My son turns 23 next week. He was born seven months before 9/11, which means his life has traced some of the most chaotic years of American history.
From terrorism to war to a global financial collapse; from the rise of American illiberalism to the election of the first kleptomaniacal president to the first global pandemic in a hundred years; from a Big Lie about a stolen election to what was either a violent insurrection or a “normal tourist visit”—he’s already seen it all.
Moreover, he enters the workforce at a time when AI threatens to upend entire industries, which could refashion the economy in a way unseen since the Industrial Revolution. Then again, the climate crisis may make the coming economic upheaval moot.
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In other words, everything is bad. Yet when I ask him if he’s happy, he says yes. Which raises the obvious question—what’s wrong with him?
We have always discussed politics around the dining room table, and while he certainly relishes neither the restoration of the God Emperor Trump nor the continued residency of the artist formerly known as Biden, he also refuses to accept my conclusion that he is doomed—DOOMED, I say!
I find it befuddling that both he and his 20-year-old sister are doing as well as they are. Shouldn’t they be as angst-ridden and miserable as their father? Why should they be allowed to escape the navel-gazing of their parents’ generation?
Hell, our ennui was the stuff of legend.
In 1987, author Douglas Coupland popularized the term “Generation X” as a placeholder term for the children of Baby Boomers. The expression dates to 1953, when war photographer Robert Capa used it to describe the young people coming of age immediately following World War II. It was adopted again by Paul Fussell, in his book, Class. The X—as used by Capa, Fussell, and Couplan—is meant to signify a lack of definition, a way of describing people for whom no neat descriptor applies.
“Generation Z” is merely a continuation of the lazy appellations affixed to each successive wave of babies born since then. First, we had Generation Y—later called Millennials—known for playing Game Boys and bequeathing Justin Bieber unto a world that does not deserve him.
Now we’ve reached the social media generation, Z, a letter which carries more than a whiff of finality. Is it possible that the new generation, my children’s generation, can turn this thing around?
By “this thing,” I mean (gestures wildly at everything).
Life was so much simpler when I was growing up. All we had to worry about was nuclear war, AIDS, and falling down a well like Baby Jessica.
The new generation has so much more to keep them up at night. And yet somehow, 76 percent “believe they have a great future ahead of them.” Spinal Tap taught us there’s a fine line between clever and stupid. Gen Z is teaching us that the same line applies to the distinction between hopeful and delusional.
I live in Savannah, which is home to several colleges, whose students hog the overstuffed furniture at the coffee shop in which I like to work (and from where I am currently writing). I spoke to one young woman sharing my coffee shop couch. Her name is Olivia. She attended the Savannah College of Art and Design, graduating with a degree in photography in 2020, and is now working in animal welfare. When I asked if she’s happy, she said she is.
“Why?” I asked.
She laughed, telling me that she’s been with her partner for several years, finds her work fulfilling, and maintains a circle of long-term relationships with college and high school friends.
“Do you worry about the state of the world?”
“I try not to think about it too much,” she said, which is also my strategy. I suspect, however, that Olivia is more successful at it than me.
“What about your friends? Are they happy, too?”
She said she thinks they are for the most part, which made me question her friends’ sanity. Don’t they know everybody and everything is totally fucked? Doesn’t she know she’s doomed—DOOMED, I say!
People my age and older are all-too-happy to badmouth these big-hearted, resilient, and innovative kids, born into a world growing exponentially more complicated by the month. I like this generation—Olivia and her ilk, my son and his. (I’m not thrilled with my daughter, but that’s because she stole my hoodie and brought it back with her to college.)
With all the challenges ahead of them, Gen Z could be forgiven for turning on, tuning in, and dropping out like my parents’ generation, or declaring, “Here we are now, entertain us,” like mine.
Instead, they’re finding their way with better cheer than we might expect, and certainly more than we deserve considering the state of our politics and the bleak presidential race before us.
“Z” is the alphabet’s final letter. Is this generation the end of something or a new beginning?
Considering the world they are inheriting, perhaps we should rebrand them as Generation Rock Bottom. After all they’ve been through, they must figure there’s not much further to fall. Maybe the reason my son is in such a good mood as he approaches his 23rd birthday is because he knows there’s nowhere to go but up.
