You may not know this, but I was on the sailingteam all four years. It wasn’t easy. Back then, the closest marina was a three-hourdrive away. For practice, most of the time we had to waitfor a heavy rainstorm to flood the football field. And tying knots is hard! Who knew? Yet somehow, against all odds, we managedto beat Stanford every time.
We must have gotten lucky with the wind. Kidding aside, I know the real reason I’mhere, and I don’t take it lightly. Stanford and Silicon Valley’s roots arewoven together. We’re part of the same ecosystem. It was true when Steve stood on this stage14 years ago, it’s true today, and, presumably, it’ll be true for a while longer still. The past few decades have lifted us together.
But today we gather at a moment that demandssome reflection. Fueled by caffeine and code, optimism andidealism, conviction and creativity, generations of Stanford graduates (and dropouts) haveused technology to remake our society. But I think you would agree that, lately,the results haven’t been neat or straightforward. In just the four years that you’ve beenhere at the Farm, things feel like they have taken a sharp turn. Crisis has tempered optimism.
Consequences have challenged idealism. And reality has shaken blind faith. And yet we are all still drawn here. For good reason. Big dreams live here, as do the genius andpassion to make them real. In an age of cynicism, this place still believesthat the human capacity to solve problems is boundless. But so, it seems, is our potential to createthem. That’s what I’m interested in talkingabout today. Because if I’ve learned one thing, it’sthat technology doesn’t change who we are, it magnifies who we are, the good and thebad.
Our problems – in technology, in politics,wherever – are human problems. From the Garden of Eden to today, it’s ourhumanity that got us into this mess, and it’s our humanity that’s going to have to getus out. First things first, here’s a plain fact. Silicon Valley is responsible for some ofthe most revolutionary inventions in modern history. From the first oscillator built in the Hewlett-Packardgarage to the iPhones that I know you’re holding in your hands. Social media, shareable video, snaps and storiesthat connect half the people on Earth. They all trace their roots to Stanford’sbackyard. But lately, it seems, this industry is becomingbetter known for a less noble innovation: the belief that you can claim credit withoutaccepting responsibility.
We see it every day now, with every data breach,every privacy violation, every blind eye turned to hate speech. Fake news poisoning our national conversation. The false promise of miracles in exchangefor a single drop of your blood. Too many seem to think that good intentionsexcuse away harmful outcomes. But whether you like it or not, what you buildand what you create define who you are. It feels a bit crazy that anyone should haveto say this. But if you’ve built a chaos factory, youcan’t dodge responsibility for the chaos. Taking responsibility means having the courageto think things through. And there are few areas where this is moreimportant than privacy.
If we accept as normal and unavoidable thateverything in our lives can be aggregated, sold, or even leaked in the event of a hack,then we lose so much more than data. We lose the freedom to be human. Think about what’s at stake. Everything you write, everything you say,every topic of curiosity, every stray thought, every impulsive purchase, every moment offrustration or weakness, every gripe or complaint, every secret shared in confidence. In a world without digital privacy, even ifyou have done nothing wrong other than think differently, you begin to censor yourself. Not entirely at first.
Just a little, bit by bit. To risk less, to hope less, to imagine less,to dare less, to create less, to try less, to talk less, to think less. The chilling effect of digital surveillanceis profound, and it touches everything. What a small, unimaginative world we wouldend up with. Not entirely at first. Just a little, bit by bit. Ironically, it’s the kind of environmentthat would have stopped Silicon Valley before it had even gotten started. We deserve better. You deserve better.
If we believe that freedom means an environmentwhere great ideas can take root, where they can grow and be nurtured without fear of irrationalrestrictions or burdens, then it’s our duty to change course, because your generationought to have the same freedom to shape the future as the generation that came before. Graduates, at the very least, learn from thesemistakes. If you want to take credit, first learn totake responsibility. Now, a lot of you – the vast majority – won’tfind yourselves in tech at all. That’s as it should be.
We need your minds at work far and wide, becauseour challenges are great, and they can’t be solved by any single industry. No matter where you go, no matter what youdo, I know you will be ambitious. You wouldn’t be here today if you weren’t. Match that ambition with humility – a humilityof purpose. That doesn’t mean being tamer, being smaller,being less in what you do. It’s the opposite, it’s about servingsomething greater. The author Madeleine L’Engle wrote, “Humilityis throwing oneself away in complete concentration on something or someone else.” In other words, whatever you do with yourlife, be a builder.
You don’t have to start from scratch tobuild something monumental. And, conversely, the best founders – theones whose creations last and whose reputations grow rather than shrink with passing time– they spend most of their time building, piece by piece. Builders are comfortable in the belief thattheir life’s work will one day be bigger than them – bigger than any one person. They’re mindful that its effects will spangenerations.
That’s not an accident. In a way, it’s the whole point. In a few days we will mark the 50th anniversaryof the riots at Stonewall. When the patrons of the Stonewall Inn showedup that night – people of all races, gay and transgender, young and old – they hadno idea what history had in store for them. It would have seemed foolish to dream it. When the door was busted open by police, itwas not the knock of opportunity or the call of destiny. It was just another instance of the worldtelling them that they ought to feel worthless for being different.
But the group gathered there felt somethingstrengthen in them. A conviction that they deserved somethingbetter than the shadows, and better than oblivion. And if it wasn’t going to be given, thenthey were going to have to build it themselves. I was 8 years old and a thousand miles awaywhen Stonewall happened. There were no news alerts, no way for photosto go viral, no mechanism for a kid on the Gulf Coast to hear these unlikely heroes telltheir stories. Greenwich Village may as well have been adifferent planet, though I can tell you that the slurs and hatreds were the same. What I would not know, for a long time, waswhat I owed to a group of people I never knew in a place I’d never been.
Yet I will never stop being grateful for whatthey had the courage to build. Graduates, being a builder is about believingthat you cannot possibly be the greatest cause on this Earth, because you aren’t builtto last. It’s about making peace with the fact thatyou won’t be there for the end of the story. That brings me to my last bit of advice. Fourteen years ago, Steve stood on this stageand told your predecessors: “Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someoneelse’s life.” Here’s my corollary: “Your mentors mayleave you prepared, but they can’t leave you ready.” When Steve got sick, I had hardwired my thinkingto the belief that he would get better. I not only thought he would hold on, I was convinced, down to my core, that he’d still be guiding Apple long after I, myself, wasgone.
Then, one day, he called me over to his houseand told me that it wasn’t going to be that way. Even then, I was convinced he would stay onas chairman. That he’d step back from the day to daybut always be there as a sounding board. But there was no reason to believe that. I never should have thought it. The facts were all there. And when he was gone, truly gone, I learnedthe real, visceral difference between preparation and readiness. It was the loneliest I’ve ever felt in mylife. By an order of magnitude. It was one of those moments where you canbe surrounded by people, yet you don’t really see, hear or even feel them. But I could sense their expectations. When the dust settled, all I knew was that I was going to have to be the best version of myself that I could be. I knew that if you got out of bed every morningand set your watch by what other people expect or demand, it’ll drive you crazy. So what was true then is true now. Don’t waste your time living someone else’s life.
Don’t try to emulate the people who camebefore you to the exclusion of everything else, contorting into a shape that doesn’tfit. It takes too much mental effort – effort that should be dedicated to creating and building. You’ll waste precious time trying to rewireyour every thought, and, in the mean time, you won’t be fooling anybody. Graduates, the fact is, when your time comes,and it will, you’ll never be ready. But you’re not supposed to be. Find the hope in the unexpected. Find the courage in the challenge. Find your vision on the solitary road. Don’t get distracted. There are too many people who want creditwithout responsibility. Too many who show up for the ribbon cuttingwithout building anything worth a damn. Be different. Leave something worthy. And always remember that you can’t takeit with you. You’re going to have to pass it on. Thank you very much. And Congratulations to the Class of 2019!
Do check!
Comments
Post a Comment