Graduation Speech: Peyson Bilimoria '25, How to Never Fail
Flashback to 2021, when little Commonwealth applicant Peyson '25 found himself in a sample history class for prospective students. Eager to prove himself, from behind his Zoom screen, he unmutes to answer the teacher's question. He is confident...and he is wrong. While that little misstep clearly did not impede his admission, it was the start of non-linear learning that would come to define his Commonwealth experience. "When your first instinct is wrong, when you’re forced to wrestle with something, you don’t just end up with an answer—you walk away with a new perspective, a fresh approach, a better understanding," he notes in his 2025 graduation speech. "Because avoiding failure has nothing to do with the mistakes you’ve made, and everything to do with how you bounce back."
Related: Watch the Speech on Commonwealth's YouTube page.
On the fifth of November, 333 BCE, Alexander the Great and his 37,000-man Hellenic League met the Persian King Darius III and his 100,000-man Achaemenid Empire at what’s now known as the Battle of Issus, somewhere in present-day Turkey. After Alexander had already made a fool of the Persian army only a year before, Darius took matters into his own hands, assuming direct control of the army in hopes of achieving some much-needed revenge. Thinking he could outsmart the Hellenic army, which, if we’re being honest, is somewhat egotistical when you’re facing a guy with “the Great” in his name, Darius and his newly reinforced army surprised Alexander and his troops from behind, cutting off their supply line, forcing the Battle of Issus.
I don’t think I’m wrong to assume most of you weren't hoping for a history lesson this morning. Don’t worry, there won't be a test on this. There's only a small chance Ms. Budding will quiz you on the way out.
But what does the Battle of Issus have to do with, well, anything? To answer that, let me take you back to the mind of eighth-grade Peyson, who, somehow, behind the two feet of hair that used to hide his entire face, was trying to look attentive on camera during his Commonwealth revisit-day Zoom call (thank God we don't have to do those anymore). Anyway, there I was, sitting on my bed, on a call with a group of other incoming freshmen, half-listening to Mr. Conolly teach a mock history class and half trying, unsuccessfully, to figure out what everyone would be like just based on their tiny Zoom profile pictures. All of a sudden, Mr. Connolly shared his screen, snapping me back into focus.
There it was, right in the middle of my screen: the Alexander Mosaic, rediscovered in 1843 in Pompeii, Italy. Partly destroyed by, you guessed it, the eruption in Pompeii, but also amazingly preserved by the ash, Mr. Connolly explained how the now-famous mosaic remains one of the oldest surviving representations of the Battle of Issus.
Mr. Conolly started by asking us what we saw. After a couple of awkward seconds, my future classmates began piecing the picture together. On the right was Darius, towering above the chaos below in his gilded chariot, a sea of spears pointing up behind him, which, like Darius's finger, were aimed eagerly in the direction of Alexander, who appeared to be sitting alone on a single horse, rearing away from Darius's looming advance. I followed along silently, not willing to add to the conversation. I wasn’t about to risk being wrong and making a fool of myself on this Zoom call that I was sure all of my classmates would definitely remember and definitely laugh at me about the moment school started.
Then came DonCon's next question: "Who won the battle? When I gave you all that riveting mini-history lesson earlier, I intentionally omitted the outcome." No one on the Zoom call had any idea. Or maybe they were too busy trying, and not very successfully, to look like they weren't staring down at their phones. But I had an idea. And I was so sure I was right. So certain, in fact, that I convinced myself this would be the perfect opportunity to prove to everyone that I belonged at Commonwealth. So, I raised the weird little Zoom hand, unmuted myself, and said something along the lines of "it has to be Darius." How on earth could the short and outnumbered Alexander (who, by the way, contrary to popular belief, wasn’t actually that short) even touch Darius? So imagine my surprise when Mr. Connolly, after a painfully long Zoom delay that felt like an eternity, responded, “Not quite. What might tell us otherwise?” See, for while Darius’s army, a wave of lances pointed high and proud, seems to be charging at the outnumbered and, for some reason, helmet-less Alexander, a closer inspection tells another story.
Turns out, Darius’s horses aren’t even charging—they’re turning around, trying to steer him away from the battle, while Darius’s eyes are open wide as if he had just seen a ghost (or maybe a Mr. Paul Calc exam). It’s a retreat! I’m sure one of my classmates sitting in front of me today gave Mr. Connolly that exact answer, but I wouldn’t know. By that point, I had completely stopped listening. My ears were red, and I was sweating like crazy. My very first Commonwealth question, and I totally blew it. I didn’t bother unmuting again.
A few weeks ago, I asked Mr. Conolly if he remembered teaching that lesson. Unsurprisingly, a smile spread across his face at the opportunity to talk about the mosaic. But the lesson he gave to us four years ago? Barely remembered it. He was surprised I did. But for middle-school Peyson, that call, that colossal, life-changing mistake, replayed in his head more times than I’d like to admit. The whole summer before freshman year, thinking about it made me cringe. But today, I get to look back at it and laugh.
It’s taken me a long time to realize that Mr. Conolly wanted me to get the answer wrong. Well, not me specifically, but whoever he called on. And it’s true, I totally did get it wrong. But, contrary to what I thought four years ago, my mistake was far from a failure. As clichéd as it sounds, I’ve learned that getting it right the first time isn’t how we do things at Commonwealth. Sure, occasionally I know what I’m talking about, but most of the time I speak in class, I'm just giving it an educated guess. These four years have taught me that if you only raise your hand when you know you’re right, you’re robbing yourself of the chance to learn: when your first instinct is wrong, when you’re forced to wrestle with something, you don’t just end up with an answer—you walk away with a new perspective, a fresh approach, a better understanding.
Sure, occasionally I know what I’m talking about, but most of the time I speak in class, I'm just giving it an educated guess. These four years have taught me that if you only raise your hand when you know you’re right, you’re robbing yourself of the chance to learn.
If I hadn’t gotten a C on my first Bio test, how long would it have taken me to learn that real studying takes more than just glancing at the study guide and convincing myself I’ll remember all the details? And if I hadn’t gotten that same grade on my next test, followed by a note asking if I wanted to check in, when would I have learned how helpful meeting with your teacher outside class can be? The truth is that, in every single class I’ve taken at Commonwealth, I’ve never stopped making mistakes. Just a few months ago, Ms. Budding deducted a point from my paper for saying Louis XIV lived in 1957—a much-needed reminder that proofreading at 1:00 in the morning probably isn't the best idea. A personal favorite of mine is when Mr. Spalding pulled me aside to ask how it was possible that Andrew and I had the same exact work on a problem set, the same steps, down to the very last number, yet I still got the answer wrong and he got it right. To this day, I genuinely have no idea.
My point is: learning isn’t linear. Neither is progress, nor growth. We’ve all heard it 1000 times. But for the final time in your Commonwealth career, I want you to picture a graph. I know, first a history lecture, now a math class, but bear with me. Imagine the X axis is the insanely short forty minutes of a Commonwealth class. Make the Y axis how much you learn, how you progress, whatever growth means to you. As the period goes on, as you become more and more frustrated trying to replicate the freakishly perfect circle Ms. Anna effortlessly drew on the board, your graph inches upwards, steadily, but slowly. Then, you boldly raise your hand and take a shot at a question. Yikes, you got it wrong. You stress as you imagine the graph dipping. Except, it doesn’t. Because once you hear the correct answer, and it starts to click, the pieces of what you learned earlier begin to fall into place. And then—boom!—suddenly the line tracking your progress shoots upwards, off the chart. Now zoom out. Picture that same graph, but, stretched across your whole time at Commonwealth. Every little dip, every mess-up, every blunder you’ve ever made is smoothed out. All that’s left is a picture of your exponential growth, a representation of all the times you got it wrong, and the ways you are better for it.
It is to fourteen-year-old Peyson’s dismay that I stand here today and admit that I’ve not only spent the last four years making mistakes, but will likely keep making them for the rest of my life. But while Commonwealth has guaranteed I’m no stranger to mistakes, it’s also taught me how to never fail. Because avoiding failure has nothing to do with the mistakes you’ve made, and everything to do with how you bounce back. As we all face the future and its invitations to fail, whether it’s four years of college, leaving Boston for the first time, or whatever else everyone in this room has planned, I urge you to welcome the educated guess, the stumble, the wrestling with things that are difficult or unknown. Never stop taking risks and giving it your best shot. Better yet, make a few mistakes, fall on your face, pick yourself back up, and then fall again. Embrace your missteps, because they’re the right steps. And though today we may be leaving the crammed halls of 151 Comm. Ave behind, we’ll forever carry the lessons our four years together gave us. So keep raising your hands, and raise them bravely. It’s the Commonwealth way. Thank you.