By Hannah Ploegstra
The people who are now on deck to be the next elders in our society are the generation we call “Baby Boomers” (born 1946-1964). Because one of the core missions of the Boomer generation in their young adult life was to break free from the controlling grip of their elders (parents, grandparents, the “establishment”), this generation often wrongly assumes that it is a given for young adults to resent or resist involvement from elders. I get this a lot in the work I do, advocating for spiritual family to surround and support Gen Z (born 1997-2012). Countless generous-hearted Boomers who are in every other way fully equipped and qualified to step into the lives of young adults will tell me with a knowing snicker, “But they don’t want old people around!”
Nope. It’s just not true.
In contrast to their grandparents in early adulthood, Gen Z is starving for older adult input, encouragement, and even advice or help. To understand their hunger, try to wrap your head around the world that Gen Z was born into and grew up in. These people, now entering the work force, politics, marriage, parenthood, and yes, church leadership, were babies and toddlers when 9/11 happened. Their brains were scanning for joyful faces, hungry for calm, non-anxious moments of playful learning with attentive adults, and in need of “bigger brains” that could help them learn the pathways back to joy from the six major negative emotions. Instead, they found frightened faces, heard angry voices, and likely watched on endless repeat the newsreel of two towers falling to the ground in billows of dust – and more importantly to our Gen Z infants, the reactions of horror and exchange of fearful comments between adults.
A few years after that, when their brains were ready to form a group identity, we gave them the iPhone and social media, and it should be no surprise now that Gen Z sees identity as something you formulate on your own, by yourself, for yourself based off of what makes you feel most like yourself on any given day. As the economic and political issues in our nation escalated, there were just too many other important things for grownups to worry about than the social lives of their middle schoolers, and besides, “they don’t want old people around” – a misconception which was made believable as their faces were now glued to their phones.
And then, in 2020, just as Gen Z was graduating from high school and college, the world shut down. They did college online, were forbidden to see the world (or even their next-door neighbors), and commanded to mask their smiles, fears, and voices. And once again, the older people didn’t seem to know what was going on, and didn’t seem to want to talk about it, and if they did, it just made their anxiety worse.
Now, four years after the pandemic, these Gen Zers are making a life for themselves in the world. They are forging ahead because that is what people do. But they feel the need for hopeful, joyful, encouraging, articulate elders more strongly than ever. Perhaps it’s what’s left from 2001 of their infant cry for attention, safety, and a bigger brain that can lead them back to joy. Perhaps it’s still their middle school brains needing to know “who my people are and what it is like us to do” that keeps them still scanning years later for someone who will answer that question for them. Perhaps it’s the absence of exploration and adventure stories at their coming of age in 2020 that makes them long for an invitation – and a helping hand – from an elder to walk with them into adult life.
In any case, and for whatever reasons, Gen Z is not chomping at the bit for independence from “the establishment” like their Boomer grandparents were. Instead, they are hungry for real joy-filled relationships with parents and grandparents who have learned how to live the human life in love and grace.
