原创译文：玛丽史米斯给大学毕业生的演讲
个人日记
河川供稿并校正
这是一段为大学毕业典礼演讲而写的稿子。作者玛丽史米斯是芝加哥一家报纸的专栏作者。她并没有被邀请去做演讲，而是为报纸写的。文章写得幽默而富有人生哲理，是一篇经典之作。
这篇文章的独特之处，就是用非常简单的语言讲人生深刻的哲理。一般的名人，在大学毕业典礼上的讲话，都是充满了对人生的大道理，长篇大论。而这篇文章，她的句子非常简单好懂，但是背后的哲理需要你有一定经历才能理解。或者是生活中一些很小很普通一般人忽略的警句。比如：Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard. Live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft. 她在说纽约的残酷竞争商业环境和北加州舒适宜人的生活环境。Your choices are half chance. So are everybody else’s。她在说现实中很多事情都是偶然和机遇，不是你努力或者计划就能做到的，而且每个人都如此，不只是你。她的幽默不是直统统的，比如：Remember compliments you receive. Forget the insults. If you succeed in doing this, tell me how.记住你得到的赞扬。忘记你受到的侮辱。如果你做到了，请告诉我你是怎么做到的。意思是她自己还没做到。
女士们先生们：
请涂防晒霜。
如果我只能给你的未来提一个建议，那就是使用防晒霜。防晒霜的长效作用已被科学家证实，而我的建议只是和我个人的闲聊一样不可靠。但我把这个建议现在就说出来。
尽情地享受你青春的美丽和力量吧。也许你不会知道你的青春是多么美丽和富有力量，直到他们已经褪色。哦，这当然没关系。请相信我，20年后，当你回头看自己的照片，你会以一种你现在无法理解的角度来看到曾经的你如此精彩，面对多少机遇。你没有你想象的那么肥胖而总是惦记着要减肥。
不要担心你的未来。担心也不无好处，但至少要知道担心不过就像靠嚼泡泡糖去解代方程一样无济于事。人生真正的问题和麻烦往往是你意想不到的，就像无所事事的星期二下午突然造访的麻烦。
每天你做一件使你害怕的事。
唱歌。
不要把别人的善心不当回事。不要去理会那些不把你的善心当回事的人。
使用牙线。
不要把时间浪费在嫉妒的情绪上。有时你比别人强，有时你不如别人。人生道路很漫长，但你最终的对手是你自己。
记住你得到的赞扬。忘记你受到的侮辱。如果你做到了，请告诉我你是怎么做到的，因为我自己还没做到。
保存你收到过的情书。扔掉你的旧账单。
拉伸。
不要感到内疚，如果你不知道你人生中想要做什么。我知道的最有趣的人，他们在22岁时都不知道要做什么。还有一些最有趣的人，他们40岁了也不知道自己要什么样的生活。
补充足够的钙。善待你的膝盖。当他们不给力时，你才会知道他们曾经以多么大的力量支撑过你们。
也许你会结婚，也许你不会结婚，也许你会有孩子，也许你不会有孩子。也许你会在40岁离婚，也许你会在你七十五周年结婚纪念日时大跳小鸡舞。无论你做什么，不要太得意忘形，更不要求全责备自己。你的选择一半要靠运气，所有人都如此。成功与否一半来自运气，没有人的成功或者失败全是自己努力或者不努力的结果。
欣赏和享受你自己的身体。充分利用它。不要害怕它，也不要在意其他人怎么看。这是你拥有的最棒的工具。
跳舞吧，即使没有舞台，你也可以在自己的客厅里跳。
阅读说明书，即使你不按照它去做。
不要读美容杂志。他们只会让你觉得自己更丑陋。
了解和关心你的父母。以免未来子欲孝而亲不在。善待你的兄弟姐妹。他们是你过去的最好链接，也是未来最有可能支持你的人。
明白朋友来来去去很正常，但有一些珍贵的友情你应该抓住。应该去努力克服地理和生活方式的差别和分歧，因为你年纪越大，就越需要那些在你年轻时就已经了解了你的人。
去旅行吧。在纽约住一段时间，但在你变得冷酷之前离开。在北加利福尼亚去住一阵子，但在你变得软弱前离开。
接受一些不可改变的现实：价格总是上升的，政客会玩弄权术，你，也会变得越来越老。当你这样时，你将会幻想你年轻的那会，价格是合理的，官们是正直廉洁的，孩子们很尊重他们的长辈。
尊重你的长辈。
不要指望任何人帮助你。也许你有一个信托基金，也许你有个有钱的配偶，但你指不定什么时候这些东西已经就被耗尽，瞬间灰飞烟灭地失去了。
不要过分地去修理你的头发，像染发等，否则当你40岁时会看上去像85岁。
审慎地接受别人的建议，但对于提供建议的人要耐心。建议不过是一种怀旧和愁绪。给别人提建议，就像从垃圾桶里筛选用过的东西，清理后把难看的部分修饰一下，然后重新使用。就是说，你的建议并不像你想象的那么有价值。
但请相信我的防晒霜建议。
This is a column written by Mary Schmich for the Chicago Tribune about a speech she would have liked to give to a graduating class in 1997:
Ladies and gentlemen of the class of ’97:
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 more reliable than my own meandering experience. I will dispense this advice now.
Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth. Oh, never mind. You will not understand the power and beauty of your youth 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.
Don’t worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubble gum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blindside you at 4 pm on some idle Tuesday.
Do one thing every day that scares you.
Sing.
Don’t be reckless 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 race is long and, in the end, it’s 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 old 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 of what other people think of it. It’s the greatest instrument you’ll ever own.
Dance, even if you have nowhere to do it but your 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 with a precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle, because the older you get, the more you need the people who knew you when you were young.
Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard. Live 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’re 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 fishing 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 on the sunscreen.
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