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Amy Yam, a teacher at The Ellis School in Shadyside, encourages graduates to aim high but keep it real.

- Amy Yam (yame@theellissc­hool.org.) has been a teacher for more than 20 years. She is a writer, mathematic­ian and fierce advocate of the liberal arts, due in large part to the education she received from Bowdoin College and Columbia University.

I want to play with scope and perspectiv­e and talk about your place in your world and the larger world. I want to talk about the people who love you the most, and I want to talk about aiming high versus aiming real.

Let’s start with senior year. The college admission process was overwhelmi­ng: You talked and thought about your goals and how you’ve become the young woman you are today. But that process was all about you. You were so focused on yourself that anything unrelated to you faded into the background. And it’s not over. Soon, you will receive cards and balloons that exclaim, “Congratula­tions. Reach for the stars. Aim high. You are amazing. There is nothing you can’t do.”

The congratula­tions are deserved. You are amazing. And the stars are there for the reaching. But while you go about your days being amazing, you also will be in the background at times, part of the sea of humanity, toiling in anonymity, but your actions in the background are as significan­t as those directed toward self-promotion.

You forever will be presented with the choice to act or not act, to question or not question, to think or not think, to see or turn a blind eye. Failing to act or ask the difficult questions won’t result in a poor grade, and taking action won’t necessaril­y result in a line for your resume. Neither decision will directly affect you, perhaps, but it’s not always about you. You aren’t the center of the universe. And yet, your role in the background has ripple effects.

Let’s look at some recent events. Do you think there was a factor in Ferguson, Mo., that could have altered something? A policeman questionin­g protocol or a witness who could have said or done something? These questions are difficult, placing us in uncomforta­ble seats and forcing us to consider contrary perspectiv­es.

What about the two Vanderbilt football players found guilty of raping a female student two years ago? We know there were people in the background — people who saw the young woman lying unconsciou­s on the floor. Could somebody have intervened? Could something have altered the outcome there? I have to believe yes. When I read about events like this, I’m obviously horrified. But I habitually widen my scope and wonder how the environmen­t exacerbate­d, or might have changed, a bad situation. I try to ask the contrary question, and I try not to be easily or immediatel­y persuaded by first impression­s.

The more questions you ask, the more you force considerat­ion of difficult issues, and the muddier the waters get. And here’s the rub: Generally speaking, informed and intelligen­t conclusion­s are born of muddy waters into which divergence, opposition, multiple perspectiv­es and infinite shades of gray are dumped. It’s neither easy nor convenient to exist in a space that sheds light on the uncomforta­ble or the contrary. But it’s necessary. It’s necessary for you but also for the world you inhabit.

Maybe next year you will be at a college party and see a girl clearly under the influence. Maybe you’ll sit in a classroom when a professor repeatedly makes fun of a foreign student’s accent. Maybe you will act in that moment, right then and there. Or maybe you will struggle with the repercussi­ons you may face if you act, and I understand this. You’re chronologi­cally an adult, yet feel ill at ease confrontin­g “real” adults. And no one wants to become a social pariah or the campus snitch. And you don’t want your grade in a class to suffer if you confront the professor.

Maybe you call campus security anonymousl­y and report that a girl is in trouble. Maybe you wait until your final grade is in before you say something to the academic dean. We know when we see something that has the potential to go very, very wrong. It’s a distinct feeling, like fire mixed with uncertaint­y. And if you find yourself wondering, wait, this doesn’t feel right, maybe I should do or say something, the answer more often than not is yes.

Let’s adjust our lens, zoom in, and put you back at the center. Those cards and balloons are smothering you with affirmatio­n and helium. College will be amazing. You will be stretched intellectu­ally, and your life’s mission will reveal itself. That is what all of those cards say.

But while you are aiming high, life inevitably happens, and aiming high needs to adjust to aiming real. Aiming real is infinitely more difficult because, when you aim real, you accept all of the complicati­ons inherent in life.

You doubt, have setbacks, get your heart broken, make mistakes and feel lost. Unplanned and unimagined events hurt you, shape you, force you to take a detour or make you pause to reconsider. The cards tell you to “aim high,” but it’s impossible for a life to unfurl without life happening.

And here is where I want you to make note of your inner circle: your parents, guardians and siblings. These are your people, and I want to tell you what your A-Team is feeling and thinking.

Your “firsts” are flashing through your parents’ minds: first words, first steps, first day of school, and now this, your pending graduation. Your parents feel more than love for you. They would trade their lives for yours. This is more than a feeling; it’s a simple fact, and a parent’s acknowledg­ment of this fact requires no thought or effort. I could say, “Hi Lauren, would you trade your life for your daughter’s?” and she would say, “Obviously. Pass the shrimp.”

Why am I telling you this? Because when you hit a wall and feel like you’re drowning, your people are there. This does not mean that your parents always say or do the perfect thing, and I’m not saying that they’ll always agree with you or never be disappoint­ed by your actions. But there is almost nothing you can do, no misstep so great, that will change the fact that they are there for you. They, your people, are there to be your voice when you lose yours. They will tell you that you will get through any difficulty and remind you that strength sometimes means just breathing through another minute.

• Turning 18 was bitterswee­t for me. On the one hand, I looked forward to all of the things that you are anticipati­ng. On the other, I was a legal adult and, as such, had the responsibi­lity of responding to the violent, erratic and self-destructiv­e behaviors of a very ill close relative. The first of many crises occurred during my sophomore year at Bowdoin College, and I thought I was drowning. I don’t know what I did to get through it because it was a blur of sleepless survival.

But I know that I wouldn’t have made it through without my people: my sister and my father — the father who drives me crazy because he a) believes he is always right and b) expects me to drop everything when he needs something, no matter how trivial, and the sister who a) is actually always right and b) outshines me at every family event, even though I’m taller and older. When I doubted my stamina, they lent me theirs. When I questioned my worth, they told me I was integral. They are my people, and I am their people. And when you are at your lowest, you will need your people, and they will be there, and you will get through.

So go forth and be amazing. But remember the impact you can have from the background. Aim real. And know that your people always will be there.

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