19 May 2017

What Is Wrong With My Generation

by Andrew

We ain't got nothing to say. We went to school, went to college, got debt, got a job, got a wife maybe and a kid even now, got a home—boring, boring, boring. We've done nothing. We have no wars. We have no flower-power. We grew-up with technology—not actually having technology, but as we grew, so did technology. We were the last generation to experience at least some life without technology—it being so infant when we were younger, almost non-existent compared to to-day—phones and computers and internet I mean here, and video games even too.

The next generation is completely lost, I see it already. They grew-up with technology too, but in a different sense, that their entire lives they've had it. And their faces are buried in their phones. Reality to them is a screen.

But my generation, still, we are nothing too. We continued on the cruise control of our parent's generation. And now they are old and passing down the keys.

I think of retirement-aged, old, white, comfortable, conservative woman running everything—magazines, newspapers, TV stations, businesses. And they created all the images we grew up with. It had to be approved by them before it went mainstream, whatever it was. And mainstream is mainstream. Everyone sees that. So they influenced us.

But now they are old, the generation above us, and it's our turn to influence. And I can tell when I'm attempting to be influenced by those from my generation. Because it is so juvenile. It's like they are forgetting the generation ahead, and their own generation, and they're trying to teach or preach to, or something, the generation below,—but that's how it goes, the older generation "marketing" to the younger—to make money off of it—the ones with their faces buried in their phones, they are preaching to. And that generation is so lost, with their faces in their phones, that if you tell them that a dog wags its tail, they are dumbfounded. A dog wags its tail, imagine that. And then they are checking their notifications, texting back Tom and Cindy and Brad and Cathy, and snapping a quick selfie, then searching round for an electrical outlet nearby to charge their phone, to give it just a little bit more juice to make it the kilometer home, so that they can post to their social media accounts this wonderful new information they've learned, that a dog wags its tail.

But that's all we have to tell them. A dog wags its tail, amazing. We have done nothing, and we are empty. Like those plastic molds of elephants or gorillas at the zoo, we are like those. We may look the part,—like those fancy, conservative women in their business suits—but we are hollow and empty inside.

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