Like a lot of young Americans, I’m exhausted.
I’m tired of working 30+ hours a week just to watch the majority of my paycheck go to a full tank of gas and a few groceries that barely last until the next payday. I’m tired of worrying that the jobs keeping me financially afloat are also pulling my grades down enough to threaten the financial aid keeping me in college. I’m tired of opening social media just to be met with another national tragedy, political disaster, or reminder that the world feels like it’s constantly falling apart.
Like most, I grew up believing that adulthood would feel stable. I thought there would come a time when things would finally calm down, when my hard work would lead me somewhere secure, and when the adults in charge would eventually figure things out. Instead, it feels like the pursuit of the American Dream has been replaced by survival mode — literally.Â
I still remember the first active shooter drill I ever did in elementary school — sitting patiently and silently under my desk while my teacher told us not to move, not to speak, and to wait until it was safe to turn the lights back on and resume class like normal. I was one of the lucky ones; I never had to actually use what I learned during these drills in real life. That’s not the case for everyone, though. I never thought I would grow up having to text friends after shootings at their universities just to ask if they were OK, if they were alive. That kind of fear changes you.
Sometimes it feels like America keeps giving us broken systems just so it can call us resilient for surviving them.
Then, just as we were starting to grow up, a global pandemic changed the way we learned, worked, socialized, and survived. Yet, somehow, after coming of age during all of this instability, we’re still expected to remain ambitious.
As a college student entering senior year while preparing to enter the “real world,” I feel this pressure constantly. Every conversation about the future feels riddled with anxiety instead of excitement. I worry about how I’ll ever afford to live on my own when stable careers feel increasingly difficult to find. Milestones that older generations once considered normal, such as buying a home and starting a family, feel completely out of reach for so many people my age.Â
We’re told that Gen Z will be the generation that fixes everything: the economy, climate change, political division. But it’s hard not to wonder why so many of those burdens were handed to us in the first place. Sometimes it feels like America keeps giving us broken systems just so it can call us resilient for surviving them. Then we’re made to feel bad for feeling over it all.
Our exhaustion isn’t laziness though. It’s the emotional consequence of growing up in constant volatility while still being expected to be optimistic and grateful. We are exhausted because we care deeply about creating meaningful lives in a country that feels increasingly impossible to build a future in.Â
We still want things to get better and we fight for the version of the American Dream we were promised as children.
This isn’t the kind of exhaustion that disappears after a good night’s sleep; it’s the kind that permanently settles into your chest, coming with you through everyday life until it starts to feel normal.
Yet for some reason, we keep trying.
We continue creating, organizing, advocating, and fighting for a better future because, beneath all of the exhaustion, there is still hope. Fragile hope, but hope nonetheless.
I think that’s what makes this generation so complicated. We are so burnt out, overwhelmed, and deeply uncertain about the future, yet we refuse to give up. We still want things to get better and we fight for the version of the American Dream we were promised as children.
Like most, I refuse to believe that exhaustion should remain the defining feature of young adulthood in America. I want to live in an America where young people are able to dream about futures beyond simply staying alive and afloat.Â
Most of all, I want to believe that adulthood will not feel this heavy forever, because despite everything, I’m still here fighting for a future worth believing in. Maybe that hope is the most American thing about my generation after all.
This summer, for America’s 250th anniversary, the largest youth generation in U.S. history is shaping what comes next. Young people nationwide are invited to create Letters to America — writing, art, video, performances and music, reflecting on your story, your community, and your country. You can add your voice to the living archive curated by Made By Us at youth250.org/letters.Â