The Regret of Silence: Lessons in Kindness from a Life Retrospected

 

Life often teaches us its most profound lessons not through grand successes or colossal failures, but in the quiet, unassuming moments where we could have acted differently but didn’t. As we grow older, we realize that our biggest regrets are not about mistakes, hardships, or missed opportunities, but about the times we failed to show kindness when it was needed most.

We live in a world that celebrates ambition, intelligence, and resilience. Yet, kindness is rarely emphasized as a measure of success. When we look back at our lives, we don’t just remember the awards we won, the promotions we secured, or the impressive milestones we achieved—we remember the people who were kind to us and the times we failed to be kind to others.

As I retrospect on different points in my life—from high school to college and into my professional journey—I find that there are many moments where I could have been kinder, more empathetic, more present for others. In high school, I remember classmates who struggled to fit in. While I was never outright unkind, I also wasn’t as inclusive or supportive as I could have been. I let them remain on the fringes instead of bringing them into the fold. In college, I recall moments where a friend or peer might have needed a listening ear, a word of encouragement, or even just a simple acknowledgment, yet I was too caught up in my own world to notice. In my professional life, I have seen colleagues facing challenges, battling silent struggles at work or in their personal lives, and sometimes, I too have fallen into the trap of being "sensibly reserved" rather than proactively kind.

Looking back, these moments linger more than any professional success or academic accomplishment. What stays with me are the opportunities where I could have extended warmth, reassurance, or a small act of kindness but chose the safer, quieter path of inaction

The Lesson: Kindness Is a Conscious Choice

This realization brings a powerful and urgent lesson: kindness is not automatic; it requires effort. In a world that constantly pulls us towards personal ambition and self-preservation, it takes conscious intent to be kinder, to notice the unspoken struggles of others, and to step in when it is easier to stay silent.

The good news? It’s never too late to start. The next time life presents us with a chance to be kind—whether it’s towards a friend, a stranger, or even someone we barely know—let us choose kindness, because those are the moments that will define us in the long run. In this regards, I want to take you through the phenomenal speech by George Saunders. He is an American writer and winner of the Man Booker Prize for Fiction for his novel Lincoln in the Bardo. Saunders delivered this speech about “failures of kindness” as the commencement address to Syracuse University’s class of 2013. The video link to his speech is below and so do the scripts

https://youtu.be/ruJWd_m-LgY?si=9e9J8JTomgvnmmZm

Script of George Saunders speech about “failures of kindness” as the commencement address to Syracuse University’s class of 2013

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.

 

A failure of kindness means missing an opportunity to be kind when someone needed it. It happens when we see someone struggling or feeling left out, and instead of stepping up to help or comfort them, we stay silent or indifferent. It's not about actively being mean, but about not doing enough when kindness was needed.

For example, in the speech, the speaker regrets not being cruel to Ellen but not being kind enough to make her feel included. He didn’t tease her, but he also didn’t reach out to make her feel like she belonged. Failing to act with kindness can sometimes be as painful as being actively unkind.

The speech is deeply philosophical because it touches on regret, self-awareness, and the human struggle between selfishness and kindness. It presents an argument that life's greatest regrets do not come from material failures, humiliations, or hardships but from moments when we could have been kinder but chose not to be.

1. The Illusion of Self-Centrality
   The speech explains how we are naturally wired to think of ourselves as the center of the universe. This self-centered view makes it harder for us to notice when others are in pain. Only through experience, suffering, and growth do we realize that true meaning comes from being kind and connected to others.

2. The Paradox of Success vs. Meaning
   The speech critiques the endless cycle of ambition, where success is always a moving goalpost—school, college, job, wealth, reputation. While ambition is necessary, it should not overshadow the bigger questions of kindness, love, and selflessness. Achievements without kindness lead to an empty life.

3. The Evolution of the Self Through Love
   The speech suggests that with age, people naturally become less selfish and more loving. Life humbles us, and our experiences (love, parenthood, loss) teach us that what truly matters is connection, not personal achievement.

4. The Call to Action: Be Kinder, Faster
   The speaker urges the audience to not wait for old age to realize the value of kindness. Instead of learning through regret, we should actively work on being kinder, right now.

   Relevance in the Present World

   This speech is highly relevant today, especially in a world driven by competition, individualism, and digital distractions.

   1. Social Media & the Failure of Kindness

      • In an age where people are quick to judge, cancel, and criticize online, we often forget to practice kindness.
      • People suffer in silence while others scroll past, too distracted to notice or care.
      • The "Ellen" example is reflected in cyberbullying, where people ignore or mock those struggling.

   2. Corporate Life & the Kindness Deficit

      • Success is often defined by career growth, promotions, and wealth, while kindness is seen as optional.
      • Workplace culture can be cutthroat, and people often regret not supporting a struggling colleague or ignoring someone in distress.
      • The speech reminds us that being successful and being kind are not opposites—both can coexist.

   3. Global Issues & the Need for Kindness

      • Wars, economic disparities, and political divisions often stem from selfishness and a lack of empathy.
      • Kindness is not just personal but a global necessity—in how nations treat each other, how societies care for the vulnerable, and how people respond to crises.
      • The message "Err in the direction of kindness" applies to policy-making, leadership, and social justice.

   4. Mental Health Crisis & Empathy

      • More people today feel lonely, anxious, or depressed than ever before.
      • A single act of kindness—checking in on a friend, offering a kind word—can make a significant difference.
      • The lesson from the speech is that small acts of kindness have a lifelong impact. 

        To conclude, it's a profound reflection on what truly matters in life. While ambition, success, and personal growth are important, they should not come at the cost of kindness. The biggest regrets are not about failures or embarrassments, but about the times we didn’t step up to be kind when we could have.In today's fast-paced, self-focused world, this speech serves as a reminder to be more aware, compassionate, and proactive in kindness. Because in the end, our legacy is not in how much we achieve, but in how much love and kindness we leave behind.