Everybody's Free (to wear sunscreen)
From Chicago Tribune columnist Mary Schmich's column on June 1, 1997
Adapted into a song in the album Baz
Luhrmann Presents Something for Everybody
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,
never mind. 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.