me I have the spark of Zeus！”13 And I don’t disagree. So that makes 6.8 billion examples of perfection， 6.8 billion sparks of Zeus. You see， if everyone is special， then no one is. If everyone gets a trophy， trophies become meaningless.
In our unspoken but not so subtle Darwinian competition with one another—which springs， I think， from our fear of our own insignificance， a subset of our dread of mortality—we have of late， we Americans， to our detriment， come to love accolades more than genuine achievement.14 No longer is it how you play the game， no longer is it even whether you win or lose， or learn or grow， or enjoy yourself doing it… Now it’s “So what does this get me？” As a consequence， we cheapen15 worthy endeavors.
You are not special. You are not exceptional5. Contrary to what your u9 soccer trophy suggests， your glowing seventh grade report card… you’re nothing special.6
Yes， you’ve been pampered， cosseted， doted upon， helmeted， bubble-wrapped.7 Yes， capable adults with other things to do have held you， kissed you， fed you， wiped your mouth， wiped your bottom， trained you， taught you， tutored you， coached you， listened to you， counseled you， encouraged you. You’ve been nudged， cajoled， wheedled and implored.8 You’ve been feted and fawned over and called sweetie pie.9 And now you’ve conquered high school… and， indisputably， here we all have gathered for you， the pride and joy of this fine community.
“走到高處去看看世界，而不是让世界看到你。”小麦卡洛先生在2012年卫斯理高中毕业典礼上告诫即将走出校园的学生，正因为人与人各不相同，所以没有人比其他人更特殊。脚踏实地，埋头充实自己，或许才是实现人生价值最可靠的途径。
But do not get the idea you’re anything special. Because you’re not.
The empirical10 evidence is everywhere. Across the country no fewer than 3.2 million seniors are graduating about now from more than 37，000 high schools. So think about this： even if you’re one in a million， on a planet of 6.8 billion， that means there’re nearly 7，000 people just like you. And consider for a moment the bigger picture： your planet is not the center of its solar system， your solar system is not the center of its galaxy， your galaxy is not the center of the universe.11 In fact， astrophysicists12 assure us the universe has no center； therefore， you cannot be it.
Neither can Donald Trump… which someone should tell him…
“But， Dave，” you cry， “Walt Whitman tells me I’m my own version of perfection！ Epictetus tells me I have the spark of Zeus！”13 And I don’t disagree. So that makes 6.8 billion examples of perfection， 6.8 billion sparks of Zeus. You see， if everyone is special， then no one is. If everyone gets a trophy， trophies become meaningless.
In our unspoken but not so subtle Darwinian competition with one another—which springs， I think， from our fear of our own insignificance， a subset of our dread of mortality—we have of late， we Americans， to our detriment， come to love accolades more than genuine achievement.14 No longer is it how you play the game， no longer is it even whether you win or lose， or learn or grow， or enjoy yourself doing it… Now it’s “So what does this get me？” As a consequence， we cheapen15 worthy endeavors.