I paused, looking directly at section 114.
“My parents didn’t come to that graduation. They told me my PhD was impractical, a waste of time. They said my eight years of education didn’t matter because it wouldn’t lead to a real career.”
The stadium went silent.
“They weren’t entirely wrong. A PhD doesn’t guarantee success. It doesn’t guarantee wealth. It doesn’t even guarantee you’ll find a job in your field.”
I saw my mother’s hand go to her mouth.
“But here’s what my PhD did give me. It gave me the skills to solve complex problems. It taught me how to think critically, how to fail productively, how to persist when everyone says something is impossible. It gave me the foundation to build something meaningful.”
I clicked to my first slide, a photo of a village in Kenya lit up at night by our microgrids.
“This is Kibra, a village outside Nairobi. Two years ago, this village had no electricity. Children studied by candlelight. The medical clinic couldn’t refrigerate vaccines. Small businesses closed at sunset.”
Next slide. The same village, transformed.
“This is Kibra today. Using technology I developed during my PhD research, we installed a solar microgrid that powers the entire village. Children can study after dark. The clinic saves lives with refrigerated medicine. Businesses thrive into the evening.”
More slides. More villages. More transformed lives.
“Solar Reach now powers two hundred thousand homes. That’s roughly one million people whose lives have fundamentally changed because of impractical academic research.”
I looked back at my parents. My mother was crying. My father’s jaw was tight.
“I’m telling you this not to brag, but to make a point. Success isn’t just about salary or status. It’s not about picking the safe path or doing what others expect.”
I clicked to a slide showing our company growth.
“Yes, Solar Reach is valued at four hundred and twenty million dollars. Yes, we’ve raised over one hundred million from investors. Yes, by conventional measures, we’re a successful company.”
Then I changed the slide again. Back to the villages.
“But that’s not why I do this work. I do it because a child in Tanzania can now do her homework after sunset. Because a medical clinic in rural India can save lives. Because families across six continents have opportunities they never had before.”
I paused, gathering my thoughts.
“Many of you graduates will go on to impressive careers, high salaries, prestigious titles, corner offices — and that’s wonderful. There’s nothing wrong with success.”
I looked directly at Derek now.
“But I challenge you to also think about impact. About purpose. About using your Stanford education, your privilege, your skills, your opportunities to make the world genuinely better.”
Derek was staring at me with an expression I couldn’t fully read.
“Because here’s the truth. The work that matters most is often the work that looks impractical at first. The research that goes nowhere for years before it breaks through. The startup that nearly dies five times before it succeeds. The path that makes your parents worry because it’s not safe or conventional.”