There’s a split second before criticism becomes a sentence. A breath-long space where we decide what kind of person we’re going to be in that moment: a judge, or a builder. F. Scott Fitzgerald offers guidance that still lands with quiet force: “Whenever you feel like criticizing any one… just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had.” It’s a reminder tucked into the opening of The Great Gatsby, and it does what the best wisdom does—it slows us down.
Criticism is often a speed habit. We see one moment and make it mean everything. A coworker misses a detail and suddenly they’re careless. A friend forgets to text back and suddenly they’re selfish. A stranger is abrupt at the store and suddenly they’re rude. Our minds love shortcuts, especially when we’re stressed, tired, or already convinced we understand the situation.
But empathy invites a longer story.
Fitzgerald’s line doesn’t ask us to deny reality or ignore harm. It asks us to acknowledge context. “Advantages” can mean resources, stability, education, encouragement, health, safety, time—things that quietly shape what a person can do, how they cope, and how they show up. Some people were raised in environments where mistakes were met with guidance. Others learned mistakes were met with shame. Some had mentors who modeled emotional maturity. Others were forced to grow up fast, surviving more than they were supported.
When we remember that, our posture changes. Instead of “What’s wrong with you?” we shift toward “What might you be carrying?”
This is where Heartitude lives: not in pretending everything is fine, but in choosing dignity when it would be easier to choose distance.
Try this practice: pause before you criticize—then look for the advantage you’re standing on. Maybe you had someone teach you how to communicate. Maybe you had access to training. Maybe your life is stable enough that you can focus. Maybe you’re in a season where your capacity is high. None of these advantages make you “better.” They simply make the hill less steep. Remembering that doesn’t weaken standards—it strengthens compassion.
And compassion changes how we speak.
- Instead of “You always mess this up,” we can say, “Can we walk through what happened? I want to understand.”
- Instead of “That was stupid,” we can say, “That didn’t work—let’s figure out a better way next time.”
- Instead of “They’re impossible,” we can say, “I wonder what they’ve been through that’s showing up like this.”
That doesn’t mean we avoid hard conversations. Empathy isn’t agreement. Empathy is the decision to see the person while addressing the problem. You can set boundaries without becoming bitter. You can be honest without becoming harsh. In fact, people often grow faster when they feel safe enough to be real.
This quote also speaks to how we treat ourselves. Many of us carry an inner critic that never takes a day off. If we can only offer ourselves contempt, we’ll eventually run out of patience for everyone else, too. Self-empathy isn’t making excuses; it’s telling the truth with kindness: “I’m learning. I’m human. I can try again.” When we practice that internally, we become more capable of offering it externally.
So today, if criticism rises in you, don’t shame yourself for having the impulse. Just take the breath. Remember the unseen hills. Choose the response that builds, not the one that burns. That’s Heartitude: the courage to keep people human—even when it would be easier not to.