'You are the author of your own life.': Words of wisdom from North Salem salutatorian Joey Centofanti

NORTH SALEM, N.Y. - Before the North Salem High School Class of 2026 received their diplomas, salutatorian Joey Centofanti offered some words of encouragement to his classmates:

"Good evening, esteemed faculty, cherished families and friends, and the distinguished North Salem Class of 2026. My name is Joey Centofanti, and I am honored to represent North Salem’s Class of 2026 as salutatorian.

Truthfully, I began writing this speech unsure of what I was supposed to be speaking about—whether I was supposed to be inspirational or give some sort of celebratory salutation. I still haven’t figured it out. Honestly, in the hours I’ve spent crafting and second-guessing this speech, I also haven’t figured out why having the second-highest average qualifies me to offer advice or inspiration about the future. I’m sure you all know more than I do.

In my quest to find some worthwhile topic to speak about, it also clicked that there are some things I actually won’t miss about North Salem: the PACER test, the parking lot that takes forever to get out of after 2:40, and, most of all, the human-waste vandals in the boys’ bathrooms. But in all seriousness, this is the part where I actually start.

You know, as someone who has wanted to write a graduation speech for years, I really had no idea what to say. Well, I knew not to tell you all that we’re opening a new chapter in our lives, because I know you and I have all heard that too many times. If I had written this speech two years ago, I probably would’ve written about academics or grades or the hard work that got me salutatorian. I probably would’ve encouraged all of you to be hard workers and strive for academic excellence. But in all honesty, I’m going to write about the exact opposite of that—and encourage a degree of opposition to it. I’m going to say something that most people—even 9th, 10th, and 11th grade me—wouldn’t expect of me.

During my time at North Salem, I’ve developed a reputation for being somebody who “cared too much,” was “too uptight and perseverative,” and was too “grade-conscious.” And that was warranted. I probably checked my grades five times a day and lost hours of sleep to schoolwork. Anyway, the overarching reason for my obsession with grades is that I fell for the futile promise of perfectionism and idealism, and it took me years to realize that while I had an insatiable desire to succeed, I was doing it all wrong. I had the wrong idea of success.

Senior year has taught me a lot about myself. One of the biggest things I realized is that this pursuit of perfection had nothing to do with achievement itself, but rather with the external validation I sought from society. Some of you might know it as “academic validation,” or validation of self-worth and identity through academics. Worst of all, I couldn’t stop comparing myself—comparing myself to the people around me who were doing things I couldn’t figure out how to do yet, or wasn’t ready to do yet. I was hard on myself, and most of all, I forgot to give myself grace.

Now I know Mrs. Bratt is somewhere in this room, and I have to acknowledge her and the things she taught me. And no—not derivatives, integrals, or some man named L’Hôpital who lived 400 years ago—but what she taught me about grace.

I want you to seriously think about how many times you’ve compared yourself to someone else: whether that be the person sitting next to you who scored better than you on a test, someone who seems to have a better social life and more friends than you, or someone who has something you want. If you’re comparing yourself, it’s probably because you haven’t found what you’re supposed to yet—that thing that makes you feel special and fulfilled, that makes you feel like you don’t need to compare yourself. Give yourself grace and time to find that. But more importantly, give yourself grace for doing life imperfectly and making mistakes. This is your first time living. And it is, or soon will be, our first time as adults.

In retrospect, I realized that much of my need for perfection and comparison resided within an internal insecurity about who I was—or rather, not really knowing who I was. I didn’t give myself grace during the awkwardness of learning who we are as teenagers. So recently, I began spending more time discovering who I was outside of the need to be perfect. I began building an identity, which I’d like to think is broadly part of the purpose of life: for each of us to be ourselves.

For a while, I had the intersectionality of my identity all wrong—that is, I had my priorities wrong. And most people would think the opposite: that having grades and school as your foremost priority is a good thing. But let a salutatorian tell you that that is completely wrong. While academics, your career, and professionalism may be part of your identity, they are by no means the most important part. Remember that as you grow up. The pursuit of excellence is far better than the pursuit of perfection. And all you need to be excellent is the ability to be yourself and to be proud of that—to be proud of how you express yourself. School and work are important, but not nearly as important as you are.

And honestly, I think that’s what makes us successful. Success is not measured in numbers or metrics, but is a testament to—and a self-identified representation of—our ability to live life according to our own standards, visions, passions, and values. I never liked the word “measured” when it comes to success, because it implies there is an expected value or quantity to reach. I like to think of success as more of a fluid blend of the things that matter to us and the variety of accomplishments we’re proud of, rather than a rigid, numerical concept we use to compare and scare each other with. And most importantly, success is not perfect. If you asked me, I’d tell you to stop letting society determine what makes you successful and instead choose what success looks like for you.

In your life, you will inevitably meet people who expect you to be perfect; people who question your ability to achieve; a boss who doubts you; a classmate who calls you a try-hard. And you will likely feel the urge to prove them wrong. You’ll meet people who seem perfect, and you may even question your own standards. But your goal in life should never be to prove yourself to someone else, but to prove yourself to yourself. You don’t have to be perfect—you just have to be yourself.

Oh, and side note: you definitely do not need good grades to be excellent. The six-point drop my average saw from this past second to third quarter—that is, when valedictorian and salutatorian stopped counting, and when I decided I was done with my need for perfection—might have been the most refreshing feeling ever. Letting go of that perfectionism, caring less, and spending more time with the things I love—the things I, and you, get to claim autonomy over.

I’d like to leave you with one thing: the reminder that the future doesn’t exist yet. As a society, we like to wonder about the future: “I wonder what’s down the road for me,” or “What will my life look like in ten years?” or “What if X or Y?” But you already know, because you are the one who decides that. Be more conscious that you are not a product of what happens to you, but a product of what you decide to do and who you decide to be.

If you’re anything like me and feel overwhelmed or scared of growing up and the uncertainty of building a currently nonexistent future, remember to trust yourself. We all have built-in compasses to guide us when we don’t know how to approach certain situations: our hearts (the metaphysical ones, at least). Wise people—actually, I take that back—are always telling me that the only compass you’ll ever need in life is the ability to trust yourself: trust your heart, and most of all, be proud of who you are. Be proud of how your metaphysical heart has a different rhythm and dynamic from everyone else’s. Remember to celebrate yourself, your victories, and the qualities that make you uniquely you. Those wise people are my parents. Thank you for reminding me who I am, Mom and Dad.

So write it, design it, and decorate every corner of it—to the fullest. That is, the future. But if you ever feel like changing the future from what you once envisioned, then do that. Chase your dreams and spend time doing something that “feels like yourself.” Now, if you see me in ten or fifteen years and I’m not in an operating room with a scalpel in my hand, don’t feel bad for me—just know that I’m chasing something else I found along the way, something that inspired me to build a different future, but one that felt more like me. I encourage that for all of you, too. Pursue something that feels fulfilling—something that feels like your purpose—not something you feel obligated or expected to do.

There are so many things you cannot decide in life—whether or not you get that one job you want, whether or not you did that one thing differently in the past, or whether or not you test well on a bad day. But you do get to decide who you are and your identity, especially now as we enter a new world outside of high school. A few minutes ago, I mentioned autonomy, and that’s exactly what this is. As you enter this next stage of life, remember to exercise your privilege of autonomy, self-destiny, and independence to choose who you are. You get to choose where you go, what you become, and what you do. Those are the things that define you—not the things you compare yourself to or wish you could change.

You are the author of your own life. So fill your life with plot twists, changes that make you proud, and questionable choices that make your parents slightly worried—emphasis on “slightly.” Do good things, and make people feel good. Spend more time with your creativity, and expand it. Give yourself grace for the things you can’t change, and let that grace push you forward instead of holding you back. Most of all, be your own person; don’t let anyone take ownership or control of the trajectory of your life. Care less about what other people think is important, and decide what is important for you. This is you unveiling a new version of yourself—one you are still exploring and defining. And that’s a good thing. It’s growth, and arguably the most important part of the human experience.

So consider this speech a salutatorian telling you to care a little less about school—which is counterintuitive, but essential—and to care a little less about what society defines as important, and instead spend more time with the pursuits, causes, activities, and qualities that feel most important to you. Yes, work hard, but remember that life should be much more than the work you do. Because at the end of the day, all those teachers who told me I wouldn’t remember those 99s or 100s on tests about information I’ve already forgotten were right.

As I look before me into this sea of graduates, I urge you to care a little less, get to know yourself for who you are, embrace the dynamic nature of identity, and be proud of that. Thank you, Class of 2026, and congratulations. I do not doubt that we will each find out who we are in this lifetime."