Historically, happiness in the United States followed a reliable arc—a perfect U-shaped curve. We were happy when we were young and carefree. Not so happy during the pressure-filled midlife years. Then happy again later in life.
But today, happiness is crashing much earlier. And that should worry us. We pushed this generation hard. Relentlessly hard. The script was clear: work hard, get good grades, stay out of trouble, go to a good college, and “all your wildest dreams will come true.” But I think we both know that’s not true.
This generation grew up during the most affluent period in human history. More money. Better schools. Safer neighborhoods. Nicer cars and fancier clothes. Beautiful homes with granite countertops. Youth sports leagues that required family algorithms to manage overlapping seasons. Tutors and SAT prep courses replaced after-school jobs.
For the truly affluent, college kids enjoyed summers studying and partying abroad in places like Oxford and Cortona. Once the training wheels came off, the kids realized just how misleading the dreamy sales pitch had been. The good life, it turns out, is expensive—crushingly so. The rewards they dreamed of no longer matched the effort required to receive them.
Here’s the cruel irony: after a lifetime of affluence, having to struggle for the basics after college feels unfair. It’s one thing to climb a mountain you were warned about. It’s quite another to discover the mountain after being told the road ahead would be clear. It’s extraordinarily hard to go from a life of privilege and comfort to a life where you have to scrape a little.
Post-college is often an adjustment. Smaller living spaces. More roommates. Less disposable income. Reality sinks in. There’s nothing sexy about going to the grocery store, washing your clothes, and cleaning toilets for the first time. And how many parents explained that the study-abroad program in Cortona would take their kids 15–20 years to pay off?
Previous generations learned resilience by working in a local fast-food restaurant or a dry cleaner after school. They learned humility from starting at the bottom and working for a 45-year-old guy who still lived at home with his mother. They learned that work—especially at the beginning—involves maximum effort for minimal reward.
The very advantages meant to launch young people into successful adulthood have instead left them unprepared for the friction of a normal life. Their parents worked hard to provide a comfortable home, annual vacations, and safe SUVs for carpool. They achieved the good life through years of grit, sacrifice, and thick skin—things the kids never noticed in between travel soccer and studying abroad in Cortona.
The result is a generation meticulously prepared for entering college but totally underprepared for exiting it. Unprepared for an ordinary life. As if college admissions officers were the gatekeepers to six-figure salaries and immediate promotions. They weren’t.
When you grow up living the good life, an ordinary life feels unfair. A fixer-upper isn’t a starting point—it’s failure. A higher-mileage used car isn’t practical—it’s embarrassing. An entry-level salary isn’t a beginning—it’s a disappointment. That’s the insidious power of affluence: it redefines abundance as the bare minimum and anything else as inadequate. But there is good news.
Friction in life isn’t the enemy. It’s the catalyst. It’s rocket fuel for growth. That friction is pushing young adults to ask better questions about what actually constitutes a good life. A good and meaningful life was never about accumulating symbols of status. It comes from faith, family, friendship, and work that serves others. From people and places and purpose. That kind of wisdom typically takes fifty years to develop—but these kids might be learning it early.
Maybe the steepening of the happiness curve is just a recalibration. Fewer car purchases may signal a growing awareness of the crippling impact of debt. Delaying homeownership may allow for greater mobility. And learning to scrape a little is good for the soul. There is always wisdom in the struggle.
The challenge for young people is surviving the transition. This generation needs time and grace to grieve the unrealistic future they were promised. They need to define success differently—to measure wealth in relationships instead of trappings, in meaning rather than material accumulation, and in the realization that happiness isn’t found in Cortona—or in granite countertops.
I’d love to hear what you think of this article. Shoot me a private email at [email protected].
I promise you’ll hear back from me—because, you know, I’m a real person and all.
Tom Greene is a writer living in Atlanta, Georgia with his wife and loyal wiener dog, Maggie. His writing can be found at www.tomgreene.com. He can be reached at [email protected]
