Why We Need To Teach Our Kids To Risk The Outside World

Humans are social animals. At least, we used to be. Starting in 2020, though, we started spending more time home alone, and not in the sense of hilariously fighting Harry Lyme and Marv Murchins in their attempts to burgle our houses. Granted, for that particular year, many of us were legally precluded from socializing. Others were gripped by fear that sharing a drink and a bowl of dip with a friend might kill us, but that time is long past, save for lesbian bars in Greenfield, Massachusetts.

As with so many of the effects of the pandemic, the persistent issues are most present in younger people, those who were shoved into their rooms and in front of screens during extremely formative years. Whereas adults aged 55 to 64 are only partying 13% less than they used to, for those aged 15 to 24, the decline is a whopping 69%. Given that we’re more depressed and medicated than ever before, and that fewer people are making babies than ever before, the future requires us to reverse these trends.

We know what the causes are. If we want less friction in our lives but don’t want to be bored, technology makes it easy to be alone. Neighborhoods are no longer bustling with people walking around and talking to one another, particularly when it comes to younger folks. Teenagers aren’t drinking as much as they used to. And while it’s better that teenagers and young people don’t drink too much, that also reduces the likelihood that they’ll randomly make some new friends or blurt out “I love you” to their crush.

In other words, while Gen Z is already risk-averse, perhaps it’s time to stop tracking their every movement and look the other way when the kegs show up too early. It also means, though, that existing adults need to do a better job of modeling being social creatures.

We have never had more tools at our disposal that should theoretically make life easier. The laptop and the cell phone were supposed to free us from the office. Instead, they freed us from ever being off the clock. AI might help, or it might just make it even easier to attend a few more meetings. At least meetings involve human interaction, I suppose.

Advances in home entertainment, particularly the invention of streaming, reduced the need to go to the theater or go to see a band play. Now, one can simply watch or listen while at home alone. There are no lines for the bathroom, the concessions are cheaper, and there won’t be any pesky sorts to mar the experience.

Instead, and this is wild, we could say “no” to those options and go out and see the movie with the loud talkers. If the dude next to us at the concert is emitting a foul aroma, it’s only for a few hours. Plus, it makes the experience more memorable. For example, I went to see Tool in Noblesville, Indiana, many years ago. Two young ladies had jumped the barrier and decided our seats were where they were going to post up. For reasons not worth exploring too deeply here — namely, that they’d snuck in some contraband they were sharing with me — my buddy and I didn’t alert security or otherwise remove them from our area.

Which isn’t to say it was all smooth sailing. One of the two kept yelling, “Play ‘Eulogy,’ play ‘Eulogy.’” My friend, himself a performing musician, tried to calmly explain that no one on the stage could hear her, citing his own difficulties hearing the crowd in much smaller venues. She then informed us that she wanted the song played in memory of her dead brother. It was at this point that I rather forcefully pointed out that “Eulogy” is not a positive song eulogizing someone, but rather a diatribe against Christianity.

After the show ended, the young lady grabbed me, yelled, “No one talks bad about my brother!” and spit on me. This did not sit well, but my cooler-headed companion suggested I let it go. I thought about the fact that all I had to do was wash my face while she had to go through life as the type of person who would spit on someone, shake it off, and head to the bathroom sink.

At this point, you may be wondering why, in an exhortation for people to get together more, I’m sharing a story about being spit on. The thing is, it’s a funny story, one that could only happen in person. It ended not with a bang but with a shrug, and that was partly because I was hanging out with a buddy. If I was there on my own, well, I still wouldn’t have slugged a girl, but I probably would’ve stewed about it for much longer than I did.

That is life. That is what younger people are afraid of. Perhaps it’s not being gifted saliva, but angry words instead. Or the possibility of embarrassment or of rejection or any of the other negative things that come with human interaction. But without the risks of those negatives, there’s also no hope of the positives.

We forgot to teach kids that when we had them locked away. We didn’t think to encourage healthy risk-taking. We didn’t find ways to keep them connected to the outside world, and the habits they learned in the interim stuck. But we can still teach them, even our adult children. We can encourage the ones in college to tell us about the weekend’s parties. We can take our 14-year-old out of school and to another city to see Artemas without thoroughly vetting him first. We could put Artemas in charge of whatever government agency primarily deals with fecundity.

(Trust me on this if you’re not familiar with his work. I was one of about five dudes in attendance at the show. His appeal is inexplicable, but his sexually charged lyrics and stage presence, and the female response to both, made me wonder if the girlies were going to leave the show pregnant just by virtue of watching him perform.)

I’m old enough to have watched the pendulum swing back and forth on such issues a few times, but this one feels different, and not just because I’m a cranky old man. Our kids really are hurting because they’ve lived lives free of so much hurt. The mere thought of it can paralyze them. There is hope, though, and even if it involves the possibility of being spit on, it’s worth exploring. Get out there, get your kids out there, get your friends out there, make sure you have friends. Remember that we’re social creatures, not solitary consumers. Doing so may involve pain and heartbreak; it may require compromise and not always getting our way, but the other option is infinitely worse.

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Rich Cromwell is a writer living in Northwest Arkansas. He produces the Cookin’ Up a Story podcast, which you can listen to here. You can also follow him on X: @rcromwell4