Young people on the cusp of adulthood are full of big questions: Who am I? Who do I want to be? And how do I find my way through the world? There aren’t always firm answers to be found—I wish I’d understood, in my 20s, that “figuring things out” is a lifelong endeavor with no guarantee of success. But even though there’s no one predetermined path to follow, that doesn’t mean we can’t learn from the examples of those who have come before us.Notice that I said “examples,” not “advice.” As a recovering women’s-magazine writer, I’m suspicious of anything that reeks of prescription or self-help. Most smug articles and books that claim to provide quick fixes come off as tone-deaf or even counterproductive. I believe that the best way to locate inspiration is by looking to writers who illustrate what you might want to emulate, rather than those who lead by edict or exhortation. The authors of the seven titles below all fit that bill. Their books demonstrate that preparing for the future requires understanding the past and developing a patient, attentive disposition toward the here and now.On Writing, by Stephen KingKing’s memoir and writing manual is now older than most undergraduates, and, in some respects, it shows. But it remains an entertaining, accessible, and necessary read. Even those who aren’t King fans or fellow writers will find something to take from it: the importance of persistence in one’s work, the teachable moments that can come from negative experiences, the power of brevity. After recalling his own beginnings as a writer, King demystifies his process (don’t force good ideas, he says, but “recognize them when they show up”). Most broadly applicable is his argument against overreliance on premeditation when trying to figure out how to get from A to B. Creative spontaneity is crucial, he contends, and narratives “pretty much make themselves,” so the job of the writer “is to give them a place to grow.” This, I think, is powerful advice for how we approach life. The point isn’t that we can’t chart our own paths—just that advance planning isn’t everything.Start Where You Are, by Pema ChödrönFor some young adults, being set free to follow their dreams (while also needing to pay their bills) means coming to terms with their past and being honest about who they are in the present—which requires, yes, sweating the “small” stuff. Chödrön’s Start Where You Are may not be as well known as her later title When Things Fall Apart, but it is just as relevant—perhaps even more so—for younger readers, or anyone who feels like they just can’t get beyond the struggles and indignities of their youth. This book guides readers toward the practice of cultivating compassion for ourselves and others, something that feels especially significant in a polarized society. Plus, it argues for a return to oneself, a reengagement with our instincts. After years of encouragement to lead with their mind via exams, theses, and admissions tests, new graduates might find it both clarifying and cleansing to learn how to lead with their heart.[Read: The best graduation speech is one nobody remembers]Devotions, by Mary OliverOliver’s most quoted line is so ubiquitous that it’s become almost cloying. “Tell me, what is it you plan to do / with your one wild and precious life?” the Pulitzer Prize–winning poet asks in 1990’s “The Summer Day.” And although Oliver’s inquiry is beloved for good reason—it challenges readers, directly yet generously, to be a passionate architect of their own experiences—a close read of the poem suggests she’s communicating something softer and much less striving: that doing nothing, that simply existing, is a legitimate answer to that question. This is in keeping with the quiet ambition of the lines within Devotions, a 2017 collection representing more than half a century of Oliver’s verse. This volume adorns a huge number of bedside tables for a reason. The poet’s exquisite insights into nature drive home what she said in 2015: that by appreciating the small elements of the universe—a blade of grass, a meadowlark, a beetle, a resting grasshopper—she “got saved by the beauty of the world.” May we all be so lucky.The Source of Self-Regard, by Toni MorrisonThe title of this collection of essays, public speeches, and “meditations,” which bundles work from four decades of the Nobel Prize–winning author’s career, comes from a lecture of the same name. Speaking about her 1987 novel, Beloved, at a 1992 lecture series in Portland, Oregon, Morrison detailed how the process of researching and writing that book imbued her with a renewed sense of pride and dignity, as she moved from “data to information to knowledge to wisdom.” Throughout these writings, Morrison displays a powerful generosity of spirit in considering both her career and the world around her. This is a book of profound intellectual altruism and moral urgency that insists on summoning courage despite (or because of) societal and political cleavage. For young people, it may also serve as a blueprint for thinking critically about what it means to be part of a larger human community—and what community means in the first place.[Read: How a book can change a graduate’s life]Little Women, by Louisa May Alcott“I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning how to sail my ship,” says Amy March, one of the four “little women” in this coming-of-age classic. Alcott’s 19th-century portrait may seem like an odd choice for inclusion in a list of books for new graduates living in the 21st century, but it is a novel directly about growing up—and one that, uncharacteristically, foregrounds the American-female experience. “Experiences,” I should say, because each of Alcott’s March sisters is unique, though all are struggling with the frequently competing demands of home, family, labor, and art. Through Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy, Alcott poses questions—about the essence of love, the potency of ambition, the importance of relationships, and the trade-offs among these things—that can be answered in many ways. But the fact that they are asked at all, and through the guise of what was once called “domestic” fiction, makes this a work of subversive American literature that explores what it means to go from child to adult.Nature Writings, by John MuirThe irony of contemporary digital culture is that, although it democratizes communication and information, it also encourages circular rhetoric, ennui, and claustrophobia. I’m not the first person to lament the ubiquity of screens and the dangers of social media, though I may be the first to recommend the cleansing properties of Muir’s Nature Writings to those in search of something beyond their smartphone. I’m confident in saying that this more-than-900-page book, full of the 19th-century naturalist’s carefully written odes to the awe-inspiring forests and granite cathedrals of Central California, is pretty close to a perfect antidote to the cynicism undergirding so much digital slop. The essays and stories here argue for approaching life with unapologetic earnestness: The wonder of the Earth is yours for the taking (the taking-in, that is) if you just pay attention, Muir seems to be saying. I, for one, am listening.[Read: Graduation wisdom that never gets old]The Fire Next Time, by James BaldwinThis magisterial polemic demonstrates how what may appear to be distant American history remains acutely relevant. Published in 1963 (the same year as the March on Washington and the 100th anniversary of the Emancipation Proclamation), The Fire Next Time is made up of two “letters,” one brief, one not so brief. The first, “My Dungeon Shook,” is addressed to Baldwin’s nephew, to whom the author writes of dignity and survival in the face of man’s socially sanctioned inhumanity to other men. The beginning of this short but deeply human missive indicts the racial politics of the era and the shameful legacy of slavery. Then Baldwin addresses his own struggle to adequately articulate the cumulative effects of these cruelties. The ultimate message is simple: To accept others’ narratives about one’s worth as gospel is to forfeit not just truth but spiritual freedom. “I tell you this because I love you,” he writes in the second letter. “And please don’t you ever forget it.”