Written as an open letter to the graduating class of 2025, this piece acknowledges the layered challenges they’ve moved through, shaped by digital acceleration, pandemic-era learning, and a world that often feels uncertain. It is a recognition of the strength, resilience, and creativity of a generation stepping into ambiguity with intention.
Originally shared on LinkedIn as part of The Human Margin series.
You kept your camera off, but your mic on. Took exams in your bedroom.
Watched the world unravel through a glowing screen.
You learned to mute disappointment, write essays through panic,
and answer “how are you?” with “I’m fine.”
You built resilience inside breakout rooms.
Held hope in Spotify playlists,
and asked the group chat, “are you guys okay?” at 1:00 a.m.
Now you’re here, graduating into a world that doesn’t look like the one they described.
And still, you show up.
Your fluency isn’t just in code or content… it’s in contradiction.
You know how to mourn and meme in the same scroll.
How to apply for jobs while watching crises unfold in real time.
How to want more while being told to settle.
How to dream, while staying practical.
Some days, it feels like grief, and maybe, just maybe,
the people you looked up to never had the language to tell you that graduating might feel like this.
You’ve been coming of age while the world reconfigured itself, while systems glitched and headlines blurred and certainty became a luxury.
And though this moment is yours, undeniably, you’re not walking into it alone.
There’s a quieter cohort watching from the edge. A little older, a little more weathered.
We remember what it was like to try and build something steady on shifting ground.
We’re now raising kids and the bar.
We’re paying bills while planning bedtime, aligning teams while still healing ourselves.
We’re juggling scraped knees and spreadsheets, big ideas and burnout,
fear and fierce hope.
And we see you.
We see the pressure behind your eyes when you talk about jobs, timelines, and expectations.
We hear the hesitation behind “I’m fine.”
We know what it’s like to carry your own doubt while performing stability.
You’re walking into a world that is changing, but you’re not here to fit it,
You’re here to build what comes next.
We don’t have advice, we’re still figuring it out ourselves.
We may long to grab coffee with you, while also knowing time is our most fragile currency.
We can bear witness though, and we can tell you, without performance, without pretense,
what you bring matters.
So please stay curious.
Stay wildly, irrationally hopeful.
Build micro-communities where you and others can thrive.
Practice peace without performing calm.
And if no one’s said it lately:
You belong here.
We believe in you.
We got you.
Keep going.
–
From someone who sees you rising.
#TheHumanMargin #Graduation2025 #GenZ #PurposeOverPerfection #WeSeeYou
🔗 This piece is part of The Human Margin, a series of letters and reflections on humanity and meaning in the age of intelligent machines.
I write to honour what rarely gets named.
To the Graduating Class of 2025
This piece is part of The Human Margin, a series of letters and reflections on the humanity in work, growth, and meaning.
Emi Linds
Written as an open letter to the graduating class of 2025, this piece acknowledges the layered challenges they’ve moved through, shaped by digital acceleration, pandemic-era learning, and a world that often feels uncertain. It is a recognition of the strength, resilience, and creativity of a generation stepping into ambiguity with intention.
Originally shared on LinkedIn as part of The Human Margin series.
You kept your camera off, but your mic on. Took exams in your bedroom.
Watched the world unravel through a glowing screen.
You learned to mute disappointment, write essays through panic,
and answer “how are you?” with “I’m fine.”
You built resilience inside breakout rooms.
Held hope in Spotify playlists,
and asked the group chat, “are you guys okay?” at 1:00 a.m.
Now you’re here, graduating into a world that doesn’t look like the one they described.
And still, you show up.
Your fluency isn’t just in code or content… it’s in contradiction.
You know how to mourn and meme in the same scroll.
How to apply for jobs while watching crises unfold in real time.
How to want more while being told to settle.
How to dream, while staying practical.
Some days, it feels like grief, and maybe, just maybe,
the people you looked up to never had the language to tell you that graduating might feel like this.
You’ve been coming of age while the world reconfigured itself, while systems glitched and headlines blurred and certainty became a luxury.
And though this moment is yours, undeniably, you’re not walking into it alone.
There’s a quieter cohort watching from the edge. A little older, a little more weathered.
We remember what it was like to try and build something steady on shifting ground.
We’re now raising kids and the bar.
We’re paying bills while planning bedtime, aligning teams while still healing ourselves.
We’re juggling scraped knees and spreadsheets, big ideas and burnout,
fear and fierce hope.
And we see you.
We see the pressure behind your eyes when you talk about jobs, timelines, and expectations.
We hear the hesitation behind “I’m fine.”
We know what it’s like to carry your own doubt while performing stability.
You’re walking into a world that is changing, but you’re not here to fit it,
You’re here to build what comes next.
We don’t have advice, we’re still figuring it out ourselves.
We may long to grab coffee with you, while also knowing time is our most fragile currency.
We can bear witness though, and we can tell you, without performance, without pretense,
what you bring matters.
So please stay curious.
Stay wildly, irrationally hopeful.
Build micro-communities where you and others can thrive.
Practice peace without performing calm.
And if no one’s said it lately:
You belong here.
We believe in you.
We got you.
Keep going.
–
From someone who sees you rising.
#TheHumanMargin #Graduation2025 #GenZ #PurposeOverPerfection #WeSeeYou
🔗 This piece is part of The Human Margin, a series of letters and reflections on humanity and meaning in the age of intelligent machines.
I write to honour what rarely gets named.
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