The Future We Were Promised Doesn’t Exist

It’s been a while since I’ve written. These past couple of months have brought unwelcome clarity. A quiet cracking beneath what I thought was solid ground. For a time, I felt alive with possibility. Hopeful, even. But lately, it’s been harder to imagine a future that feels secure, not just for me, but for all of us.

In many ways, I’ve been mourning what I thought I knew. We were raised on a script built to keep us in line: study, work, build, consume and feed the system that feeds on us. But that script is coming undone. There’s a systemic shift underway, something bigger than any one person. You can feel it in the air, like the heavy pressure before a storm.

There’s a collective unease, a dense cloud of anxiety hanging over those who sense it. Others might move through their days untouched by it, but I can’t. Systems can only withstand so much before they break.

I feel the weight of my privilege in all of this. I have a home. Access to safe food. An education. A job. Health care. Parents who could help if things fell apart. I know I’m lucky. Yet the sinking feeling remains. Because what happens to those already standing on the edge? And what happens when we are all eventually pushed there as well?

The Lie We Were Raised On

Growing up, the future looked like a pre-drawn map—a road expecting our footsteps. If you worked hard, ticked boxes, followed the script, you earned stability. Or at least a little house with your name on the mailbox. Our parents walked that path and found something solid. So we believed we would, too.

We trusted the media. We trusted textbooks. We trusted people in power to protect our rights. But as the façade cracked, it became harder to know what’s real and what’s a distraction.

I used to scoff at conspiracy theories. I told myself nothing this big could happen right under our noses. No way we’d been force-fed propaganda for so long that we’d grown numb to atrocity. But once I saw it, everything shifted. The ground didn’t just crack. It flipped on its head.

Entertainment used to be my escape. I dreamed of living TV lives. Absorbed Bravo as a personality trait. Treated celebrities like they knew something I didn’t. I trusted their polish. I believed their stories. Now, I notice how much I gave to people who profited from my trust.

The fantasy didn’t shatter overnight. It unraveled slowly, like a dream slipping away, until the shimmer gave way to the sell. I didn’t expect to feel like a curmudgeon at 33. But maybe this is what happens when the veil lifts and the illusion starts to rot.

What once lit me up now dims. My sense of purpose wavers. The world shifted, and so did I. Each revelation knocks the axis off-balance. Pretending there’s a plan is over. There never was one, only an inherited story to keep us moving.

Falling Through the Illusion

At one point, trying didn’t feel worth it. The world is on fire. I’m a speck of ash in the wind. I slid into numbness, convinced myself it wasn’t my problem. But ignorance is a fragile shield.

The deeper I looked, the more insidious it seemed. Distractions have many layers. Social media can inform us when it’s unbiased and fact-checked, but it’s built to keep us hooked, quietly draining our energy and selling us unreachable fantasies.

It feeds us celebrity love stories, keeping us from seeing the blood on our hands. It floods us with noise so we avoid the truth. Seeing through it can be crushing, but also strangely liberating. Because once you see the illusion for what it is, you get to decide whether or not you’ll keep subscribing to it.

Lighting the Way Through the Dark

I think part of growing up in this era is learning to grieve futures that never really existed. Not just personal dreams, but collective myths. We believed the narrative we were sold, but now it’s unraveling in our hands.

Where there’s darkness, there’s always a flicker of light. The future isn’t fixed. No one knows how this story ends, which means we get to write it. It’s terrifying, but that spark of hope is enough to keep us moving.

For now, I’ll stay alert. I’ll keep showing up. When the time comes to act, I’ll be ready. Until then, I’ll stand with those who need it and carve a way forward through any creative force I can harness.