It's graduation season.

Over the next few weeks, millions of people are going to sit in folding chairs on football fields and in arenas and listen to someone stand at a podium and try to say something that matters. Most of those speeches will be forgotten by dinner. A few will stick. And every single person giving one — famous or not — is quietly terrified they won't find the right words.

I know, because I've been writing one.

Actually, I've been writing two. One for any graduating class, anywhere. And one specifically for Lavender Graduations — the ceremonies that honor LGBTQ+ students and their accomplishments. I'll share more about the second one when Pride month arrives. But today, I want to give you something from the first.

A few years ago, I fell in love with a piece of writing by Mary Schmich. You may not know her name, but you almost certainly know her work. In 1997, she wrote a newspaper column for the Chicago Tribune imagining the commencement speech she'd give if anyone ever asked. It was called "Advice, Like Youth, Probably Just Wasted on the Young." It opened with two words: Wear sunscreen. It became one of the most shared pieces of writing on the early internet, got turned into a spoken word song by Baz Luhrmann, and still holds up almost thirty years later.

What made it last? It wasn't grand. It wasn't inspirational in the way we usually mean that word. It was honest. It was specific. It was one person saying: here's what I know, from having lived a little longer than you. Take what's useful. Leave the rest.

That's the energy I wanted to bring to my own version.

So here are five things I'd tell any graduating class — high school or university, 2026 or 2036. Think of them as field notes from someone who's been on the trail a while. I've learned every one of these the hard way, which seems to be the only way that sticks.

1) Ask for an answer. Don't wait to be invited. If you want something — a meeting, a mentor, a seat at the table, a chance — open your mouth and ask for it. The world does not reward the quietly deserving. I built an entire career, an entire philosophy, on the belief that the question you don't ask is the opportunity you don't get. Politeness is not a strategy. Courage is.

2) Nobody remembers who played it safe. Take the risk that makes your stomach flip. That's your compass. Not the safe bet. Not the logical next step. The one that scares you a little. I left jobs that looked perfect on paper because something in my gut said there's more. I was right every single time. Your gut is smarter than your spreadsheet.

3) Be kind to the intern. Be kind to the receptionist. Be kind to the person who holds no power over your career whatsoever. That is the truest test of character I know, and I promise you, people are watching. In thirty-five years of leading people across Disney, DreamWorks, Gap, and beyond, I never once saw someone succeed long-term who treated the room differently depending on who was in it. Kindness is not a soft skill. It is a leadership discipline.

4) Find your chosen family. The people who see you — actually see you, all of you — and choose you anyway. Those relationships will save your life. I don't mean that as a metaphor. I mean it literally. Your career will have seasons. Some will be brutal. The people in your corner are the difference between getting through it and not. Guard that circle with everything you have.

5) And when they ask you to dim your light so someone else feels more comfortable — don't you dare. Not for a paycheck. Not for approval. Not for a promotion. Not for anyone. Your light is not a problem to be managed. It is the thing that makes you irreplaceable. The rooms that ask you to shrink are not the rooms where you belong.

That's five. I have more. Maybe I'll share them in a future issue — or from a podium somewhere this spring.

Which one of these hit you? I genuinely want to know. Reply to this email and tell me. I read every single one

Buy one for yourself. Gift one to the person who came to mind while you were reading those five instructions above. You know exactly who I'm talking about.

THE QUOTE:

My parents gave me this book when I graduated from high school in Toledo. I still have it. And I have to tell you — the places I've gone since then, from boardrooms in Tokyo to partnerships in São Paulo to stages I never imagined standing on — every one of them started with the decision to point my feet in a direction that scared me and walk anyway. Dr. Seuss knew what he was talking about.

THE JIMISM:

That one comes straight from the commencement speech. It's what thirty-five years of building relationships across cultures taught me. Radical kindness isn't an American idea. It's a human one. The desire to be seen, respected, and treated with dignity — that's universal. Every bridge I ever built started with listening.

If you're involved with a university, high school, organization, or company that's looking for a commencement or keynote speaker — for this season or next — I'd love to talk. I speak on authentic leadership, radical kindness, building cultures of belonging, and what it means to lead with pride and without ego. I bring thirty-five years of Fortune 500 experience, a bestselling book, and a deep belief that the best speeches leave something in people, not just for them.

📩 Reach out: [email protected]

In Community and Conversation, Jim

P.S. If these commencement instructions landed for you, share this newsletter with one person who's graduating this spring — or one person who just needs to hear "don't dim your light" today. And if you're not yet subscribed, welcome. We do this every two weeks. No fluff. No performance. Just honest conversation about leading better and living kinder.