29.

today's post is dedicated to one more year in my stinkin' 20s . . . glad they're almost over!

Advice, 

like youth, 

probably just wasted 

on the young

{A newspaper column by Mary Schmich, published by the Chicago Tribune on 01 June 1997.}

Inside every adult lurks a graduation speaker dying to get out, 

some world-weary pundit eager to pontificate on life 

to young people who’d rather be Rollerblading. 

Most of us, alas, will never be invited to 

sow our words of wisdom among an audience of caps and gowns, 

but there’s no reason we can’t entertain 

ourselves by composing a 

Guide to Life for Graduates.

I encourage anyone over 26 to try this 

and thank you for indulging my attempt.

Ladies and gentlemen of the class of ’97:

Wear sunscreen.

If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. 

The long-term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists, 

whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more 

reliable than my own meandering experience. 

I will dispense this advice now.

Enjoy the power and beauty 

of your youth. 

Oh, nevermind. 

You will not understand the power 

and beauty of your youth 

until they’ve faded. 

But trust me, in 20 years, 

you’ll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way 

you can’t grasp now 

how much possibility lay before you 

and how fabulous you really looked. 

You are not as fat as you imagine.

Don’t worry about the future. 

Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as 

trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubble gum. 

The real troubles in your life are apt to be things 

that never crossed your worried mind, 

the kind that blindside you at 4 p.m. on some idle Tuesday.

Do one thing 

every day 

that SCARES you.

Sing.

Don’t be reckless with 

other people’s hearts. 

Don’t put up with people 

who are reckless with yours.

Floss.

Don’t waste your time on jealousy. 

Sometimes you’re ahead, 

sometimes you’re behind. 

The race is long and, in the end, 

it’s only with yourself.

Remember compliments you receive.

 Forget the insults. 

If you succeed in doing this, 

tell me how.

Keep your old love letters. 

Throw away your old bank statements.

Stretch.

Don’t feel guilty 

if you don’t know what you want 

to do with your life. 

The most interesting people I know didn’t know at 22 

what they wanted to do with their lives. 

Some of the most interesting 40-year-olds I know still don’t.

Get plenty of calcium. 

Be kind to your knees. 

You’ll miss them when they’re gone.

Maybe you’ll marry, maybe you won’t. 

Maybe you’ll have children, maybe you won’t. 

Maybe you’ll divorce at 40, 

maybe you’ll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary. 

Whatever you do, 

don’t congratulate yourself too much, 

or berate yourself either. 

Your choices are half chance. 

So are everybody else’s.

Enjoy your body. 

Use it every way you can. 

Don’t be afraid of it 

or of what other people think of it. 

It’s the greatest instrument you’ll ever own.

Dance, even if you have nowhere to do it but your living room.

Read the directions, even if you don’t follow them.

Do NOT read beauty magazines. 

They will only 

make you feel ugly.

Get to know your parents. 

You never know when they’ll be gone for good. 

Be nice to your siblings. 

They’re your best link to your past 

and the people most likely to stick with you in the future.

Understand that friends come and go, 

but with a precious few you should hold on. 

Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle, because 

the older you get, 

the more you need the people 

who knew you when you were young.

Live in New York City once, 

but leave before it makes you hard. 

Live in Northern California once, 

but leave before it makes you soft. 

Travel.

Accept certain inalienable truths:

 Prices will rise. 

Politicians will philander. 

You, too, will get old. 

And when you do, 

you’ll fantasize that when you were young, 

prices were reasonable, politicians were noble 

and children respected their elders.

Respect your elders.

Don’t expect anyone else to support you. 

Maybe you have a trust fund. 

Maybe you’ll have a wealthy spouse. 

But you never know 

when either one might run out.

Don’t mess too much 

with your hair 

or by the time you’re 40 

it will look 85.

Be careful whose advice you buy, 

but be patient with those who supply it. 

Advice is a form of nostalgia. 

Dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, 

painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it’s worth.

But trust me 

on the sunscreen.