I was reading my niece's blog this a.m. as I do from time to time. She lives in Chicago and writes some terrific things but we are estranged for reasons that are not particularly important and yesterday she posted an excerpt from this speech which included a link to the whole speech. I read the whole speech which was inspiring, insightful, funny and thought provoking. It goes as follows:
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.
