The happiest young adults in the world are in places you’d never expect—places where friction is real. Places like Ghana, Tanzania, Kenya and Nigeria. Places where the average income runs from $1,200–$2,300 a year. Places where family bonds tend to be stronger, spirituality more embedded and multigenerational households more common. And yet—their young adults are thriving.
In comparison, in the wealthiest countries on earth—the places with the best universities, the safest streets, the cleanest water, and unlimited oat-milk lattes—young adults are falling apart. Almost half of young adults on planet earth are struggling at a level that meaningfully interferes with daily life. That’s from a recent report that surveyed over 2.5 million people across 85 countries. It’s the largest ongoing study of its kind.
For most of history, young adulthood happened in conditions that were far less casual. We lived near family. We sat through long, boring meals. We visited grandparents’ homes on holidays. We attended weekly religious services together. We depended on others and they depended on us. We were bored on a regular basis. Life was harder, certainly. Sometimes brutally so. The point isn’t that we should bring back outdoor plumbing, manual labor, shared beds, plagues or any of the suffering previous generations endured. Today’s young adult has access to a supercomputer in his pocket. It contains every book, every song, every map, every philosopher, every sermon, every answer to every question ever asked…and he primarily uses that device to play video games and Snapchat friends. When you grow up staring at screens all day, silence starts to feel strange. Boredom starts to feel threatening. Stillness becomes something to avoid rather than inhabit. Like the plants in my greenhouse. Without natural light and fresh air, they grow up leggy and weak. Less able to survive outdoors.
We are safer than ever. More connected than ever. And yet younger generations are struggling to navigate ordinary life. But blaming young people misses the point. We optimized their lives for convenience and insulated them from discomfort. Children don’t develop coping skills by avoiding every challenge. They develop them by facing manageable ones. Resilience doesn’t grow in perfectly regulated environments. It’s built through small, ordinary exposures to friction and consequences. We intervened before they had to solve problems themselves. We protected them from failure, rejection and disappointment whenever possible. The moment a child is bored, there’s a phone, tablet, TV or video to fill the silence. Parents often step in to settle disputes, finish forgotten homework, talk to teachers or smooth over consequences before children experience them. We did these things for understandable reasons. We wanted life to be easier for our children than it was for us. But what happens when everything is easy. What happens when boredom and friction disappear? When every disagreement gets refereed by an adult? When every forgotten assignment has a parent standing behind it?
There’s value in boredom and friction. In waiting your turn. In sitting at a dinner table until everyone is finished. In boredom that forces you to invent something. In responsibilities that can’t be postponed. In labor that leaves you tired in a satisfying way. In belonging to something—a family, a faith, a team, a neighborhood—that requires you to show up whether you’re in the mood or not. But friction is only part of the story. Something else began disappearing along the way: the institutions and traditions that gave people a sense of belonging.
The obligations that once required us to show up for other people have become easier to decline.
Again, optionality. You don’t have to go to church. You don’t have to eat dinner together. You don’t have to attend the family reunion. You don’t have to visit the grandparents for spring break. You don’t have to go to your sister’s recital. And individually, none of those decisions seems consequential. But make enough things optional for long enough and eventually you may discover that the things holding people together-the ties that bind-have quietly disappeared.
And here’s the uncomfortable part: we did this. You and me. The goal isn’t to rewind history. It’s to reintroduce the things that quietly held previous generations together—community, connection and faith. More shared time. More meals. More in-person community. More space for boredom. More responsibility carried gradually rather than avoided entirely. If nearly half of young adults are struggling at a level that meaningfully interferes with daily life, that isn’t a flaw in their character. It’s feedback. It suggests that something about the modern arrangement of life, the way we form families, pursue meaning, raise our children and build community—may not be as sturdy as we thought. Because if a society can build rockets that land themselves and phones that hold all the world’s knowledge, surely it can build young adults who are more than just surviving. That’s the real measure of progress.
Does any of this surprise you? I want to hear your thoughts. Email me at [email protected] I promise you’ll hear back from me.
