北京科技大学博士亚马逊创始人Jeff Bezos在普林斯顿大学2010年毕业典礼上的讲话

"We are What We Choose"

Remarks by Jeff Bezos, as delivered to the Class of 2010

Baccalaureate

May 30, 2010

As a kid, I spent my summers with my grandparents on their ranch in Texas. I helped

fix windmills, vaccinate cattle, and do other chores. We also watched soap operas

every

afternoon,

especially

"Days

of

our

Lives."

My

grandparents

belonged

to a Caravan Club, a group of Airstream trailer owners who travel together around

the

U.S.

and

Canada.

And

every

few

summers,

we'd

join

the

caravan.

We'd

hitch

up

the

Airstream

trailer

to

my

grandfather's

car,

and

off

we'd

go,

in

a

line

with 300 other Airstream adventurers. I loved and worshipped my grandparents and I

really looked forward to these trips. On one particular trip, I was about 10 years

old.

I

was

rolling

around

in

the

big

bench

seat

in

the

back

of

the

car.

My

grandfather

was

driving.

And

my

grandmother

had

the

passenger

seat.

She

smoked

throughout

these

trips, and I hated the smell.

At

that

age,

I'd

take

any

excuse

to

make

estimates

and

do

minor

arithmetic.

I'd

calculate our gas mileage -- figure out useless statistics on things like grocery

spending. I'd been hearing an ad campaign about smoking. I can't remember

the details, but basically the ad said, every puff of a cigarette takes some number

of minutes

off of your life: I

think it might have been two minutes per

puff. At any

rate,

I

decided

to

do

the

math

for

my

grandmother.

I

estimated

the

number

of

cigarettes

per

days,

estimated

the

number

of

puffs

per

cigarette

and

so

on.

When

I

was

satisfied

that

I'd

come

up

with

a

reasonable

number,

I

poked

my

head

into

the

front

of

the

car, tapped my grandmother on the shoulder, and proudly proclaimed, "At two

minutes per puff, you've taken nine years off your life!"

I have a vivid memory of what happened, and it was not what I expected. I expected

to be applauded for my cleverness and arithmetic skills. "Jeff, you're so

smart. You had to have made some tricky estimates, figure out the number of minutes

in a year and do some division." That's not what happened. Instead, my

grandmother

burst

into

tears.

I

sat

in

the

backseat

and

did

not

know

what

to

do.

While

my grandmother sat crying, my grandfather, who had been driving in silence, pulled

over

onto

the

shoulder

of

the

highway.

He

got

out

of

the

car

and

came

around

and

opened

my door and waited for me to follow. Was I in trouble? My grandfather was a highly

intelligent, quiet man. He had never said a harsh word to me, and maybe this was to

be the first time? Or maybe he would ask that I get back in the car and apologize

to

my

grandmother.

I

had

no

experience

in

this

realm

with

my

grandparents

and

no

way

to

gauge

what

the

consequences

might

be.

We

stopped

beside

the

trailer.

My

grandfather

looked

at

me,

and

after

a

bit

of

silence,

he

gently

and

calmly

said,

"Jeff,

one

day you'll understand that it's harder to be kind than clever."

What I want to talk to you about today is the difference between gifts and choices.

Cleverness is a gift

, kindness is a choice. Gifts are easy -- they're given

after

all.

Choices

can

be

hard.

You

can

seduce

yourself

with

your

gifts

if

you're

not careful, and if you do, it'll probably be to the detriment of your choices.

This

is

a

group

with

many

gifts.

I'm

sure

one

of

your

gifts

is

the

gift

of

a

smart

and

capable

brain.

I'm

confident

that's

the

case

because

admission

is

competitive

and

if

there

weren't

some

signs

that

you're

clever,

the

dean

of

admission wouldn't have let you in.

Your

smarts

will

come

in

handy

because

you

will

travel

in

a

land

of

marvels.

We

humans

-- plodding as we are -- will astonish ourselves. We'll invent ways

to generate

clean energy and a lot of it. Atom by atom, we'll assemble tiny machines that

will

enter cell walls and make repairs. This month comes

the

extraordinary but also

inevitable

news

that

we've

synthesized

life.

In

the

coming

years,

we'll

not

only

synthesize

it,

but

we'll

engineer

it

to

specifications.

I

believe

you'll

even

see

us understand the human

brain. Jules Verne,

Mark Twain,

Galileo, Newton

--

all the curious from the ages would have wanted to be alive most of all right now.

As a civilization, we will have so many gifts, just as you as individuals have so

many individual gifts as you sit before me.

How

will you use

these gifts? And will you take

pride in your

gifts or pride in your

choices?

I got the idea to start Amazon 16 years ago. I came across the fact that Web usage

was growing at 2,300 percent per year. I'd never seen or heard of anything that

grew

that

fast,

and

the

idea

of

building

an

online

bookstore

with

millions

of

titles

--

something

that

simply

couldn't

exist

in

the

physical

world

--

was

very

exciting

to me. I had just turned 30 years old, and I'd been married for a year. I told

my

wife

MacKenzie

that

I

wanted

to

quit

my

job

and

go

do

this

crazy

thing

that

probably

wouldn't work since most startups don't, and I wasn't sure what would

happen after that. MacKenzie (also a Princeton grad and sitting here in the second

row)

told

me

I

should

go

for

it.

As

a

young

boy,

I'd

been

a

garage

inventor.

I'd

invented an automatic gate closer out of cement-filled tires, a solar cooker that

didn't

work

very

well

out

of

an

umbrella

and

tinfoil,

baking-pan

alarms

to

entrap

my siblings. I'd always wanted to be an inventor, and she wanted me to follow

my passion.

I

was

working

at

a

financial

firm

in

New

York

City

with

a

bunch

of

very

smart

people,

and

I

had

a

brilliant

boss

that

I

much

admired.

I

went

to

my

boss

and

told

him

I

wanted

to

start

a

company

selling

books

on

the

Internet.

He

took

me

on

a

long

walk

in

Central

Park, listened carefully to me, and finally said, "That sounds like a really

good idea, but it would be an even better idea for someone who didn't already

have

a

good

job."

That

logic

made

some

sense

to

me,

and

he

convinced

me

to

think

about it for 48 hours before making a final decision. Seen in that light, it really

was a difficult choice, but ultimately, I decided I had to give i

t

a

shot.

I

didn't

think

I'd

regret

trying

and

failing.

And

I

suspected

I

would

always

be

haunted

by

a

decision

to

not

try

at

all.

After

much

consideration, I took the less safe path to follow my passion, and I'm proud of

that choice.

Tomorrow,

in

a

very

real

sense,

your

life

--

the

life

you

author

from

scratch

on

your

own -- begins.

How will you use your gifts? What choices will you make?

Will inertia be your guide, or will you follow your passions?

Will you follow dogma, or will you be original?

Will you choose a life of ease, or a life of service and adventure?

Will you wilt under criticism, or will you follow your convictions?

Will you bluff it out when you're wrong, or will you apologize?

Will you guard your heart against rejection, or will you act when you fall in love?

Will you play it safe, or will you be a little bit swashbuckling?

When it's tough, will you give up, or will you be relentless?

Will you be a cynic, or will you be a builder?

Will you be clever at the expense of others, or will you be kind?

I will hazard a prediction. When you are 80 years old, and in a quiet moment of

reflection

narrating

for

only

yourself

the

most

personal

version

of

your

life

story,

the telling that will be most compact and meaningful will be the series of choices