The Story of my Life

I got this from the e-mail. This speech was mistakenly credited to several people from Baz Luhrman to Kurt Vonnegut. But it was actually written by Mary Schmich, released through Chicago Tribune on 01 June 1997.

Its a good speech. It reminds you of the most essential things in life. Gives you advises on how to cope with life. Read on...

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 or
reliable then then my own meandering experience.
I will dispense this advice...now.

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth. Oh, never mind, you won't understand and
beauty of your yourth 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.

The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed you worried mind: the kind that blindsides you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday.

Do one thing every day that scares you.

Sing.

Don't be recless 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 reace is long, and in the end, its 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 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 what other people think of it; its the greatest instrument you'll ever own.

Dance...even if you have nowhere to do it but in your own 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 what a precious few should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps and geography and lifestyle, because the older you get, the more you need the people you knew when you were young.

Life in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard.

Life 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 are 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 wishing 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, I'm the sunscreen.