找到屬于你的理由

Natalie Portman

2015年哈佛大學畢業典禮上，娜塔莉·波特曼受邀為畢業生演講。這位集美麗與智慧于一身的美國女演員2003年畢業于哈佛大學。與其他大部分選擇表演等相關專業的演員不同，娜塔莉攻讀了心理學專業，并修習了神經生物學和希伯來語等課程。對于一個職業演員來說，哈佛大學畢業生的頭銜似乎有些多余，更別提還有學習此類課程的經歷了。她為何選擇與表演不太相關的課程？為何又在大學畢業后重返演藝界？又為何能不被功名所累，只做自己喜歡的事？在下面的演講中，娜塔莉用親身經歷告訴我們：找到自己做事的理由，才能擁有更充實而成功的人生。（注：本文有刪節，聽完整版音頻請掃描右上方二維碼。）

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屆畢業生，你們好！今天來到這里，我感到非常榮幸。我必須要承認，即便是在畢業12年后的今天，我仍然不確信自己配不配在這里講話。我不得不提醒自己，我今天來這兒是有理由的。

今天我的感覺和我1999年作為大一新生來到哈佛園時很像。那時我覺得是不是有什么地方搞錯了；我覺得我不夠聰明，不夠格來這里上學，而且我每次張嘴說話，都不得不去證明我不只是個愚蠢的演員。但我今天在這里是要告訴你們：哈佛大學明天將給你們所有人頒發文憑。你們來這兒是有理由的。

有時，你也可能會因為不自信或缺乏經驗而欣然接受他人的期望、標準或價值觀。但你也可以利用你的缺乏經驗去開創一條屬于自己的路，一條不必費心去了解事情本該如何的路，一條由其自身特定的一套理由而決定的路。

我是在長島的一家公立中學上的高中。和我一起上學的女生都挎著普拉達包，拉直了頭發，說話帶著口音。而我九歲才從康涅狄格州搬到長島，要靠模仿她們來融入。因為我上高中時互聯網才剛剛興起，所以人們那時并不會太關注我是演員這個事實。大家知道我主要是因為我在學校背著一個比我還要大的書包，而且手上總是沾著涂改液。在高中最后一年的年鑒上，我被選為最書呆子氣的學生。

就在《星球大戰：第一部》上映后，我來哈佛大學讀書，我知道我又得重新應對別人如何看我這種事情了。我害怕別人都以為我能上哈佛只不過是因為我很有名，害怕別人會認為我不適合這兒的嚴謹治學。但別人這么想也不算太離譜。來這兒之前，我從未寫過十頁的論文。我甚至都不確定我有沒有寫過五頁的論文。我被同學們淡定的眼神嚇壞了，他們認為和高中相比，這兒的課業負擔就是小菜一碟。我完全招架不住，覺得一周讀1000頁書不可想象，而寫一篇50頁的論文簡直就是我永遠無法做到的事情。我不知道該怎么表明我的意圖，我甚至跟自己都說不清。

我從11歲就開始在演戲了。但我當時認為演戲太過輕浮，當然也意義不大。我出身于一個學者家庭，非常看重別人是否把我當回事。

在我參加大一迎新會的第一天，我還沒有能力介紹好自己，與此相反，有五位不同的同學是這樣向我進行自我介紹的：“我以后會成為總統。記住我跟你說過這句話。”這幾個同學的名字是伯尼·桑德斯、馬爾科·魯比奧、特德·克魯茲、巴拉克·奧巴馬和希拉里·克林頓。說實在的，我相信他們每一個人說的話——單是他們的舉止和自信似乎就能證明他們的預言，而我在這一方面卻還擺脫不了自我懷疑。我能進入哈佛只是因為我很有名，別人是這么看我的，我也是這么看我的。在這種不自信的驅使下，我決定要在哈佛找點嚴肅且有意義的事做，找點將能改變世界并使之變得更美好的事做。

18歲那年，我已經演了七年戲了，我以為自己會在大學找到一條更嚴肅、更有深度的路。所以大一那年秋天，我決定修習神經生物學和當代高級希伯來文學課程，因為我是個嚴肅認真的人，智商也不低。不用說，我本該兩門課都不及格的。告訴你們，我兩門都拿到了B。但當我苦學希伯來語和神經應答的不同機制時，我看到周圍的朋友們在航海和流行文化雜志上發表文章，看到教授們開班講授童話和《黑客帝國》。我意識到，我當演員是有理由的——我喜愛我做的事情。我從我的同輩和導師們身上看到，這不僅是一個可以接受的理由，還是最好的理由。

經過四年的時間竭力讓自己對別的事情感興趣之后，我迎來了畢業，就坐在你們今天坐的地方，那時我才向自己承認，我迫不及待地想要回去拍電影，拍更多的電影。我想去講故事，去想象別人的生活，并幫助別人做同樣的事情。我已經找到或者說是重新找回了我的理由。

在我的職業生涯中，我也是花了很長時間才找到我做事情的理由。我參演的第一部電影是1994年上映的。電影上映時我13歲，如今我還能一字不差地說出當時《紐約時報》對我的評價：“波特曼小姐擺的造型好過她的表演。”電影在評論界反應平平，商業上則是慘敗。那部電影叫做《這個殺手不太冷》，在歐洲叫《殺手里昂》。今天，20年過去了，我演過35部電影，可人們來找我絕大部分仍然是因為這部電影，他們跟我說他們當年有多愛這部電影，這部電影多讓他們感動，這是他們最喜歡的電影。我覺得很幸運，無論用什么標準來衡量，我有關電影上映的首次體驗在最初是那么糟糕。這讓我早早就懂得，我的意義必須來自拍電影的經歷以及與他人建立聯系的機會，而不是我在電影領域獲得的最重要的成就——商業上和評論上的成功。而且，那些最開始的反饋完全可能錯誤預測你的工作最終會產生什么影響。于是，我開始只選擇那些我喜歡的工作，從這些工作中我知道自己能慢慢收獲有意義的經驗。我變得能擁有我自己的意義，而不是將其交由票房收入或名聲來決定。

到我拍《黑天鵝》時，那經歷就全都是我自己的了。我已經不再在乎別人可能會把我說得或寫得多爛，也不管觀眾是否想來看我的電影。對我來說，看芭蕾舞演員讓我得到了啟發。對芭蕾舞演員而言，你的技巧一旦達到一定的高度，你和別人的唯一區別就只在于你的怪異或者甚至是瑕疵——有一個芭蕾舞演員就因旋轉時稍稍有點不平衡而聞名。嚴格說來，你永遠都不可能是最好的。總會有人跳得更高，或有更優美的身段。你唯一能做到最好的，就是開發你自己。我在《黑天鵝》中飾演了尼娜，她只有在發現自己完美且快樂，而不是盡力讓別人認為她完美的時候，才獲得了藝術上的成功。所以當《黑天鵝》取得商業上的成功，我開始得到贊譽時，我為與他人建立了聯系而感到榮幸和感激，為我已經確立的屬于自己的真正核心意義而感到榮幸和感激。而且我需要這種意義不依賴于人們對我的反應。人們跟我說《黑天鵝》是藝術上的冒險：試圖出演一個職業芭蕾舞演員，這是一個可怕的挑戰。但吸引我這么去做的并非是勇氣或膽量。我完全沒注意到自己的局限性，才會去做我毫無準備去做的事。所以，我在大學時的缺乏經驗曾讓我感到不自信，讓我想按照他人的規則做事，而現在恰恰是這種缺乏經驗讓我真正敢去冒險。我甚至沒有意識到演芭蕾舞演員存在風險。當該片導演達倫·阿羅諾夫斯基問我是否能跳芭蕾舞時，我告訴他我差不多算是一個芭蕾舞演員。準備拍攝時我很快就意識到，我距離芭蕾舞演員可能還有15年的距離，這逼著我去付出成百上千萬倍的努力。當然，電影藝術和替身使電影最后的效果很好。但關鍵是，如果我知道自己的局限，我就不會冒這個風險。而這次冒險使我有了最難忘的個人藝術經歷之一。

我認識一位著名的小提琴家。他曾跟我說他無法作曲，因為他知道的曲子太多了，所以當他開始想音符時，現有的某首曲子會立即出現在他的腦海里。而你們最大的優勢之一就是不知道事情應該怎么做，就從這個優勢開始著手吧。你們可以自由譜曲，因為你們的腦子里沒有塞滿曲子。你們不會想當然地認為事情就該是那樣。你們知道的做事情的唯一方法就是你們自己的方法。你們在座的各位都將成就偉大事業，這是毫無疑問的。每次你們要開始做新的事情時，缺乏經驗會促使你們要么走別人的路，遵從別人的價值觀，要么開創自己的路，即便你們沒有意識到那正是你們正在做的。如果你擁有自己的理由，那么即使你的這條路奇怪而笨拙，它也將完全屬于你，而你也將能夠通過讓自己的內心得到滿足，來控制所做事情的回報。

謝謝。