N E I L PAS R I C H A ( / )

'What I regret most in my life are

failures of kindness' by George
Saunders (/full-speech-transcript/what-
i-regret-most-in-my-life-are-failures-of-
kindness-by-george-saunders)

Delivered by George Saunders (https://www.georgesaundersbooks.com/) (Source: The

Ladders (https://www.theladders.com/career-advice/george-saunders-to-syracuses-class-of-
2013-accomplishment-is-unreliable))
Context:

Back in 2013 author George Saunders was asked to give the

Commencement speech to the Class of 2013 at Syracuse
University. His resulting speech on kindness is one of my all-time
favorites.

Speech Transcript:

Down through the ages, a traditional form has evolved for this
type of speech, which is: Some old fart, his best years behind
him, who, over the course of his life, has made a series of
dreadful mistakes (that would be me), gives heartfelt advice to a
group of shining, energetic young people, with all of their best
years ahead of them (that would be you).

And I intend to respect that tradition.

Now, one useful thing you can do with an old person, in addition
to borrowing money from them, or asking them to do one of their
old-time “dances,” so you can watch, while laughing, is ask:
“Looking back, what do you regret?” And they’ll tell you.
Sometimes, as you know, they’ll tell you even if you haven’t
asked. Sometimes, even when you’ve specifically requested
they not tell you, they’ll tell you.

So: What do I regret? Being poor from time to time? Not really.
Working terrible jobs, like “knuckle-puller in a slaughterhouse?”
(And don’t even ASK what that entails.) No. I don’t regret that.
Skinny-dipping in a river in Sumatra, a little buzzed, and looking
up and seeing like 300 monkeys sitting on a pipeline, pooping
down into the river, the river in which I was swimming, with my
mouth open, naked? And getting deathly ill afterwards, and
staying sick for the next seven months? Not so much. Do I regret
the occasional humiliation? Like once, playing hockey in front of
a big crowd, including this girl I really liked, I somehow
managed, while falling and emitting this weird whooping noise,
to score on my own goalie, while also sending my stick flying into
the crowd, nearly hitting that girl? No. I don’t even regret that.

But here’s something I do regret:

In seventh grade, this new kid joined our class. In the interest of
confidentiality, her Convocation Speech name will be “ELLEN.”
ELLEN was small, shy. She wore these blue cat’s-eye glasses that,
at the time, only old ladies wore. When nervous, which was
pretty much always, she had a habit of taking a strand of hair
into her mouth and chewing on it.
So she came to our school and our neighborhood, and was mostly
ignored, occasionally teased (“Your hair taste good?” — that sort
of thing). I could see this hurt her. I still remember the way she’d
look after such an insult: eyes cast down, a little gut-kicked, as if,
having just been reminded of her place in things, she was trying,
as much as possible, to disappear. After awhile she’d drift away,
hair-strand still in her mouth. At home, I imagined, after school,
her mother would say, you know: “How was your day, sweetie?”
and she’d say, “Oh, fine.” And her mother would say, “Making
any friends?” and she’d go, “Sure, lots.”

Sometimes I’d see her hanging around alone in her front yard, as
if afraid to leave it.

And then — they moved. That was it. No tragedy, no big final
hazing.

One day she was there, next day she wasn’t.

End of story.

Now, why do I regret that? Why, forty-two years later, am I still

thinking about it? Relative to most of the other kids, I was
actually pretty nice to her. I never said an unkind word to her. In
fact, I sometimes even (mildly) defended her.
But still. It bothers me.

So here’s something I know to be true, although it’s a little corny,

and I don’t quite know what to do with it:

What I regret most in my life are failures of kindness.

Those moments when another human being was there, in front of

me, suffering, and I responded . . . sensibly. Reservedly. Mildly.

Or, to look at it from the other end of the telescope: Who,

in your life, do you remember most fondly, with the most
undeniable feelings of warmth?

Those who were kindest to you, I bet.

It’s a little facile, maybe, and certainly hard to implement, but I’d
say, as a goal in life, you could do worse than: Try to be kinder.

Now, the million-dollar question: What’s our problem? Why

aren’t we kinder?

Here’s what I think:

Each of us is born with a series of built-in confusions that are

probably somehow Darwinian. These are: (1) we’re central to the
universe (that is, our personal story is the main and most
interesting story, the only story, really); (2) we’re separate from
the universe (there’s US and then, out there, all that other junk –
dogs and swing-sets, and the State of Nebraska and low-hanging
clouds and, you know, other people), and (3) we’re permanent
(death is real, o.k., sure – for you, but not for me).

Now, we don’t really believe these things – intellectually we

know better – but we believe them viscerally, and live by them,
and they cause us to prioritize our own needs over the needs of
others, even though what we really want, in our hearts, is to be
less selfish, more aware of what’s actually happening in the
present moment, more open, and more loving.

So, the second million-dollar question: How might we DO this?

How might we become more loving, more open, less selfish, more
present, less delusional, etc., etc?

Well, yes, good question.

Unfortunately, I only have three minutes left.

So let me just say this. There are ways. You already know that
because, in your life, there have been High Kindness periods and
Low Kindness periods, and you know what inclined you toward
the former and away from the latter. Education is good;
immersing ourselves in a work of art: good; prayer is good;
meditation’s good; a frank talk with a dear friend; establishing
ourselves in some kind of spiritual tradition — recognizing that
there have been countless really smart people before us who have
asked these same questions and left behind answers for us.

Because kindness, it turns out, is hard — it starts out all rainbows

and puppy dogs, and expands to include . . . well, everything.

One thing in our favor: some of this “becoming kinder” happens

naturally, with age. It might be a simple matter of attrition: as we
get older, we come to see how useless it is to be selfish — how
illogical, really. We come to love other people and are thereby
counter-instructed in our own centrality. We get our butts kicked
by real life, and people come to our defense, and help us, and we
learn that we’re not separate, and don’t want to be. We see
people near and dear to us dropping away, and are gradually
convinced that maybe we too will drop away (someday, a long
time from now). Most people, as they age, become less selfish
and more loving. I think this is true. The great Syracuse poet,
Hayden Carruth, said, in a poem written near the end of his life,
that he was “mostly Love, now.”

And so, a prediction, and my heartfelt wish for you: as you get
older, your self will diminish and you will grow in love. YOU will
gradually be replaced by LOVE. If you have kids, that will be a
huge moment in your process of self-diminishment. You really
won’t care what happens to YOU, as long as they benefit. That’s
one reason your parents are so proud and happy today. One of
their fondest dreams has come true: you have accomplished
something difficult and tangible that has enlarged you as a
person and will make your life better, from here on in, forever.

Congratulations, by the way.

When young, we’re anxious — understandably — to find out if

we’ve got what it takes. Can we succeed? Can we build a viable
life for ourselves? But you — in particular you, of this generation
— may have noticed a certain cyclical quality to ambition. You do
well in high-school, in hopes of getting into a good college, so you
can do well in the good college, in the hopes of getting a good job,
so you can do well in the good job so you can . . .

And this is actually O.K. If we’re going to become kinder, that

process has to include taking ourselves seriously — as doers, as
accomplishers, as dreamers. We have to do that, to be our best
selves.

Still, accomplishment is unreliable. “Succeeding,” whatever that

might mean to you, is hard, and the need to do so constantly
renews itself (success is like a mountain that keeps growing
ahead of you as you hike it), and there’s the very real danger that
“succeeding” will take up your whole life, while the big questions
go untended.
So, quick, end-of-speech advice: Since, according to me, your life
is going to be a gradual process of becoming kinder and more
loving: Hurry up. Speed it along. Start right now. There’s a
confusion in each of us, a sickness, really: selfishness. But there’s
also a cure. So be a good and proactive and even somewhat
desperate patient on your own behalf — seek out the most
efficacious anti-selfishness medicines, energetically, for the rest
of your life.

Do all the other things, the ambitious things — travel, get rich,
get famous, innovate, lead, fall in love, make and lose fortunes,
swim naked in wild jungle rivers (after first having it tested for
monkey poop) – but as you do, to the extent that you can, err in
the direction of kindness. Do those things that incline you toward
the big questions, and avoid the things that would reduce you
and make you trivial. That luminous part of you that exists
beyond personality — your soul, if you will — is as bright and
shining as any that has ever been. Bright as Shakespeare’s, bright
as Gandhi’s, bright as Mother Teresa’s. Clear away everything
that keeps you separate from this secret luminous place. Believe
it exists, come to know it better, nurture it, share its fruits
tirelessly.

And someday, in 80 years, when you’re 100, and I’m 134, and
we’re both so kind and loving we’re nearly unbearable, drop me a
line, let me know how your life has been. I hope you will say: It
has been so wonderful.

Congratulations, Class of 2013.

I wish you great happiness, all the luck in the world, and a
beautiful summer.

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