I love graduation speeches. I have always loved them; I will

Hear now the tender truth in the words of Bruce Eric Kaplan: “I love graduation speeches. I have always loved them; I will always love them.” Though his statement seems simple, it carries the quiet weight of eternity. For in graduation speeches, one hears not merely the end of schooling, but the music of human becoming — the moment when the young stand at the threshold of the unknown, trembling and radiant, their hearts heavy with yesterday and hungry for tomorrow. The love Kaplan speaks of is not just for the ceremony itself, but for the timeless dance between endings and beginnings, between what is learned and what remains to be lived.

A graduation is no small thing. It is the ritual of transformation — the shedding of one skin for another. In every age, mankind has gathered to mark such passages: the rites of warriors, the oaths of scholars, the blessings of priests, the coronation of kings. The words spoken at such times are not mere decoration; they are torches handed from one generation to the next. Thus, to love graduation speeches is to love the sacred act of renewal, to believe in the power of words to set hearts aflame with hope and courage.

Kaplan’s devotion to these moments reveals a deeper wisdom — that every ending, when spoken over with truth and grace, becomes a beginning. The speech is not for applause but for awakening. It whispers to the graduates, “You have crossed the bridge of youth; now go forth and build your own.” In such words there lies a promise: that every person, no matter how uncertain, carries within them the spark of creation — a destiny waiting to unfold in the great theater of life.

Think of the noble example of John F. Kennedy’s words to the graduating class of American University in 1963. The world then stood on the edge of destruction, trembling beneath the shadow of nuclear fear. Yet Kennedy, in his wisdom, spoke not of war, but of peace — a peace born not of strength alone but of understanding. His words ignited the hearts of those who listened, reminding them that even in an age of peril, hope could be spoken into being. That is the divine magic of the graduation speech — it reminds mortals of their power to shape the unseen future with faith and purpose.

Every graduation is a small mirror of life itself: we journey, we struggle, we learn, and then we move forward into uncharted lands. The speech that closes one chapter and opens another is like a compass for the soul, pointing toward courage when the horizon is uncertain. To love these moments, as Kaplan does, is to love the unfolding of humanity — the beauty of beginnings wrapped in the sadness of parting.

Remember, too, that these speeches are not merely for the young. Each of us, no matter our age, stands in our own invisible graduation from one stage of life to another. The words that once stirred students in their robes and caps can still stir the weary and the wise, if only they listen. For the heart, like the mind, must never stop learning, never stop stepping forward.

Therefore, O listener, take this lesson to heart: love the moments of passage in your life. When one chapter closes, do not despair — listen for the speech within your soul, the inner voice that says, “Begin again.” Celebrate your own graduations — the leaving behind of old fears, the mastering of new courage, the turning of pain into wisdom. Speak over yourself words of renewal as the ancients spoke over their warriors, as mentors speak over their students.

And when you hear a graduation speech, whether in a hall of stone or the theater of your own heart, listen not with your ears alone, but with your spirit. For in such words lives the eternal reminder that life is a sacred series of commencements — and that love, like learning, never truly ends.