What Comes Next? Rewriting the Narrative of a Fractured America
Frank Bruni’s essay, What Do You Tell a College Student Graduating Into This America?, is a masterclass in articulating the unease of our moment—a moment defined by disillusionment, upheaval, and the gnawing question of what comes next. As someone whose work revolves around communication and influence, I can’t help but view this piece through the lens of narrative: how we frame despair, how we package hope, and how we reconcile the two in a way that inspires action rather than apathy.
Bruni’s encounter with the college student at his door, seeking hope and meaning just before graduation as she prepares to enter adulthood in a troubled world, is emblematic of a broader crisis: people are searching for meaning and direction in a world that feels increasingly unmoored. His refusal to offer easy answers or platitudes is refreshing, even if it leaves us unsettled. But here’s where I think Bruni’s piece can go further. If hope is an obligation, as he suggests, then so too is clarity. It’s not enough to name the collapse of decency or to catalog the betrayals of this political moment; we need to articulate a vision for what comes next. What does hope look like in practical terms? How do we communicate it in a way that resonates across divides?
As a communications consultant, I’d argue that Bruni’s essay underscores the importance of storytelling—not just as a means of processing our collective anxiety but as a tool for mobilizing change. The student at his door isn’t just looking for reassurance; she’s looking for a narrative she can believe in, one that makes sense of her place in this fractured world. And while Bruni rightly critiques the systems that have perpetuated inequality and division, he stops short of offering a roadmap for how those systems might be dismantled or reimagined.
This is where communicators—and leaders across industries—have a role to play. We need to craft messages that don’t just diagnose the problem but also inspire solutions. We need to move beyond outrage and toward empowerment, framing this moment not as an endpoint but as an inflection point. The unpredictability Bruni mentions isn’t just terrifying; it’s an opportunity. It means the story isn’t over yet.
Bruni’s skepticism about commencement speeches is well-placed—how do you deliver optimism without sounding tone-deaf? But I’d argue that these speeches don’t need to predict a bright future; they need to equip graduates with the tools to create one. That starts with language: framing challenges as opportunities, setbacks as lessons, and uncertainty as a call to action.
In communications, we often talk about controlling the narrative. Bruni reminds us that narratives are never fully controlled—they’re co-authored by everyone who chooses to engage with them. The student at his door is one such co-author. So are you. So am I. And while we may not have all the answers, we have the power to shape the questions—and that’s where hope begins.