Every generation eventually asks itself the same question: Is the world getting worse, or am I just getting older? Our grandparents worried that cinema would corrupt the youth. Our parents fretted that television would stop us from reading. Later, critics warned that computers would stop people from talking to each other.
Recently was talking to my uncle and during the course of the conversation we both realised the current generation does not know how to just be, how to be bored and be comfortable with that feeling. A cousin within 10mins of reaching a family function grabbed few others and asked if there was a cafe they could escape to… My mind was blown, but I had to stay calm and talk to them… Ask them why they cant just sit in a corner here and chit chat, which is what they said they would do at a cafe.. Thus was born in this post as well.
Today, as we watch a new generation grow up surrounded by smartphones, algorithmic feeds, and generative AI, we find ourselves asking a familiar question with a new urgency: Will the next generation ever truly know what it means to be alone with their own thoughts? Perhaps every generation believes the next is losing its way. Is every generation right?
The Cult of Instant Gratification
It is tempting to look back and claim that life was better when we were growing up. It wasn’t necessarily better; it was simply different. We waited for things. We waited a whole week for the Sunday movie, weeks for letters from relatives, and days for photographs to be developed. We waited for the morning newspaper to check cricket scores, and we waited all year for mango season.
Today, almost everything is instant. Food arrives at the doorstep before we’ve even set the plates on the table. Entertainment is a dime a dozen, streaming infinitely. AI answers complex questions in a fraction of a second. Convenience has been so deeply woven into our lives that patience is no longer seen as a virtue—it is treated as an unnecessary skill.
And with this loss of patience, we have become noticeably less tolerant. When everything is available at the click of a button, any delay feels like an insult. We have become a society with a hair-trigger temper, where minor inconveniences escalate into major conflicts.
The Attention Economy: FOMO, YOLO, and the Perfect Bubble
This lack of patience has spilled over into how we view ourselves and each other. Scroll through any social media feed, and you are met with a relentless parade of perfection. Everyone appears to be traveling, celebrating, or living their “best life.”
We have become obsessed with seeking external validation. The modern currency is measured in likes, views, and comments. Guided by the twin mantras of FOMO (Fear of Missing Out) and YOLO (You Only Live Once), there is a frantic rush to consume, display, and boast.
What remains hidden beneath the curated feeds are the disappointments, the arguments, the lonely evenings, the failures, and the quiet struggles.
In doing so, we are raising a generation in a bubble. Shielded by algorithms that only show them what they want to see, many in the next gen are growing up unaware of the nuances of the real world. Worse, there is a growing unwillingness to listen to or learn from earlier generations. Why ask an elder for wisdom when a search engine or an AI bot can give a sterilized, instant answer?
Somewhere along the way, we forgot to tell them that it is perfectly normal to have bad days. It is normal to fail an exam, lose a friend, feel anxious before an interview, grieve, and cry. Sometimes, it is healthy to feel lost for a while. Happiness is not a permanent status symbol.
A Less Forgiving World
Today, the world itself feels increasingly hostile. We grew up knowing that bad things happened, but they seemed distant and rare. Now, we wake up to a non-stop ticker of tragedy: school shootings, wars, terrorism, and road rage ending in murder over arguments that should have lasted no more than a few minutes.
What troubles me just as much as these events is how quickly they vanish from our collective memory. Yesterday’s tragedy is instantly replaced by today’s viral outrage. We swipe up, and we move on. Perhaps the greatest danger is not just that these horrors happen, but that we are becoming desensitized to them, accepting the chaos as normal.
At the same time, we are leaving behind a planet that is asking more of us than ever before. The summers are harsher, the rains unpredictable, the forests smaller, and the urban air heavier to breathe. Rivers that once defined towns have become concrete drains. Birds that were once common fixtures of our mornings are now rare sights we have to travel miles to see. We tell our children to spend more time outdoors, while steadily reducing the number of places where they can safely do so.
The Modern Contradiction
Yet, it would be dishonest to ignore everything that is genuinely better. Our children will inherit technological and medical advances that previous generations could scarcely imagine. Diseases that were once a death sentence are now treatable. Knowledge that once required access to elite libraries is now democratized, available to anyone with an internet connection.
Artificial intelligence will help discover groundbreaking medicines, revolutionize education, and solve logistical problems that today seem impossible. Families separated by oceans can see and speak to each other every single day. There is also a much greater, much-needed awareness surrounding mental health.
Perhaps that is the paradox of progress. We solve old problems only to discover new ones. We become wealthier but busier; more digitally connected, yet profoundly lonelier. We invent technologies to save time, only to fill that saved time with more hustle.
Beyond What Can Be Measured
So maybe the real question we should be asking is not whether the world is becoming better or worse. It is whether we are paying enough attention to what cannot be measured.
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Will our children ever know the simple joy of climbing a tree just because it is there?
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Will they know what it feels like to wait eagerly for the first mangoes of summer?
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Will they ever sit around a dining table where the conversation outlasts the meal, without a single person reaching for a phone?
Technology will continue to evolve, and the bubbles will continue to form. But our responsibility remains the same. If we can hand the next generation cleaner air, safer streets, and thriving forests, we must also teach them how to be an honest friend and how to find meaningful work.
We need to show them the value of slower meals with lovely people, the strength of real-world communities, and the confidence to embrace the full, messy spectrum of human emotion. Our goal shouldn’t be to trend online, but to leave the world just a little better than we found it.
