Good morning, President Dowd, esteemed faculty, proud families, and most of all — the extraordinary graduating class of Notre Dame.
It is an immense honor to be here with you today, and to receive an honorary degree from a university known across the globe not only for its academic excellence, but also for its spirit — its fire, its grit. There’s a reason you are called the Fighting Irish. And today, if you’ll allow me, I’d like to talk about that fire — about tenacity, purpose, and the amazing, unpredictable adventure that lies ahead.
I’m from Ireland originally. A small town, actually, with more pubs than shops and more cousins than you could keep track of. A place where everyone knew your business, often before you did. That kind of place teaches you two things quickly: how to laugh with others, and how to get back up when life pushes you down.
When I moved to the U.K., to the dreaming spires of Oxford, I thought I was simply crossing a bit of water. But the cultural leap was larger than I imagined. The humor was different. The rhythm of conversation was different. Even the snacks — Twiglets? Marmite? What black magic was this? But over time, I found that by being open, by asking questions and by being willing to feel out of place — I could find belonging.
I never set out to become a scientist. I simply followed what I loved. I was that annoying child, asking “why?” about everything — why the stars shine, why bread rises, why grown-ups say one thing but do another. Science gave me a language to explore those questions. And it taught me that failure is just data. That every “no” might hold a better “yes” just around the corner.
Now, let me say something you may not expect from someone standing behind a podium at your graduation: You cannot have it all, all of the time. That’s a myth we need to retire. You can have what matters most to you, but that takes clarity, choice and, sometimes, sacrifice. When my children were small, I worked part-time. It cost me, but it was the right choice. Later, during the pandemic, I worked nonstop. I missed birthdays. I missed friends. I missed family. I missed life. But again — it was the right choice.
My dad, back in Ireland, used to tell me stories of leprechauns — not the commercial ones, but the real ones, at least in our mythology. Clever, cunning, fearless creatures who protected what mattered most to them. They weren’t interested in being liked. They were interested in purpose. One story I remember vividly: A leprechaun, captured by a farmer, was asked to show where he’d buried his gold. He led the farmer to a tree and tied a red ribbon on it. But while the farmer went to fetch a shovel, the leprechaun tied red ribbons on every tree in the field. The message? If you want something, you better keep your eyes on it.
Purpose needs focus. It needs fire. It needs you to choose — again and again — to walk toward what you value, what you hold dear, not just what is offered.
The work I’ve done over the past decade, and especially in 2020 designing and delivering a vaccine which saved more than 6 million people, has been deeply collaborative. It took teams across continents and time zones, with very different accents and opinions, all pulling in the same direction. That kind of unity, that diversity of thought, was our superpower.
But I’ll be honest — sometimes that type of collaboration isn’t celebrated enough and sometimes we seek to reduce people through labels. I’ve often been called a “female scientist” — as though my chromosomes should precede my contributions. But here’s the truth: I am a scientist. Full stop. You don’t need to label what I am to validate it. Labels can be lazy, can be reductionist. What we need are conversations. Collaborations. Courage.
And courage will matter, especially to you. The world you’re graduating into is as uncertain as it is exciting. Technology is rewriting our jobs. Climate is testing our resilience. Divides — political, economic, social — are growing. But you have something powerful: each other. The friendships you’ve made here, in the shadows of the Golden Dome, are part of your toolkit for life.
And you also have something more, a superpower. You carry the Irish spirit — not by passport, but by legacy. Notre Dame has always stood for more than academic excellence. It stands for hope, for grit, for swinging back even when the odds say “stay down.”
I’ve made a career fighting invisible enemies — tiny but mighty threats, viruses that don’t care for borders. And I’ve seen what humans can do when we put ego aside and pull together. The world doesn’t just need smarter people. It needs wiser, kinder ones. People who are not afraid to lead, and just as willing to listen, and are working for a greater good.
That’s the kind of graduate Notre Dame produces.
So here’s my advice to you, forged in science but tested in life:
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Ask better questions — the answers will follow.
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Be proud of your quirks — they may be your greatest strength.
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Collaborate often — solo heroes are for movies.
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Own your identity — but don’t let it cage you.
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Make decisions deliberately — and take responsibility for them.
And finally: If someone tries to capture your gold — your joy, your passion, your purpose — tie ribbons on every tree you can. Confuse the cynics. And carry on.
You are, after all, the Fighting Irish. And like the leprechauns my father spoke of, you may be underestimated — but never outmatched.
Congratulations, graduates. Go forth. Go far. And may your fire never dim.
Go raibh maith agat, agus Beannacht Dé ort.
Thank you, and God bless.