Every generation shakes its head at the next. It’s practically a rite of passage. The music is too loud. The clothes are strange. The values seem misplaced. We all remember our parents and grandparents raising eyebrows at our choices–and now, here we are, doing the same.

But something feels different this time.

This isn’t just a generational tug-of-war over trends or technology. It’s something deeper. A sense that the foundation is shifting–morally, socially, intellectually. That a collective unraveling is happening in plain sight, but we’re too polite–or too afraid–to name it.

I’m not talking about kids being on their phones too much or spending too much time gaming. That’s just surface noise. I’m talking about the loss of meaning. The blurring of boundaries. The replacement of values with optics, and effort with entitlement. And I know how that sounds–I can hear the ghost of my grandmother laughing already. But stay with me.

We are living in a time when everything is being redefined: gender, truth, merit, even reality itself. And in some circles, to question any of it is to risk being called outdated, or worse–intolerant. We are raising children who are rewarded for “being themselves,” but not always expected to contribute, sacrifice, or grow. We’re cultivating a culture where identity matters more than character, and victimhood sometimes earns more points than resilience.

In this climate, language is policed but behavior is not. Manners are considered optional, but your pronouns better be correct. It’s not uncommon to see a teenager bark at a customer service worker, then post an Instagram story about mental health awareness. There’s a disconnect. A hollowness behind the performance. And the thing is–they know it. You can see it in their eyes.

I’ve spent enough time around young people to know that they’re not the enemy. Many are quietly aching for structure, for mentorship, for meaning. But what have we handed them? A collapsing education system. An online existence curated for clicks and clout. Universities that no longer teach students how to think, but rather what to think. And a world where the line between reality and entertainment is barely visible.

We’ve told them to “live their truth” without teaching them how to seek truth. We’ve removed shame, stigma, and standards in the name of progress, but failed to offer them something real in return. You can’t build a society on vibes and hashtags. And when you try, what you get is what we’re seeing now–anxiety, confusion, detachment. A generation both hyperconnected and painfully alone.

We didn’t get here by accident.

There’s a cost to abandoning tradition, to dismantling systems before understanding what they were holding up. Yes, some of those systems were flawed–some were overdue for reform. But in our rush to be modern and inclusive, we’ve tossed aside wisdom as if it were garbage. We’ve thrown out the baby, the bathwater, and the whole tub.

And we–the older ones–carry some of the blame. We wanted to give our children everything we didn’t have. We didn’t want them to struggle. But in doing so, we robbed them of something vital: the grit that comes from facing difficulty. The wisdom that comes from being wrong. The joy that comes from earning something instead of expecting it.

What they need now isn’t another app or another trend. They need elders. Guides. People who will look them in the eye and tell them the truth–not filtered through ideology or fear, but the old-fashioned kind of truth that holds up whether you like it or not.

They need to know that being offended isn’t the same as being right. That kindness matters more than likes. That real life is not a curated feed, and you don’t get to fast-forward through the boring parts. They need to hear that meaning takes effort. That love takes effort. That becoming takes effort.

And maybe they’re not the only ones who need to hear it.

Because we’re all a little guilty of slipping into the warm bath of distraction. Of outsourcing our attention to the screen, of avoiding the hard questions, of staying quiet when we should speak. We are, all of us, participating in this strange theater where the curtain is falling and no one wants to say the show’s gone off the rails.

But I still have hope. I do.

Because underneath the chaos, there are young people searching for something real. I see it when they open up about what’s missing. When they volunteer. When they choose to serve. When they ask deep questions and wait–really wait–for an answer. That’s where it starts.

And maybe our job now isn’t to criticize, but to model something better. To stop being negative and start engaging. To tell stories. Offer wisdom. Pass the torch–not just of information, but of integrity. It’s not too late.

But we’d better hurry.