If someone told me my graduation would include Steve Carell, a dance party, the United Center, and a moment I’ll remember for years, I wouldn’t have believed them. And yet, that’s exactly what happened.
There’s something about subverting expectations and breaking the norm, catching us off-guard. That’s exactly what happened when Steve Carell, our graduation speaker at Northwestern this year, had us rise up and stand for a tradition at Northwestern.
That tradition, we would find, was not a tradition at all. However, it became a memorable experience for years to come.
In the middle of the speech, we soon learned that this tradition was the "mid-commencement address dance break". (I would note that if it does become a tradition, that would be delightful)
With his announcement, music turned on, and he started to dance on stage. This was first met with reluctance from others, but as he danced with the faculty and then burst into the crowd, high-fiving the graduates one by one, the energy grew.
Myself, standing only a few rows back, at 7 feet tall and having forgotten my graduation cap, I jumped up and down and brought energy as he passed by the front row. I saw him look in my direction, hoping he might head my way at some point—however unlikely that would be.
He cheerfully gave high-fives to my classmates while running down the center aisle.
Then, he started running back in the direction of the stage.
But before he would turn back, he peered over the crowd, making eye-contact with me.
Having ceased giving high-fives for a moment and running, he ran towards the outside of the crowd of students, then turning the corner like a football player on a route—running down the sideline in my direction. He gave a grin, reached out his hand my way, and we high-fived emphatically.
As I high-fived him, he paused for a split second with a mischievous look, then spun around and dashed back toward the stage—pouncing forward like a modern-day jester, a touch of Jack Sparrow in his stride—as he wrapped up his mid-commencement dance break.
And just like the punchline of a good joke, at times when we feel all too able to predict every next moment, because of the routines of life, there’s magic when things get shaken up in a positive and lighthearted way.
Steve turned his graduation speech into something alive. One moment he had twenty thousand of us standing on command for a “Northwestern tradition” none of us had heard of. The next, he let the joke hang until the entire arena realized there was no tradition at all.
His punchlines kept landing before we could catch our breath. He nudged us with advice, then undercut himself with, “This morning I have given you quite a bit to think about. At the same time I have said almost nothing of value.”
Then came a parable of kindness, showing just how off-guard the audience was. He began:
“In the early 1800s, an Illinois farmer named Ezekiel Davis lent his milking cow to his neighbor Jedediah Ashcroft so Jedediah’s family could have milk to drink.”
He paused before adding:
“Unfortunately, this was before pasteurization. The family fell ill and died. This is a terribly sad story.”
Moments later, he let us know that not only did they not die of disease—he had made the entire story up.
Whenever we felt like we had figured the speech out, we hadn’t. He subverted expectations so much, even when you thought you were safe to clap. He initially said the message of his speech was kindness—then immediately interjected with:
“So shut up and listen,” in a joking, ironic way.
With deadpan irony throughout his remarks, he made the stadium laugh so frequently that even when there were moments made for claps and silence—typical markers of approval—he would wisely interject, leading to abrupt, unrestrained laughter and making it impolite to clap for what he had stated in the first place. If the unusual nature of his graduation speech wasn’t impressed upon the audience within moments of him taking the podium, the mid-commencement dance break sealed the deal.
If I tried to summarize his speech and tell you what to take away from it, I’d be doing him a disservice. He walked in, he didn’t take himself too seriously, he spoke his truth, kept us off-guard, had fun, and left us inspired.
Everyone in that arena may have taken away different messages from that day. But I’m sure the power of moments of kindness, alongside the power of playfulness and joy to bring people together is at the top of the list.
In that spirit, Steve said:
“Sometimes, just dance.”
How wonderful is it that we have the ability to bring a little magic to others’ lives, if only we acknowledge the agency we have to lightheartedly engage with others to bring out the best in all of us.
Steve's willingness to drop any self-consciousness and take lighthearted, playful action is something I want to embody moving forward.
How might we all find ways to bring playfulness, joy, spontaneity, and kindness to the world?
How might the world look differently if we could embody the spirit Steve Carell did in his graduation speech a little more often?
