When I was a kid, I had this hilarious habit of believing in people. I trusted them, accepted them, and genuinely thought humanity was on a great track. Looking back, that level of innocence is just ridiculous.
Take the global population, for example. I naively believed people would look around, notice we were running out of space, and maybe slow down on making babies. Instead, everyone collectively decided that multiplying is the ultimate human hobby. It doesn’t matter if there’s no food, no housing, or barely enough oxygen to go around—making another miniature human is apparently the go-to weekend activity. We are packing this planet like a discount suitcase, just sitting on the lid trying to force the zipper shut.
And don’t get me started on nature. I used to think that as we got smarter, the number of trees and beautiful forests would grow. I pictured a lush, green future. Instead, we’re going backward at lightning speed. We are aggressively trading oxygen-producing forests for concrete parking lots, all so we can park the cars we use to drive to stores to buy plastic plants. Brilliant engineering.
Growing up also taught me another fantastic lie: that adults actually know what they are doing. I thought turning 18 came with a secret instruction manual on how to navigate life, money, and the universe. Now I see the truth. We’re all just oversized toddlers in business casual, completely winging it, staring at spreadsheets, and panicking when the Wi-Fi drops for two seconds.
Even our peak technological achievements are a joke. I expected flying cars, teleportation, and world peace by now. What did we actually do with the most powerful global network in human history? We built AI to write poetry and paint pictures so that we humans can have the grand privilege of doing data entry and driving in traffic for the rest of our lives.
Ah, childhood innocence. It really is a beautiful, completely delusional thing.