It feels like there's sort of a transformative experience bingo card out there that I'm gonna just, I'll try to weave that in as well.
And thank you Youmna, for saving me, I forgot my prepared remarks today, and instead, grabbed accidentally, my six page hair care manual, so one second, perfect humidity level today.

Thank you so much class committee, class of 2022, for inviting me to join you for this tremendous honor.
When I got the invitation to be your speaker, I felt a pang of recognition for my earliest days here in the Yard, looking around and wondering how I could possibly belong here.
I didn't know anything about politics, wasn't a Junior Squash Champion, hadn't written a book on astronomy, those were all my entryway mates.
And just like then, my first thought when I was asked to join you today was, what makes me qualified, just six months into my new job, for this incredible honor? I'm still terrible at squash.
My second thought was, actually, this is kind of awkward, because I had already told one of the Harvard grad schools that I wasn't available to be their graduation speaker.
True story.
But I wanted to be here with you all, because this is truly one of the most special events from Commencement Week.
It's an incredible opportunity to speak with all of you in this moment.
It's a moment of possibility, as you reflect on all that you've been immersed in, in person and over Zoom, over the last few years, with those who've grown alongside you.
Six months ago, I was sworn in as an unusual Mayor of Boston.
There's not much around that's older than Harvard, but Boston is.
Founded in 1630, and until six months ago, we had never, in nearly 400 years, elected a woman or a person of color as mayor.
And it had been nearly a century since a Harvard College grad became Mayor of Boston.
But 15 years ago, I sat in your very seats.

So maybe what qualifies me most of all to share some insights at Class Day, is that I'm proof that you can go from having absolutely no idea what you wanna do at Class Day to mayor of the greatest city on the planet.
Since it's only been 15 years, I can also tell you that you likely won't remember anything from these speeches, except for the astronomy researchers out there, you seem to remember everything.
But if there is one word you might hold onto from your time here, let it be the word that's on your shiny class rings, on the sweatshirts you'll return to for comfort and coziness, the hats you've been hastily giving to family members as you dash home for the holidays over the years from The Coop.
Veritas. So let's go with that.
My truth is, I came to Harvard for the clam chowder.
I had no grand career plans, or even a clear academic passion, but I did have a lot of clam chowder at Annenburg.
I'm the oldest child of immigrant parents from Taiwan, and growing up, we always ate dinner at home with chopsticks, and on the weekends, we'd all pile into the family minivan and drive over an hour to get to the Chinese grocery store that had the right vegetables and spices.
But in the rare instances when we did go out for dinner, my parents would insist on Old Country Buffet.
It's before all of your time now, but there used to be, in various suburban strip malls, an all-you-can-eat buffet where you could get as many plates as you wanted of things like mac and cheese and roast beef.
They charged kids by their age, which kinda took some of the fun out of birthdays.
But for me, the highlight of the meal was always at the very end.
After I was absolutely stuffed, I would still find room for some soft serve ice cream and a glorious bowl of clam chowder.
So at Prospective Students Weekend, when I learned that there was always ice cream in the dining halls, and clam chowder on Fridays, that was that.
To this day, I'm still Currier House through and through.
But my truth is, I was initially disappointed about getting Quadded, and confused about why our mascot was a tree when other houses had animals that were fierce and regal, or at least cute.
Today, as mayor, I'm looking to plant tens of thousands more trees in Boston to grow our canopy, reduce urban heat island effect, and clean the air in our neighborhoods.
And sometimes in meetings, I blurt out, "Fear the tree!"
Here's another truth, I met my future husband at Harvard-Yale, and the truth is, he went to Yale.
Love knows no bounds, except for one, we still have never sat on the same side at the game.
And the truth is, at my commencement, I was scared.
Sure, there was that slight nervousness about entering the real world, but it was more than that.
A few months earlier, my mom had started to show signs of mental illness, paranoia, delusions, hearing things that no one else could hear.
And in the culture, in the family that I grew up in, we couldn't bring our business out to the public.
I couldn't talk about it outside the family.
And my mom refused to acknowledge what was happening, much less agree to seek treatment.
My commencement was one of the last public events she attended, before a major breakdown.
And I was so worried about her, and about my friends, and their families noticing her strange behavior.
It still took months after that for us to get her to seek treatment.
And months after that, for me to be able to talk about it with my friends.
It was still a truth that was too painful to share, because of the stigma that we all must be a part of breaking.
The truth is, among my blocking group, I was the last person anyone thought would end up in politics, but my family's challenges, my mom's journey with mental health, set me on this path.
Stepping in as a caregiver to my mom, raising my sisters shortly after graduation, opening a small business, and seeing how so many of the systems we had to interact with weren't designed for people like my family.
And also seeing that we can all have a role in fixing them.
You'll hear the wise, worldly advice tomorrow at commencement morning exercises, so I'll just give three things that I've learned about Veritas in the years since leaving the Yard.
First, your own deep truth sets the foundation for your happiness, health, and impact.
Take care of yourself.
Figure out what gets you excited to wake up in the morning, and just as important, listen to your body, and know when is telling you you're not okay.
Surround yourself with friends, immerse yourself in the work that respects your truth, that feeds it and nurtures it, and encourages you to be the truest and most joyful version of yourself.
I need some quiet time by myself at the end of each day, with two kids, that is quite difficult.
And every once in a while, I need a hike in the woods, fear the tree! I find my greatest meaning in building community and helping change people's perspectives on what's possible.
Second, see what is truly real.
There is no substitute for lived experience.
Sure, you can Google almost anything now or watch a TikTok explainer video, but if you're trying to solve a problem in the world, understand what it feels like first, seek out those closest to the challenge and those who will be most impacted by that solution.
I take the T to work because my own deep truth is that I'm a transit nerd, but also because there's no better way to get expertise in transit policy than to experience the system you're trying to improve, day in and day out.
There will always be people who know more than you about a challenge or a solution.
Seek them out and ask questions.
Some might be sitting right next to you here today.
And many are in our neighborhoods and community organizations doing the work on the ground.
Third, tell the truth when it's hard.
I'm not just talking about admitting to a deep love for clam chowder, or even working to break the stigma on mental illness by sharing our stories.
In this age of information overload and misinformation, curated social media feeds that tout connection often drive us further and further apart.
In politics, and in family, and in work, speak your truth and hold true to the urgency you feel, because fundamentally, speaking truth is the only way to build a foundation for trust.
And that is what we are missing in our society and our democracy today.
You know all the facts and statistics on climate risks, housing and childcare costs, our closing window of time to act, yet from pandemic, public health, to student loan debt, basic reproductive rights and gun violence, we're having to fight through a tidal wave in this country of misinformation, before we even reach the barrier of proving that our policy solutions work.
To tackle the challenges we face today, we need to build trust in the urgency of our challenges by seeking the truth of the experiences of those on the ground.
Speaking the truth when it's hard and building the community to solve it.
We must trust in possibility, including the possibility to do the things that seem impossible, that people say are too pie in the sky, or radical to be done.
And Boston is a city whose history is rooted in doing just that, time and time again.
Today, we're proud of our many firsts.
Boston is home to the first public library in the country, first public park, first public school, first subway system anywhere in the United States.
But what we often forget is that the opposition to these foundational public goods that we don't give a second thought to today was once fierce and imaginative, but in all the wrong ways.
Before Boston broke ground on the Red Line and Park Street Station, the first subway line in the country, business owners along Tremont Street formed the Anti-Subway League, petitioning city leaders to oppose the creation of any subway lines, anywhere in the City of Boston.
They collected tens of thousands of signatures from business owners and residents who were afraid.
They were afraid of everything from bringing a curse upon the city by disturbing what might be underground, digging up extensive swaths of the ground and potentially forcing snakes living under the earth to come up to the surface and then take over all of Boston.
These were actually in the documents, in the Boston Archives.
And today, we depend on this system.
We're leading the way in public transportation's vision for a fair, free system that serves all.
So to be bold and creative, harness your imagination to focus on the good we can do when we work together, and let's let go of our instincts to protect the status quo, and harness your leadership, and charisma, and knowledge to help others do the same so that we can all focus more on what we could create if we agreed to get our hands dirty and break ground, rather than worrying about what snakes might lurk beneath the surface.
Most of all, remember, I ended up as the Green New Deal Mayor of Boston due to a love of clam chowder, a reverence for trees, and a belief in possibility.
Wherever you go next, take the time you need to get settled.
Find the space within that place and you can be your truest self.
And if it doesn't exist, build it.
I know better than to try to tell you not to do it all, but I will encourage you to find the time, every now and then, to just be.
Lie in the sun, hug your friends, FaceTime your family and pick up their phone calls, read a few pages of a book, take care of yourself, and everyone you care for thereafter will be grateful that you did.
And when you're ready, seek the truth.
See what's real, what's necessary, and what's not.
Think about the impact, especially for those nearest whatever issue you're trying to solve, but not at the expense of those on the periphery.