Graduation: A Letter to My Child
Congratulations. Today you escaped prison.
That’s what school felt like, some days. Now the ceremonies end. The farewells finish. Then a strange emptiness arrives, right after the peak. You miss the everyday routine. You miss the familiar — even the parts you swore you hated.
Now you face the world alone. No one on your left or right to copy. No one to glance at and see how they handle it. No one nearby struggling as much as you, to make you feel less alone. And you can’t go back to being a baby. That door is closed.
Let me tell you something. We adults fail the world too — all the time. Don’t fear failure, unfamiliarity, or feeling awkward. Everyone starts somewhere. Everyone grows out of it. And the world does not care about your failure, or anyone else’s. That sounds harsh. It’s a gift. No one watches as closely as you fear.
For a few months before your new school starts, you hold something rare: real freedom. (Though our home is its own kind of prison. So is Earth, if we’re honest.) You also get a brand new chance to re-create your self-image. None of your new people know how your old self worked. No one will ask why you don’t act like “you” anymore. So experiment. Explore. Try on a different way of being.
Here’s the secret: this isn’t your only chance. The new school brings another reset. The world is generous that way. You get to remake your image every few years. So never let who you were box in who you become. Keep finding out what you’re capable of, and what is uniquely yours. (I wrote more about that here.)
One last thing. You’re resetting anyway — so reset into an early bird. Wake on the first alarm, every day. Yes, even over the summer. If it helps, put the habit somewhere that asks for it back daily — that’s why I built Redo.
Love, Dad