找到属于你的理由

Natalie Portman

2015年哈佛大学毕业典礼上，娜塔莉·波特曼受邀为毕业生演讲。这位集美丽与智慧于一身的美国女演员2003年毕业于哈佛大学。与其他大部分选择表演等相关专业的演员不同，娜塔莉攻读了心理学专业，并修习了神经生物学和希伯来语等课程。对于一个职业演员来说，哈佛大学毕业生的头衔似乎有些多余，更别提还有学习此类课程的经历了。她为何选择与表演不太相关的课程？为何又在大学毕业后重返演艺界？又为何能不被功名所累，只做自己喜欢的事？在下面的演讲中，娜塔莉用亲身经历告诉我们：找到自己做事的理由，才能拥有更充实而成功的人生。（注：本文有删节，听完整版音频请扫描右上方二维码。）

Hello， Class of 2015. I am so honored to be here today. I have to admit that today， even twelve years after graduation， I'm still insecure about my own worthiness. I have to remind myself： today you're here for a reason.

Today I feel much like I did when I came to Harvard Yard as a freshman in 1999. I felt like there had been some mistake； that I wasn't smart enough to be in this company， and that every time I opened my mouth， I would have to prove I wasn't just a dumb actress. But I am here to tell you today： Harvard is giving you all diplomas tomorrow. You are here for a reason.

Sometimes your insecurities and your inexperience may lead you， too， to embrace other people's expectations， standards or values. But you can harness that inexperience to carve out1） your own path， one that is free of the burden of knowing how things are supposed to be， a path that is defined by its own particular set of reasons.

I went to a public high school on Long Island. The girls I went to school with had Prada bags and flat-ironed hair. And they spoke with an accent. I， who had moved there at age nine from Connecticut， mimicked to fit in. Since the Internet was just starting when I was in high school， people didn't really pay that much attention to the fact that I was an actress. I was known mainly at school for having a backpack bigger than I was and always having white-out2） on my hands. I was voted for my senior-year book the nerdiest one.

When I got to Harvard just after the release of Star Wars： Episode 1， I knew I would be starting over3） in terms of how people viewed me. I feared people would have assumed I'd gotten in just for being famous， and that they would think that I was not worthy of the intellectual rigor4） here. And it would not have been far from the truth. When I came here， I had never written a ten-page paper before. I'm not even sure I'd written a five-page paper. I was alarmed and intimidated5） by the calm eyes of fellow students， who thought that compared to high school the workload here was easy. I was completely overwhelmed and thought that reading a thousand pages a week was unimaginable， that writing a fifty-page thesis is just something I could never do. I had no idea how to declare my intentions. I couldn't even articulate them to myself.

I've been acting since I was eleven. But I thought acting was too frivolous6） and certainly not meaningful. I came from a family of academics and was very concerned about being taken seriously.

In contrast to my inability to declare myself， on my first day of orientation7）， freshman year， five separate students introduced themselves to me by saying， "I'm going to be president. Remember I told you that." Their names were Bernie Sanders， Marco Rubio， Ted Cruz， Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton8）. In all seriousness， I believed every one of them： their bearing9） and self-confidence alone seemed proof of their prophecy， where I couldn't shake my self-doubt. I got in only because I was famous. This was how others saw me， and it was how I saw myself. Driven by these insecurities， I decided that I was going to find something to do in Harvard that was serious and meaningful； that would change the world and make it a better place.

At the age of eighteen， I'd already been acting for seven years and assumed I'd find a more serious and profound path in college. So freshman fall I decided to take neurobiology and advanced modern Hebrew literature because I was serious and intellectual. Needless to say， I should have failed both. I got Bs， for your information. But as I was fighting my way through Hebrew and the different mechanisms of neuro-response， I saw friends around me writing papers on sailing and pop culture magazines， and professors teaching classes on fairy tales and The Matrix. I realized that there was a reason that I was an actor—I love what I do. And I saw from my peers and my mentors that that was not only an acceptable reason， it was the best reason.

When I got to my graduation， sitting where you sit today， after four years of trying to get excited about something else， I admitted to myself that I couldn't wait to go back and make more films. I wanted to tell stories， to imagine the lives of others and help others do the same. I'd found or perhaps reclaimed my reason.

In my professional life， it also took me time to find my own reasons for doing my work. The first film I was in came out in 1994. I was thirteen years old upon the film's release， and I can still quote what the New York Times said about me verbatim10）， "Miss Portman poses better than she acts." The film had a universally tepid11） critic response and went on to bomb12） commercially. That film was called The Professional， or Leon in Europe. And today， twenty years and thirty-five films later， it is still the film people approach me about the most， to tell me how much they loved it， how much it moved them， how it's their favorite movie. I feel lucky that my first experience of releasing a film was initially such a disaster by all standards and measures. I learned early that my meaning had to be from the experience of making the film and the possibility of connecting with individuals， rather than the foremost trophies in my industry： financial and critical success. And also those initial reactions could be false predictors of your works' ultimate legacy. I started choosing only jobs that I'm passionate about， and from which I knew I could glean13） meaningful experiences. I was able to own my meaning and not have it be determined by box office receipts or prestige.

By the time I got to making Black Swan， the experience was entirely my own. I felt immune to the worst things anyone could say or write about me and to whether the audience felt like going to see my movie or not. It was instructive for me to see the ballet dancers. For ballet dancers， once your technique gets to a certain level， the only thing that separates you from others is your quirks14） or even flaws. One ballerina was famous for how she turned slightly off balance. You can never be the best technically. Someone will always have a higher jump or a more beautiful line. The only thing you can be the best at is developing your own self. My character Nina in Black Swan is only artistically successful when she finds perfection and pleasure for herself， not when she was trying to be perfect in the eyes of others. So when Black Swan was successful financially and I began receiving accolades15）， I felt honored and grateful to have connected with people， for the true core of my meaning I had already established. And I needed it to be independent of people's reactions to me. People told me that Black Swan was an artistic risk. A scary challenge to try to portray a professional ballet dancer. But it didn't feel like courage or daring that drew me to it. I was so oblivious16） to my own limits that I did things I was woefully17） unprepared to do. And so the very inexperience that in college had made me feel insecure， and made me want to play by others' rules， now is making me actually take risks. I didn't even realize there were risks. When Darren Aronofsky， the film director， asked me if I could do ballet， I told him that I was basically a ballerina. When it quickly became clear in preparing for the film that I was maybe fifteen years away from being a ballerina， it made me work a million times harder. And of course the magic of cinema and body doubles18） helped the final effect. But the point is， if I had known my own limitations， I never would have taken the risk. And the risk led to one of my greatest artistic， personal experiences.

I know a famous violinist who told me that he can't compose because he knows too many pieces， so when he starts thinking of the note an existing piece immediately comes to mind. Just starting out one of your biggest strengths is not knowing how things are supposed to be. You can compose freely because your mind isn't cluttered with too many pieces. And you don't take for granted the way things are. The only way you know how to do things is your own way. You here will all go on to achieve great things. There is no doubt about that. Each time you set out to do something new， your inexperience can either lead you down a path where you will conform19） to someone else's values， or you can forge20） your own path， even though you don't realize that's what you're doing. If your reasons are your own， your path， even if it is a strange and clumsy21） path， will be wholly yours， and you will control the rewards of what you do by making your internal life， fulfilling.

Thank you.

2015届毕业生，你们好！今天来到这里，我感到非常荣幸。我必须要承认，即便是在毕业12年后的今天，我仍然不确信自己配不配在这里讲话。我不得不提醒自己，我今天来这儿是有理由的。

今天我的感觉和我1999年作为大一新生来到哈佛园时很像。那时我觉得是不是有什么地方搞错了；我觉得我不够聪明，不够格来这里上学，而且我每次张嘴说话，都不得不去证明我不只是个愚蠢的演员。但我今天在这里是要告诉你们：哈佛大学明天将给你们所有人颁发文凭。你们来这儿是有理由的。

有时，你也可能会因为不自信或缺乏经验而欣然接受他人的期望、标准或价值观。但你也可以利用你的缺乏经验去开创一条属于自己的路，一条不必费心去了解事情本该如何的路，一条由其自身特定的一套理由而决定的路。

我是在长岛的一家公立中学上的高中。和我一起上学的女生都挎着普拉达包，拉直了头发，说话带着口音。而我九岁才从康涅狄格州搬到长岛，要靠模仿她们来融入。因为我上高中时互联网才刚刚兴起，所以人们那时并不会太关注我是演员这个事实。大家知道我主要是因为我在学校背着一个比我还要大的书包，而且手上总是沾着涂改液。在高中最后一年的年鉴上，我被选为最书呆子气的学生。

就在《星球大战：第一部》上映后，我来哈佛大学读书，我知道我又得重新应对别人如何看我这种事情了。我害怕别人都以为我能上哈佛只不过是因为我很有名，害怕别人会认为我不适合这儿的严谨治学。但别人这么想也不算太离谱。来这儿之前，我从未写过十页的论文。我甚至都不确定我有没有写过五页的论文。我被同学们淡定的眼神吓坏了，他们认为和高中相比，这儿的课业负担就是小菜一碟。我完全招架不住，觉得一周读1000页书不可想象，而写一篇50页的论文简直就是我永远无法做到的事情。我不知道该怎么表明我的意图，我甚至跟自己都说不清。

我从11岁就开始在演戏了。但我当时认为演戏太过轻浮，当然也意义不大。我出身于一个学者家庭，非常看重别人是否把我当回事。

在我参加大一迎新会的第一天，我还没有能力介绍好自己，与此相反，有五位不同的同学是这样向我进行自我介绍的：“我以后会成为总统。记住我跟你说过这句话。”这几个同学的名字是伯尼·桑德斯、马尔科·鲁比奥、特德·克鲁兹、巴拉克·奥巴马和希拉里·克林顿。说实在的，我相信他们每一个人说的话——单是他们的举止和自信似乎就能证明他们的预言，而我在这一方面却还摆脱不了自我怀疑。我能进入哈佛只是因为我很有名，别人是这么看我的，我也是这么看我的。在这种不自信的驱使下，我决定要在哈佛找点严肃且有意义的事做，找点将能改变世界并使之变得更美好的事做。

18岁那年，我已经演了七年戏了，我以为自己会在大学找到一条更严肃、更有深度的路。所以大一那年秋天，我决定修习神经生物学和当代高级希伯来文学课程，因为我是个严肃认真的人，智商也不低。不用说，我本该两门课都不及格的。告诉你们，我两门都拿到了B。但当我苦学希伯来语和神经应答的不同机制时，我看到周围的朋友们在航海和流行文化杂志上发表文章，看到教授们开班讲授童话和《黑客帝国》。我意识到，我当演员是有理由的——我喜爱我做的事情。我从我的同辈和导师们身上看到，这不仅是一个可以接受的理由，还是最好的理由。

经过四年的时间竭力让自己对别的事情感兴趣之后，我迎来了毕业，就坐在你们今天坐的地方，那时我才向自己承认，我迫不及待地想要回去拍电影，拍更多的电影。我想去讲故事，去想象别人的生活，并帮助别人做同样的事情。我已经找到或者说是重新找回了我的理由。

在我的职业生涯中，我也是花了很长时间才找到我做事情的理由。我参演的第一部电影是1994年上映的。电影上映时我13岁，如今我还能一字不差地说出当时《纽约时报》对我的评价：“波特曼小姐摆的造型好过她的表演。”电影在评论界反应平平，商业上则是惨败。那部电影叫做《这个杀手不太冷》，在欧洲叫《杀手里昂》。今天，20年过去了，我演过35部电影，可人们来找我绝大部分仍然是因为这部电影，他们跟我说他们当年有多爱这部电影，这部电影多让他们感动，这是他们最喜欢的电影。我觉得很幸运，无论用什么标准来衡量，我有关电影上映的首次体验在最初是那么糟糕。这让我早早就懂得，我的意义必须来自拍电影的经历以及与他人建立联系的机会，而不是我在电影领域获得的最重要的成就——商业上和评论上的成功。而且，那些最开始的反馈完全可能错误预测你的工作最终会产生什么影响。于是，我开始只选择那些我喜欢的工作，从这些工作中我知道自己能慢慢收获有意义的经验。我变得能拥有我自己的意义，而不是将其交由票房收入或名声来决定。

到我拍《黑天鹅》时，那经历就全都是我自己的了。我已经不再在乎别人可能会把我说得或写得多烂，也不管观众是否想来看我的电影。对我来说，看芭蕾舞演员让我得到了启发。对芭蕾舞演员而言，你的技巧一旦达到一定的高度，你和别人的唯一区别就只在于你的怪异或者甚至是瑕疵——有一个芭蕾舞演员就因旋转时稍稍有点不平衡而闻名。严格说来，你永远都不可能是最好的。总会有人跳得更高，或有更优美的身段。你唯一能做到最好的，就是开发你自己。我在《黑天鹅》中饰演了尼娜，她只有在发现自己完美且快乐，而不是尽力让别人认为她完美的时候，才获得了艺术上的成功。所以当《黑天鹅》取得商业上的成功，我开始得到赞誉时，我为与他人建立了联系而感到荣幸和感激，为我已经确立的属于自己的真正核心意义而感到荣幸和感激。而且我需要这种意义不依赖于人们对我的反应。人们跟我说《黑天鹅》是艺术上的冒险：试图出演一个职业芭蕾舞演员，这是一个可怕的挑战。但吸引我这么去做的并非是勇气或胆量。我完全没注意到自己的局限性，才会去做我毫无准备去做的事。所以，我在大学时的缺乏经验曾让我感到不自信，让我想按照他人的规则做事，而现在恰恰是这种缺乏经验让我真正敢去冒险。我甚至没有意识到演芭蕾舞演员存在风险。当该片导演达伦·阿罗诺夫斯基问我是否能跳芭蕾舞时，我告诉他我差不多算是一个芭蕾舞演员。准备拍摄时我很快就意识到，我距离芭蕾舞演员可能还有15年的距离，这逼着我去付出成百上千万倍的努力。当然，电影艺术和替身使电影最后的效果很好。但关键是，如果我知道自己的局限，我就不会冒这个风险。而这次冒险使我有了最难忘的个人艺术经历之一。

我认识一位著名的小提琴家。他曾跟我说他无法作曲，因为他知道的曲子太多了，所以当他开始想音符时，现有的某首曲子会立即出现在他的脑海里。而你们最大的优势之一就是不知道事情应该怎么做，就从这个优势开始着手吧。你们可以自由谱曲，因为你们的脑子里没有塞满曲子。你们不会想当然地认为事情就该是那样。你们知道的做事情的唯一方法就是你们自己的方法。你们在座的各位都将成就伟大事业，这是毫无疑问的。每次你们要开始做新的事情时，缺乏经验会促使你们要么走别人的路，遵从别人的价值观，要么开创自己的路，即便你们没有意识到那正是你们正在做的。如果你拥有自己的理由，那么即使你的这条路奇怪而笨拙，它也将完全属于你，而你也将能够通过让自己的内心得到满足，来控制所做事情的回报。

谢谢。