My First Graduation at 32

Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell all about it — Mary Oliver

It finally happened. For the first time in my life—I graduated.

A mix of thoughts, emotions, and feelings have been rushing through my petite 5’1” frame this past week. A swirling storm of pride, disbelief, a bit of joy, and a loud nagging voice that saying Keep it to yourself. Everyone does this. It’s not that special. You’re 32, late to the game.

But the reality is, two years ago I came to New York from Japan with only a suitcase and an acceptance email from a school in Tribeca. It wasn’t an easy month—moving from sublet to sublet without a place to properly land was stressful, but I had a lot of optimism and a lot of luck.

To give you some background, I grew up in Osaka, Japan. I was homeschooled there my whole life. Which may sound romantic and free until you realize that “graduating” just meant closing the last page of a textbook in my living room and saying “I guess I’m done now.” No ceremony. No classmates.

I desperately wanted something more, a checkpoint of some kind so I contacted a friend’s mom to ask how I could get a real diploma. She referred me to an obscure company located in small town Maine that offers diplomas to homeschoolers. I sent the company my self-documented transcripts, paid the company $100 dollars, and then ta-da…. I received my diploma via Hotmail.

No string quartet, no bells and whistles, and honestly no real guarantee that it was legitimate. But I did it for myself to feel that I had graduated. To me, it was something.

But the question lingered for years: Will I ever go to school — like really go to school?

Since I was 5 years old, I have had a quiet craving to be a part of something bigger. I wasn’t exactly sure what it looked like, but I believed school was one of the missing puzzle pieces. I caught glimpses of the community and connection I craved in customer service jobs throughout my awkward teens and roaring twenties, where I would find joy in fleeting interactions with strangers. My twin sister and I also built pockets of good people to surround us with in Japan, even though being in a culture with xenophobic beliefs can feel like swimming upstream most days. Some part of me always knew I wanted to find my home —I just didn’t know where it could be.

Now looking back at myself five years ago, both leaving Japan and getting a degree felt impossible. Today I’m living in Brooklyn, one of my favorite places in the world with my favorite people, and have a diploma with my name on it. I have a home and a direction.

But it didn’t happen overnight nor by myself. I got here because of people. Friends who planted seeds in my life — quietly, steadily — and convinced me to keep going, like my boyfriend at the time who helped me navigate the Kafkaesque madness of the American education system. My piano teacher and friend, who was always there when I needed an ear to listen to my insecurities about navigating life in Japan. Good people.

So during these past two years, the impossible happened. I went to school, yes. But I believe learned far more from facing down my own voice of doubt, and from being reminded that most of the tools I needed — I already had.

Here are a few things I learned — or maybe just remembered:

Look at people’s faces. In Japan, I’d always looked at people — their faces, their eyes, the tiny micro-movements that tell you everything. It was my subconscious way of connecting to others and extending gratitude. But then, I stopped. I’m not exactly sure where along the line, but probably sometime during the years Covid plagued us. Then when I came to New York and I was immediately overwhelmed by the city. Too much noise, too many smells, and scary people. I found myself averting my eyes to shoes or subway floors.

But then — as slowly as it left — curiosity came back. The act of seeing. I started to look again — at classmates, at people on the train, at the stranger walking past my stoop while I drank my morning coffee. I find that luck lives in this exercise: not in some cosmic lottery, but in attention. In noticing.

I’ve been showered with serendipity this year and “good luck” because I’ve made it a point to pay attention and make sure I have my antenas up, whether it be in the classroom or when I’m waiting in line to buy oat milk. Bill Burnett in his awesome video on designing your life put it best: It’s about paying attention to what you’re doing and keeping your peripheral vision open. Because it’s in your peripheral vision where those interesting opportunities show up.

Watch your internal narrator. Your brain is a great fiction writer. It spins narratives 24/7 and a lot of them can be negative, untrue, and just plain gomi. Mine used to say: You can’t go to school. You’re too late. Too behind. It was only when people started telling me it was possible that I finally started to believe it for myself.

While I don’t believe in keeping up a façade of false rainbows and sunshine, I do think catching the stories you tell yourself and rewriting them when they no longer serve you is terribly important. I choose to romanticize my life and be grateful for each moment, not for Instagram, but because I believe it’s why we are alive.

Move. I learned this from professors in school, from my colleagues at Robin Hood Foundation, and from the guy I love. If there’s something to do — do it. Especially the small, annoying things. I’m human and I want to put off as many administrative tasks as I can, like returning Amazon packages or replying to emails. But, I know my future self will always thank me if I tie up loose ends quicker. Don’t listen to that voice that says I’ll do it later—have a bias towards action.

Maybe you’re not really trying. Yeah, this one stings.

This past semester I had a professor who made class feel like a dental appointment without anesthesia. Gloomy master copy assignments, incessant unnecessary critiques— I didn’t want any of it. I told myself that the reason I was completing the assignments with a lackluster attitude was because I was too busy, too uninspired to really give it my all, too annoyed at my professor for not seeing how his words impacted me and my fellow students. But in hindsight, a lot of my inaction bubbled up from fear. I was scared to try and still fail.

Until the very end—when I snapped out of it.

I realized I was more obsessed with the grade than the work. And worse—I knew I could do better. I wasn’t trying my hardest.

Don’t make excuses, instead get obsessed and dig in. Make something that makes YOU proud.

Document everything. There is a Mary Oliver quote I adore: “Instructions for living a life: Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell all about it”

Four years ago when I first came to New York, I told myself that my M.I.T. (most important task) is to document everything. Blog it. Sketch it. Record it — whatever. I’ve been telling stories online for 15 years, so it didn’t seem like the biggest challenge. But juggling that with being a full-time student, working at a social impact org, and trying to have a life… it’s a lot.

Most days it feels like I’m trying to capture butterflies. Most memories escape, some I manage hold on to.

Like the first time I walked through the school halls looking for my class. The first time someone tried to cheat off me during a test. The first time I wore a cap and gown. The first time I received a diploma. Everyday as I fall asleep I run through the day and try to remember everything, from the tiny to the extraordinary.

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At 7:00 a.m. last week, I walked to Barclays Center alone. I stood in line forever but I didn’t care—I felt happy. My boyfriend and dear friend were in the bleachers waiting, waving, whoo’ing, they even made me a sign for the occasion. I initially sat with strangers but made friends with an older gentleman—also graduating, also not on the usual path.

And MAN, did he have energy. He was the first one up dancing when the music started, shouting “BRING IT!” with his whole body. He was so happy everyone else got excited by just witnessing him. I loved how much he was loving it.

Sometimes I can be on the shyer side, so I couldn’t quite match his enthusiasm then but I danced a little, and then started doing more watching then dancing. Then he noticed I was watching him.

He grinned.

“You got to celebrate, it’s bigger than you — you know?”

And I did. I do. I will.

SPECIAL THANK YOUS: Reylia Slaby, Kevin Hylant, Karen & Steve Hylant, Scott Doty, Keiko Okumoto, Rashaad Eshack, Joshin Atone, Kelly Hewlett, Jake Adelstein, Emily Fish, Josh Berk, Kimo RedeR, Xico Greenwald.