George Saunders - Congratulations, by the Way

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 old people, in addition to borrowing money from them or getting them to do one of their old-time dances, so you can watch while laughing, is ask, Looking back, what do you regret? And theyll tell you. Sometimes, as you know, theyll tell you even if you havent asked. Sometimes, even when youve specifically requested that they not tell you, theyll 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 dont even ask what that entails.) No. I dont regret that.

Skinny-dipping in a river in Sumatra, a little buzzed, and looking up and seeing like three hundred 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 afterward, and staying sick for the next seven months? Honestly, no. 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 dont even regret that.

But heres 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 cats-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 shed 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 a while shed 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 shed say, Oh, fine. And her mother would say, Making any friends? and shed go, Sure, lots.

Sometimes Id 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 wasnt.

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 heres something I know to be true, although its a little corny, and I dont 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.

Its a little facile, maybe, and certainly hard to implement, but Id say, as a goal in life, you could do worse than: Try to be kinder.

Now, the million-dollar question: Whats our problem why arent we kinder?

Heres what I think:

Each of us is born with a series of built-in confusions that are probably somehow Darwinian. These are: (1) were central to the universe (that is, our personal story is the main and most interesting story, the only story, really); (2) were separate from the universe (theres 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) were permanent (death is real, okay, sure for you, but not for me).

Now, we dont 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 whats actually happening in the present moment, more open, and more loving.

We know we want to be these things because from time to time we have been these things and liked it.

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, et cetera, et cetera?

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. Its an exciting idea: Since we have observed that kindness is variable, we might also sensibly conclude that it is improvable; that is, there must be approaches and practices that can actually increase our ambient level of kindness.