The Future is “Toast”? Not So Fast.

A Hopeful Dispatch from Sidewalk Hospitality

Rainy days at Sidewalk Hospitality have a way of winnowing down the crowd. Today, it was mostly teens. And, honestly, I loved it. 

The spaces where teens used to exist (malls, arcades, roller rinks, and community centers) have been disappearing or severely declining for more than twenty years. These so-called “third spaces” are closing all over the United States. When we lose them, we lose the places that help buffer against loneliness, stress, and alienation. Research shows that adolescents without access to a public “third space” experience significantly higher emotional distress and peer relationship problems than those who have one.

So I notice when they show up. Especially our regulars.

One of the guys who stopped by today has been volunteering with us for a while. In fact, I knew he'd really claimed the space as his own when he donated some of his Legos to our community brick bins. The Legos he donated were quality sets. We’re talking Lego Minecraft and Harry Potter themed pieces. They’re the kind of sets a kid doesn't part with unless a place means something to him. Those bricks have been played with over and over by neighbors of every age. That’s generosity that I don't take lightly.

Once he settled in this morning, we talked about his spring break, his coursework, and whether or not he was excited to take his driving test. Eventually, we talked about the news.

He told me he gets nervous thinking about the future of our country. I'm pretty sure his exact words were something like, “The U.S. is toast.”

Let that sink in for a second.

That’s how our teens feel about our democracy.

They wonder if things are beyond repair. They’re nervous the adults at the helm have already run it into the ground.

I told him I understand. Because I do. My podcast queue doesn't exactly radiate optimism. The research I’ve read about loneliness and eroding trust in our institutions doesn't paint a cheerful picture. I can’t pretend otherwise.

But then I told him what else I believe: That things aren’t as dark as they seem. 

I don’t believe this naively. It’s not because I've stopped paying attention, but because I spend time with him and the other teens who show up here. When I’m with them, they’re kind. They’re perceptive. They think about other people. They work out their differences. They're respectful. They know how to take responsibility. 

They know how to show up for neighbors they've never met. They welcome newcomers who’ve wandered in for the first time. I've watched them disagree, sure, but then keep playing, keep laughing, and keep building something beautiful together. 

That’s not nothing.

Actually, it’s everything.

The world tells them they're the anxious generation. The ones who can't look up from a screen. I understand why people say that. But that's not the whole story. The teens I know are paying attention. They notice who's left out. They notice when something's not fair. 

I guess you could say that I refuse to believe our future is bleak, because I know who's inheriting it.

The question is: Do you?

If the state of things in our country is getting to you, maybe you need to stop by Sidewalk Hospitality sometime. Maybe you need to meet the teens who share your neighborhood, who ride their bikes past you on your commute and walk down our sidewalks on their way home from Goodfellas. Because once you do, it's a lot harder to be hopeless.

They’re sharp, sensitive, and funny.

They can handle what's coming. 

They’re going to be the leaders we need when we reach a vulnerable age.

I just hope we don't make things any harder on them than they need to be.