Baccalaureate Address Leap into the Unknown

By Jennifer Brown '89

Iwant to talk to you today about leaps into the unknown.

At a time as momentous and significant as your high school commencement, perhaps you’ve been thinking a great deal about the unknown … that big question of “what comes next?” You may be filled with equal parts of excitement, and trepidation. Though some anxiety is inevitable at this moment of transition, today I want to explore with you the beauty and potential of uncharted waters. And I’ll do that by sharing a bit about my own past leaps into the unknown, the ones I continue to make, and how to get a little bit better at them, listening and learning more each time. Maybe you’ll even learn to love them, as I have.

I only had half of the Cate experience that most of you have had. As Ben shared, I first arrived here in 1987 as a “new junior” –part of a small and fortunate group of kids who wanted a more rigorous high school experience. In my case though, I was finding my big public high school environment difficult to navigate, barely keeping my head above water; as a sensitive, musical and nerdy kid, I had lost my way in the vicious cliques, social hierarchies, and rampant materialism of high school in the '80s, faithfully immortalized by every John Hughes movie, from Sixteen Candles to the Breakfast Club.

The decision to pull me out of this environment and plunk me down at Cate was ultimately made FOR me – by those two lovely people (gesture to mom and dad). If you knew my mom, you’d know this was not optional!

And make no mistake, it was tough entering a class mid-stream – five of us girls were housed together in '25 House, juniors in what was then a freshman and sophomore dorm! We clung together initially, and developed deep bonds as a result.

It was the right decision for each of us –and my first big leap into the unknown. Cate offered the structure, intimacy, and encouragement to shine that I needed, to re-bloom; I could return to a love of learning, to friendships more true, and to the values I held, shedding the protective layers I had built to survive in these tender years. This ongoing journey – back to myself, a rediscovery of what’s at my core – first ignited here at Cate and continued at Middlebury College, and for that I am so grateful.

Perhaps like me, coming to Cate was your biggest leap so far; you are now at the cusp of another leap. I can tell you that only more leaps lie ahead. Life after Cate is bound to expand your horizons beyond any imaginable scope. Maybe you’ll move to a different part of the country, or even a new part of the world. Maybe you’re looking forward to being a small fish in a bigger pond than Cate, where you can be anonymous and experiment, and find your way to a new community or a new part of yourself. Maybe you’re excited to lead, to make your mark. Maybe you’ll miss the comfort of this place.

As you prepare yourself to take flight from this nest, how would you describe your purpose? Your unique gifts, and passions? This special environment has nurtured these clues to your soul’s truth; you’ve likely caught a glimpse, even if you aren’t yet aware of which seedlings will become big, beautiful trees. Pay attention. At this stage in your life, your job is to listen carefully, and observe –to lovingly witness yourself evolving. Whether we tend to go towards selfcriticism, or an overly-developed ego, can we instead ask, “what am I now meant to learn?”

For example – I was in every musical and choir at Cate and in college, and I knew I loved performing on stage –the improvisation, the adrenaline rush, and of course the rehearsal shenanigans (especially with my sister, Mimi Brown '92, in Jesus Chris Superstar). I had no idea, however, I’d someday become a trained opera singer, and pursue this as a career in New York City.

Life caught me by surprise once again just when my career was beginning to take off – I was forced to abandon singing forever because of vocal difficulties, having to undergo several vocal surgeries, and carried that heartbreak with me as I fumbled through my next steps, despairing that I’d ever find work that felt that deeply authentic again.

I wanted answers so badly at that age and point in my life; but my unpredictable and winding path kept me guessing, and carried me elsewhere, and the beauty of it was – and is – that nothing is wasted, and we – you – have more time than you know, to let it unfold.

The voice – and the stage – would return to play a key role; I was meant to use them, just not as a singer – but instead to amplify unheard voices, and to influence systems, like the workplace, to change. When I could no longer sing, to me, from neurodiversity, to gender identity and expression, mental health, even to size (or body) positivity. I also fearlessly talk about the role of privilege in our journeys, and am daily reminded of my own. On all of these topics, I am an author many times over, and speak all over the world.

I voice the message I so desperately needed to hear in my younger years: “you matter” and “you belong”. All of you. And I don’t think we ever stop needing to hear this.

The clues to your path are all around you, today, if we courageously listen. What lights you up? What feels joyful to do, to talk about, to share? And conversely, what’s out of alignment? Much will compete for your attention, that’s not your truest calling; I have found truth to be delicate as it emerges, and I’ve needed to tend, protect, and encourage it - with so much patience.

I returned to school to study organizational development and leadership, founding my own company nearly 20 years ago, dedicated to creating more equitable workplaces where MORE of us can thrive.

Drawing on my own experience of invisibility, and bias, as well as my strong voice and courage from years of auditioning, I discovered I could BE a voice, not just for my identities, but to raise awareness of others’. And I am a work in progress, continuing to expand my knowledge about identities new

Stanford University professor Carol Dweck coined something called “the growth mindset,” or the ability to thrive on challenge, and perceive life’s many obstacles as a springboard for learning. Its opposite is a fixed mindset, which assumes traits are immovable. How do we practice this? We feel the fear, and do it anyway. We fail forward. We get comfortable with being uncomfortable. And we sense, if we’re not uncomfortable, we’re probably not growing. And like bamboo, how do we flex, and not break? In times of struggle, I like to ask, “what is it that I am meant to learn?”

I had to practice the growth mindset at age 22 during my senior year at Middlebury when I came out as a member of the LGBTQ+ community. I could count the number of out people at school on one hand, and I could sense their struggle, and their difficult path.

This caused a reckoning with how I had been raised, what is socially acceptable, the stigma I’d face – as well as my agency, my freedom, to live according to my heart. Would I go my own way? Was I ready to risk everything? Coming out to your family and friends back then was most often one of toughest milestones for queer people, for sure, but then carving out your own place in a new community that is discriminated against every day –with very few role models to guide and protect you – is a whole other battle.

I joined this community of identity where, at the time, I literally knew no one, and wherein I began to also unravel my own biases and awaken to the deepest purpose I’ve known.

When leaping into the unknown is too daunting, I turn to the metaphor of the bridge. When we set foot on a bridge, we’re choosing to leave a place of safety and comfort, or to escape danger. In either case, you’re choosing to leave what you know. Whether we choose to take those first steps onto the bridge or life forces us to, it’s the work of our lives to travel towards the other side, the unknown – towards that future version of ourselves.

Why do we set out in the first place? We leave the safety of the river banks because we sense there is more – more to learn about the world, and more to discover about ourselves. Perhaps the bridge is long or short, sturdy or dilapidated, solitary or filled with companions. We won’t know until we venture out – but travel, we must.

You will encounter many bridges in the future, and take that first step, getting stronger each time. I’ve learned to live on the bridge, and have found important work there, helping others traverse choppy waters of understanding that today divide and polarize us, but I wasn’t always comfortable there. You’ve been so well prepared by this place, and already have experience traversing academic achievement, the feeling of winning an entire match (shout-out to Jengus and Cate tennis!) endured a whole pandemic, and perhaps had your eyes opened and hearts broken by the social upheaval of the last few years.

As you graduate Cate tomorrow, what are your next brave steps? Where do you feel that dissatisfaction, stirring? You’ve been tethered, but you now have a fresh start and so much choice. For a while at least, I suggest you resist needing all the answers, or even clarity. Let yourself be swept up, and swept away by the world of opportunity you now have access to. Be willing to abandon the plan, and to be shaped by bridges you had no intention of ever crossing. In my college experience, I changed my major five times, and I only landed on my eventual one because I simply ran out of time. As you define the contours of your future, you will get confused, and rest assured: that’s exactly what’s supposed to happen.

There is so much beauty in “becoming,” not just “being.” Set out on the adventure, especially if you don’t know where it leads. You will meet incredible people on the bridges you travel, who will leave you changed, expanded, stronger, and more resilient. Seek them out, let them shape you, and one day you might find yourself being that guide for someone else following in your footsteps. I hope when that day arrives, you will leverage the lessons you’ve learned here and pay them forward to create a safer passage for the next generation.

Here’s to the glorious unknown that lies ahead. I’ll see you there, on the bridge.