Lee, New Hampshire

Transcription

Ladies and gentlemen, the person you actually want to listen to, Miss Jennifer Lee. [APPLAUSE] Thank you to President Huddleston, distinguished guests, honored faculty, and parents. But especially, thank you to the University of New Hampshire class of 2014. Now, I have already partied at the Field House, at Markland. I partied at the Alumni Center in the President's place, so it's just like old times. I actually first came to this campus when-- oh thank you, short people here. Even with these. I actually first came to this campus when I was just 13 or 14, and my oldest cousin, Mark, was starting as a freshman. And I sat on the bench in front of Thompson Hall and I said, oh, this is what college is supposed to feel like. And Mark paved the way for my older sister to come here. I came here. My younger cousin, who met his wife here. So, my family has very deep roots at UNH, and deeper debt. Anyway, it really does feel like yesterday. So much so that when they asked me to be the commencement speaker, my first reaction was, I'm way too young. And then my sister so kindly pointed out that I was 42. Which I then realized made me pretty much exactly twice your age, and that pretty much sucked. But then I moved to a worse thought, which was I'm not good enough to be the commencement speaker. And ultimately it was that horrible thought that made me say, yes. It did, because in that thought I realized that there might be something, during my few extra rounds on this planet that I could give to you that might be of use. And it does have to do with self-doubt, the I'm-not-good-enough motto of living. Something I'm a bit of an expert on, actually. My sister and I grew up on a poor street in a rich town. It was bad enough that everyone in America was in '70s clothes. But we were in hand-me-down '70s clothes. And to make it worse, I had the energy of the Tasmanian devil, I was as graceful as a pile of pick-up sticks. My hair was perpetually knotted, stains on the clothes, I was basically a target for bullies. And I was bullied, severely, for years. And something happens to you when everything you do is fuel for ridicule or mockery. You kind of drink that bully Kool-Aid, and self-doubt takes over. And people talk about the dangers of the rose-colored glasses, but let me tell you, the lenses of self-doubt are far worse. They're like nasty and thick, and big, and filthy. And they're covered in swamp scum, and there's like a family of snails living on them. It's like impossible to see past them. And were it not for my loving family, whose here today, brushing out my tangled hair, and fostering a love of books, and drawing and creating, I'm not sure what I would have done. They helped me find relief in storytelling. Reading, writing, drawing were moments of escape for me, escape from myself and my self-doubt. Lying in bed at night, I'd concoct magical, grand epic, and yes, sometimes musical adventures. Stories of wrongs righted, justice is served, and bullies revenged, hard. I guess it should have been a sign, but I was wearing those darn lenses of self-doubt, and I just couldn't see it. And then something happened. I realized I wasn't alone in this feeling of not being good enough. It did start after I made my first friend, finally, in a long time, and I have to acknowledge her. She's here today. And she was the first person to step between the bullies and me. So she gets a lot of credit for that. And her name is Jen, and together as the two Jens, we entered that horrible self-festering incubator called high school. You know what I mean. It's like all warm and full of puberty, and the hair, and it smells. And like while you're just trying to get used to your grownup face and body, your GPA is like pulsing in the middle of the whole thing like the Eye of Sauron. And then like before you know it, those lenses of self-doubt are so thick you've got to like strap them on. It's really unfortunate. But I remember looking around at my fellow classmates and wondering, if anyone out there thought they were good enough. And then I met him, here at UNH, actually. A student, who for whatever magical reason never doubted himself. He was magnetic, but kind, infectious and motivating. His name was Jason [? McConkie. ?] And he could sell you a car, while convincing you to write him a love song. And I'm not kidding. Our time together at UNH was some of the most joyous of my life. Yes, I lived in Stoke. I did. But creatively I had Ham Smith to feed my love of Lit. I had Gay Nardone's dance company, my KD gals, and a wonderful class called, Food and Dudes. I don't know if anyone's had that. But of course, things were a little different back then. Kegs were legal. Grunge was in fashion. Bathing was undervalued. The many houses in the Greek system were at their most powerful, and at war with the bureaucrats. They were like wildcats, and endless snow, and debauchery. It was like Game of Thrones. It was awesome! Such good times. But I will say that during those years, while I could admire Jason's comfortable acceptance of himself, his motivating spirit, I was not quite ready to let go of doubt myself. But then in April of our junior year Jason was killed in a boating accident, and life knocked those lenses of doubt off my face so hard, I went right down with it. And when you wake up so young, with such loss, there is no doubt, only grief. And in that grief, you see clearly. The world drips with color. Death exaggerates the significance of your life. And for a brief moment, you know better than to waste a second, doubting. I love New York City, and I love books and storytelling. And so I graduated, and moved to New York, found book publishing, which led to book writing, then screenplay writing. And over the course of the decade, I settled back into my life. But I also unknowingly had slipped back into those lenses of doubt. I remember looking at the Columbia website for film school, and thinking, I don't think I can try to apply. I wanted to go so badly that I feared I wasn't good enough. And the only reason I sent in that application was because of Jason. He was a reminder that if there was a chance to live the life I wanted, I owed it to him to go for it. And I got in. And for two decadent years, and only $60,000 plus, I was going to make movies. And in film school, the interesting thing is the first thing you study is character. And you learn that insecure characters, characters that don't think they are good enough, are not very interesting. They're not inspiring or hopeful, and nobody wants to watch them. Ouch! But the only characters worse than insecure characters are perfect characters. They are lifeless and boring and generic, and they never feel authentic. Yeah, the best characters, the ones that we love, who inspire us, who we want to remember forever, are flawed and one-of-a-kind. The only characters not good enough are those who aren't complex and messy and vulnerable, those who aren't real. So while at film school, I met a friend named Phil Johnston. And he was, in my opinion, the most talented person in the program. An Emmy-award winning journalist, with a glorious, twisted sense of humor. You might know one of his films called, Cedar Rapids. Or you might know him as my co-writer on Wreck-It Ralph. Anyway, back in grad school, he thought I was good enough to work with. Again, and again, and again, he kept asking to work with me. And I kept saying, gosh, why? What about me-- this doesn't seem right. I mean, I can't be good enough. And he said, I'm going to stop you right there. And I'm going to make you promise me something. And that promise would change my life. He said, you can be insecure if you want. But just promise me to leave it out of your work. Just know you're good enough, and move on. And I promised him I would. Six months later, I had two film options, my first paycheck as a screenwriter. A year later, we were writing Wreck-It Ralph. And then came Frozen. [APPLAUSE] So while I stand before you, a person so far from perfect that like there isn't even a subway line to perfect from where I live. Gypsy cabs won't even go there, I'm telling you. I am that not perfect. Maybe I am enough. And if I've learned one thing, it's that self-doubt is one of the most destructive forces. It makes you defensive instead of open, reactive instead of active. Self-doubt is consuming and cruel. And my hope today is that we can all collectively agree to ban it. Think about it. How many hours do you spend analyzing yourself? Your looks, your hair, too thin, too short, too fat, too curly. How much time do you spend being disgusted with yourself, cringing over the dumb thing you said, or worrying you won't get a date? Because while you are hilarious in your head, when you speak it sounds like tax code. Think about all the crazy ways you feel different from everyone else. And now take the judgment out of that. And what you are left with is such a wholly dynamic one-of-a-kind character, the kind that could lead an epic story. And now think to the moments of your life when you forgot to doubt yourself, when you were so inspired that you were just living, and creating and working. Pay attention to those moments, because they're trying to reach you through those lenses of doubt, and trying to show you your potential. One side note though, for the parents, being good enough does not let you off the hook to be lazy. It is not an excuse to spend your 20s on your parents' couch, admiring your enoughness. It's not a free pass to get out of changing and growing. No, it's just that when you are free from self-doubt you fail better, because you don't have your defenses up, and you can accept criticism and listen. You don't become so preoccupied with that failure, either that you forget how to learn and how to grow. When you believe in yourself you succeed better. Hours spent doubting, questioning, fearing can be given over to working, exploring, and living. You will still fail a lot. In fact, there will be people who will say to your face, that is not good enough. And I still get that. But just don't make it about you. If you can learn to not take it personally, you will be able to listen to the constructive criticism and find it inspiring. It might motivate you, and show you that you are capable of far more than you ever imagined. And I will say if the first draft of Frozen was the one we made, if I had been too insecure and defensive to listen to the notes and criticisms, and wasted my time trying to prove I was good enough, instead of doing what the film needed, it wouldn't be Frozen, and I wouldn't be standing here, for sure. The thing is, if you accept that who you are is enough, you become the biggest participant in making your work and even your relationships better. And get this, they even say that the number one thing driving bullies is insecurity. So we ban that, and we kill two birds with one stone, like, right there. So, what do you say? Can we ban self-doubt please, yes? [APPLAUSE] And so, OK, we're done with self-doubt. It's out of the way. What would you do dare to do? I won't go all English Lit on you but, there is a line in Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters, by JD Salinger. And it's one of my favorites. And it's when Seymour says to his brother, buddy, who's an inspiring writer, that the first question he'll be asked when he dies is- did you have your stars out? And I love that idea that you have stars in you, bright vibrant stars. And if you work hard enough, you will pull those stars out of you, and they will shine. But I'll tell you right now, you might have those stars, but if you let self-doubt get in the way, if you wear those nasty lenses, you won't see them. So take them off, and see how bright the sky is. So I will leave you with this. And I'm going to ask your parents to please remind you, if you ever forget. Please know, from here on out that you are enough, and dare I say, more than enough. Thank you, and congratulations! [APPLAUSE]