Uplifting commencement speech

[Axe]

George Saunders, faculty member at Syracuse and a bestselling author, delivered the following speech to the College of Arts and Sciences at SU two months ago. It's since gone viral. Long read but well worth it.

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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, 42 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.

Failures of kindness

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 defence, 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.

End of speech advice

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 Theresa’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.

[Lloyd Blankfein]

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.

I have to admit that while in school, I used to feel that way all the time about certain kids. The ones who got picked on. It's the shittiest feeling in the world knowing some kid who just wants to be accepted, isn't. And the bubble gut feeling of knowing after they go home they even have to lie to their parents about how it's going.

It fucking sucks.

There was a kid like that at my high school (in 11th grade no less), he was in the marching band. I used to see him get fucked with all the time and his mom would pick him up. One day, my football friends and I were walking by and some punk was giving him shit over his clothes (I don't think his family had that much money) and I just had enough. Him getting bullying had far exceeded the normal ribbing a guy would normally get at that age and I shit down both legs, fell in it, and got into a fight the his bully.

Ugh. Anyways, the dude ended up saving some money for a piece of shit car that didn't run and I offered him to fix it for free. Took about a month, but after it got out of my parent's garage, it ran fine. It was a cherokee and he loved it. He was genuinely appreciative and after that I told him to stick with us and stop being by himself.

Oddly enough, I feel it was one of my biggest accomplishments in life still.

[Axe]

Very cool!

I don't remember it because it happened in First Grade but a black kid moved to our town and was literally the only minority in the school. He was bullied every day. Apparently I stood up for him, telling his tormenters to leave him alone because he was just like us.

I got my ass handed to me by a group of kids.

My mom had to come get me at school. To this day, she tells that story and how -- apart from how I'm raising my daughter -- it's the single most thing I ever did to make her proud.

[wrongnote85]

whats the TL/DR version?

[Lloyd Blankfein]

whats the TL/DR version?

The things you should strive for in life are tasks that lead the the better treatment of our common man.

[Axe]

whats the TL/DR version?

The things you should strive for in life are tasks that lead the the better treatment of our common man.

Very concise. Do you write/edit for a living?

[Lloyd Blankfein]

whats the TL/DR version?

The things you should strive for in life are tasks that lead the the better treatment of our common man.

Very concise. Do you write/edit for a living?

No, I grow food for a living.


But lately, it seems I have to write and deal with the business end more than the field part. I do more explaining, maintaining of contracts and communicating than I do actual farming.

[Axe]

whats the TL/DR version?

The things you should strive for in life are tasks that lead the the better treatment of our common man.

Very concise. Do you write/edit for a living?

No, I grow food for a living.


But lately, it seems I have to write and deal with the business end more than the field part. I do more explaining, maintaining of contracts and communicating than I do actual farming.

I used to be a newspaper reporter in a very rural area -- the paper was still listing grain and hog prices well into the '90s -- and one of the biggest regrets I used to hear from long-time farmers was just that; the paradox that their success as farmers meant they were actually doing less farming themselves.

[Lloyd Blankfein]

whats the TL/DR version?

The things you should strive for in life are tasks that lead the the better treatment of our common man.

Very concise. Do you write/edit for a living?

No, I grow food for a living.


But lately, it seems I have to write and deal with the business end more than the field part. I do more explaining, maintaining of contracts and communicating than I do actual farming.

I used to be a newspaper reporter in a very rural area -- the paper was still listing grain and hog prices well into the '90s -- and one of the biggest regrets I used to hear from long-time farmers was just that; the paradox that their success as farmers meant they were actually doing less farming themselves.

I did a lot of writing in college. I actually enjoy it. I think my business does what it does as far as success because I have the ability to read and write exceptionally well (when I care) which isn't a trait seen often in my industry.

I don't want to hijack this thread, though.



With your OP, I agree, I think there's a healthy mix of aspiring for success. One should be the obvious; money, stability, personal selfish things which are all ok.

But the #2 that really makes you a professional and all-around good person, is aspiring to help and aide your common man. Be the guy everyone relies on. In life, if no one is coming to you for advice, you're doing it wrong. At least that's what dad always said.

[RokkenRoll]

I was there for my little brothers graudation.... kinda meh

[wilg8]

oddly enough...an old friend of mine i literally grew up with called me saying her boyfriend broke up with her, now this isnt just any ordinary breakup, she moved from virginia to missouri to be with this guy, she calls me telling me the story, and i gave her the best advice i could give. then i read this. the one thing i always thought to myself is "im better giving other people advice on how to fix their lives, yet i can manage to fuck up a bread sandwich in my own life" this interestingly made me happier about my life....cheers