The Best Is Still to Come

Hello everyone,

Thank you for inviting me to speak — I have no idea who messed up the email chain and thought I was qualified to give a commencement address, but here I am with lipstick on my teeth and a heart full of sincerity, so let’s go with it.

Now, I didn’t grow up thinking I’d be standing on a stage like this. I grew up on a farm, in boots that still smell, with hands that knew how to milk a cow at age 10.

And yet, here I am — a proud farmer’s daughter, a lover of heavy metal, whiskey that makes your eyes water, and poetry that makes your bones ache. And if I could go back in time and sit myself down on the edge of my student bed, right before I set off into the so-called ‘real world,’ I’d say this:

The best years of your life will come later.

And I say that not to diminish the big feelings you’re having now, but to give you something better - permission to keep looking forward.

Because let me tell you — your twenties? Wildly overrated. You will spend them being too polite at jobs you hate, eating jacket potatoes five nights a week, and crying in supermarket car parks because the chicken breasts are too expensive. It’s chaos.

But the part where life starts to make sense? That bit sneaks up on you. You’ll be halfway across the world, possibly hungover, staring at some mountain you almost didn’t climb, thinking, “God, I almost didn’t come here because I was scared.”

And that’s the part I want to underline, highlight, and slap across the face if I have to:

Go. Even if it scares you. Especially if it scares you.

Book the train. Take the flight. Get on the bus with people you don’t know and sleep in a bunk bed that smells like damp. Because you will never regret going. You will only regret staying home out of fear.

I once sat on a rock in Corfu — wearing a faded Iron Maiden T-shirt and eating crisps for dinner — and I wrote the most ridiculous poem about heartbreak and sea salt. I don’t even know who I was sad about, but that moment taught me more than any exam ever did.

So no, these aren’t the best years of your life. Unless you let them be.

The best years will come when you’ve stopped trying to impress people, and started being interested in life.

When you swap ambition for curiosity.

When you don’t just chase a life that looks good on Instagram, but one that feels good in your bones.

So go — dance in strange cities, drink with odd people, write bad poems, and make good mistakes.

And when you doubt yourself — as you will — just ask: What would a slightly drunk poet in muddy boots do?

Probably the right thing.

Thank you. And don’t forget to call your mum.