By Imlisanen Jamir
Adolescents today inhabit a peculiar world of paradoxes. By most metrics, they’re living in a golden age. Global life expectancy is on the rise. Diseases that once decimated populations are curable. Risky teenage behaviors like drug use, crime, and unprotected sex are in decline. And for those who can afford those fine schools, they are offered mental health support and lessons in emotional resilience that previous generations could only dream of.
Yet anxiety among teenagers is at an all-time high. It’s this irony that has led social psychologist Jonathan Haidt to dub today’s youth “the anxious generation.” If you’re a parent or teacher, you’ve likely heard the shorthand diagnosis: Smartphones and social media are at fault, and we should cut back their use.
It’s a familiar script. When the steam engine roared onto the scene in the 19th century, people worried about “railway madness.”
Radio was once condemned as the herald of society’s collapse. The car culture of the 1950s was blamed for teenage promiscuity and moral decay. Each innovation has brought its own wave of cultural handwringing, and smartphones are no different. But blaming the tools of the age misses something deeper.
Anxiety isn’t new. It’s as old as humanity itself, a survival mechanism hardwired into us over millennia. The ancestors who fretted over threats passed on their genes. Those who lounged in contentment likely didn’t. Anxiety kept us alive in a world of saber-toothed tigers and unpredictable storms. Today, it’s still with us, even as the threats have evolved from predators to the yawning abyss of modern life’s possibilities.
Here’s the rub: Life today offers an overwhelming degree of choice. In the past, identity was ascribed at birth—farmer, merchant, monarch. Your place in the world was a period, not a question mark. Today, teenagers grapple with the burden of defining themselves at every turn. Every choice, from the music they stream to the socks they wear, becomes a declaration of identity.
It’s not just about gender or politics or career aspirations. It’s about the relentless micro-decisions that accumulate into a cultural weight. What to buy? What to post? What filter to use? This freedom—expansive and exhilarating as it is—comes with a cost. Sociologist Liah Greenfeld nailed it when she wrote, “Lifting limits from our desires, paradoxically, places very heavy burdens on our shoulders.”
It’s not just theory. Studies have shown that too much choice can be paralyzing. In one famous experiment, shoppers presented with a vast array of jam options were less likely to buy than those offered a smaller selection. Freedom, as it turns out, can be debilitating.
So where does that leave today’s teenagers? They are not wrong to feel overwhelmed. The proliferation of devices like smartphones amplifies this sensation, turning the limitless potential of modern life into a never-ending feed of comparative angst. Someone is always happier, richer, thinner, or more accomplished, and that someone is always just a swipe away.
But let’s not pretend this is new. Teens have always been anxious. What’s changed is the flavor of the anxiety. Instead of running from lions, they’re trying to run toward a sense of self in a world where the finish line keeps moving.
What’s the solution? Haidt points to limiting screen time, and he’s not wrong. Phones can act as anxiety incubators, encouraging us to compare, to crave, to endlessly scroll. But the real answer may lie deeper, in a perspective as old as the anxiety itself.
The Buddha framed it centuries ago: Life is suffering. Not because something is wrong with us, but because dissatisfaction is baked into the human condition. It’s what drives us to improve, to innovate, to adapt. Instead of pathologizing the anxious teenager, we might do better to normalize their experience. After all, who isn’t dissatisfied in some way?
The secret isn’t to cure the anxiety, but to live with it. Studies show we’re happiest when fully immersed in the present—drawing, hiking, dancing, or just sitting with our thoughts. It’s not the scrolling that calms the nerves; it’s the stopping.
So maybe your teen is on their phone too much. Or maybe they’re just human, navigating the same currents of longing and uncertainty that every generation before them has faced. The circumstances may change, but the core remains: To be a teenager is to ask, “Who am I?” And that question, no matter the century or the tech, will always be a little terrifying.
Comments can be sent to imlisanenjamir@gmail.com
