The Office Manager's Lament

Angie Mangino on Avoiding All-Or-Nothing Thinking

Dear Republic,

We start Edumacation Week with Angie Mangino’s “Commencement Address” to Fordham University — which, by the way, is many times better than what stupid Tony Blair had to say at my commencement.

-ROL

THE OFFICE MANAGER’S LAMENT

President Tetlow, Father McShane, distinguished faculty, proud families, and most especially, graduating class of 2025: thank you for this incredible honor.

Standing here today at Rose Hill reminds me of my own Fordham journey: from my freshman and sophomore years at the School of Education on 302 Broadway, to my junior and senior years when Lincoln Center opened and became my new academic home. But it's here at Rose Hill where my Fordham story truly came full circle, when I married my husband, a School of Business graduate, in the landmark chapel on this very campus a year after our graduation. Looking out at you now, I'm struck by how much has changed since my own graduation day. But I'm also struck by how much hasn't changed, particularly that mixture of excitement and terror you're probably feeling right now about what comes next.

When I graduated from Fordham, my commencement speaker gave us the usual advice about following our dreams, working hard, and making a difference in the world. All good advice, certainly. But there was something crucial they didn't tell us. Something I wish I had known at twenty-two.

Let me tell you what no one told me: You don't have to choose between your practical path and your passionate path. You can walk both roads simultaneously, and in fact, you probably should.

Let me share my story because I suspect it might sound familiar to some of you.

During my time here at Fordham, I was deeply involved in writing. I worked on the newspaper, spent countless hours on the yearbook staff, and felt most alive when I was crafting stories, conducting interviews, and seeing my words in print. Writing wasn't just what I did; it was who I was. It was my dream, my calling, the thing that made me feel like I was contributing something meaningful to the world.

But when graduation day arrived, I did what so many of us do. I looked at my student loans, thought about my family's expectations, and convinced myself that writing was a luxury I couldn't afford right away.

“I'll get stable first,” I told myself. “I'll find a real job, get on my feet, and then I'll pursue writing seriously.”

So I became an office manager. It was a good job: steady, respectable, with health insurance and a regular paycheck. I told myself this was temporary, that I was just getting my financial foundation solid before I made the leap to my “real” career in writing.

But here's the thing about temporary situations: they have a way of becoming permanent when you're not paying attention.

Years passed. I was married, then became a mother to three children. And with each life change, writing seemed to move further and further away. Not because I loved it any less, but because I had fallen into what I now recognize as “all or nothing” thinking. In my mind, I couldn't be a writer unless I could quit everything else and devote myself to it completely. I couldn't call myself a real writer unless writing was paying the bills.

This kind of thinking is seductive because it feels so logical, so responsible. But it's also a trap.

Now, some of you are pursuing careers that do require intensive, focused commitment. If you're heading to medical school, law school, or other demanding professional programs, your path may look different. But even in those fields, the principle I'm sharing still applies. You can still nurture other interests, contribute to causes you care about, and maintain the parts of yourself that make you whole.

What I didn't understand then is that you don’t build your career overnight, and dreams don't require you to burn every other bridge to pursue them. I could have been building my writing career incrementally. I could have been freelancing on weekends, pitching articles during lunch breaks, building a portfolio one piece at a time.

Instead, I put my dream in a box labeled “someday,” and convinced myself that someday would come when all the stars aligned perfectly.

The truth is, someday never comes on its own. You have to create it, piece by piece, choice by choice.

When I finally did start writing professionally, I began exactly the way I could have begun right after graduation: with small freelance assignments, building relationships with editors, learning the business side of writing while still maintaining other sources of income. Yes, it took me longer than it could have, but that journey taught me resilience, gave me life experiences that enriched my writing, and showed me that there's no single “right” timeline for success.

The gradual approach that I thought was impossible at twenty-two turned out to be not just possible, but ideal. It allowed me to develop my skills without the pressure of needing every article to pay the rent. It let me build a network of contacts over time. It gave me the luxury of being selective about the projects I took on.

Most importantly, it meant I was actually doing the thing I loved instead of perpetually preparing to do it someday.

So here's what I've learned that I want to share with you today: Your dream doesn't need permission from your circumstances. It needs you to start where you are, with what you have, right now.

This doesn't mean you should be reckless. Take that office job if you need it. Pay your student loans. Be responsible. But don't let responsibility become an excuse for abandoning the things that make you feel most alive.

Let me be specific about what this looks like in practice. If you want to be a filmmaker, commit to creating one short video every month on your phone. Post it online. Learn from feedback. If you want to start a nonprofit, volunteer two hours every Saturday morning while you're earning steady income elsewhere. If you want to be an entrepreneur, spend Sunday mornings for the next six months developing your business plan and building your network.

The beautiful thing about living in 2025 is that you have the tools for pursuing your passion that have never been more accessible. You can build a writing career through online platforms, develop a photography business through social media, start a consulting practice through networking sites, or launch a creative project through crowdfunding, all while maintaining another source of income.

The key is to stop thinking in terms of either/or and start thinking in terms of both/and.

You can be both practical and passionate. You can be both responsible and risk-taking. You can be both building security and pursuing dreams.

But here's the crucial part: you have to be intentional about it. Your passion won't develop all by itself. You need to carve out time for it. Even if it's just one hour every Sunday morning at first. You need to treat it seriously, even if no one else does initially. You need to invest in it consistently, even when progress feels slow.

Some of you might be thinking, "But what if I fail? What if I'm not good enough? What if it doesn't work out?"

Here's another thing I wish someone had told me at twenty-two: failure isn't the opposite of success; it's part of success. Every article I pitched that an editor rejected taught me something about my craft and the industry. Every small freelance project I completed, even the ones that didn't pay much, helped me build skills and confidence.

The real failure would have been to never try at all.

As you leave Fordham today and step into whatever comes next, I want you to remember that you are more capable than you know, more resilient than you think, and more creative than you've probably had a chance to fully explore yet.

You don't have to figure everything out today. You don't have to choose between security and dreams. You just have to start. Start small, start imperfectly, but start.

Take the job that pays the bills, but don't let it consume your soul. Pursue the practical path, but keep your passionate path alive too. Be responsible adults, but don't let adulthood kill your dreams.

The world needs what you have to offer. Not someday, not when you're perfectly prepared, not when all your ducks are in a row. The world needs it now, in whatever form you can give it, even if it's just one small step at a time.

Congratulations, Class of 2025. Your Fordham education, deeply rooted in Jesuit principles has prepared you to think critically, to question deeply, and to contribute meaningfully to this world. These values remind us that success isn't just about personal achievement. It's about how we use our gifts to serve something greater than ourselves.

Now do all of it: the practical and the passionate, the secure and the uncertain, the dreams and the day jobs.

Believe me. Your future self will be happier if you do.

Thank you. Congratulations.

Angie Mangino has worked as an investigative reporter for the Staten Island Register and is the author of 17th Century Tottenville History Comes Alive.