Some advice from Mary Schmich that is worth pondering!
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 p.m. 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.
Even So, Joy 
