To be human means to go through many cycles of belief and skepticism throughout one’s lifetime. To quote the canonical meme guy sitting at the table, argue with me.
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But I think people my age grow up in a historical background that accelerates that cycle. The lives of elderly millennials in America have been defined by even stronger, more frequent swings between belief and skepticism.
There’s something about being promised a lot, then being disappointed, then being held to impossible standards, that can make a person deeply distrustful of authority as well as easily influenced by groups, belief systems or even workout classes that promise to fix everything. This phenomenon is something that several highly qualified authors have explored in recent books, including Amanda Montell age of magical overthinking And cultured; Reena in Rafael gospel of well being; and most recently in Liz Bueckers beyond welfare.
The things I believed in were school, books, art, and being “good.”
As I get older and the deeper we dive into our uniquely American majority crisis, the more I think about what drives people to unquestioningly cling to beliefs that are clearly not true or good for anyone. Much of it is likely rooted in a combination of frustration, entitlement, insecurity, and a deep longing for stability in historical moments of chaos – you know, maybe like a Great Depression. hell, i wrote a whole novel about it.
It also helps that the current cultural zeitgeist is less obsessed with the late 2000s and early 2010s. This is also the time when I became a “real” adult. Instead of ditching my layered camisoles and revisiting my side bangs, I’ve devoted my energy to thinking about the faith-doubt cycles in my life.
They are here.
Childhood: late 1980s–early 2000
To be a child means to believe Some. Children are literally forced to do this in order to survive. You have to believe that your parent, guardian, or other adult will protect you, or that you have some kind of rule to follow to make things okay.
The things I believed in were school, books, art, and being “good.”
I had a deep belief that getting all A’s was inextricably linked with being a good, worthy person, and that this would lead to an adult life that would be happy and fulfilling. This was somewhat connected to the mix of cafeteria Catholicism and semi-fundamentalist evangelical Christianity I grew up with, which espoused a very narrow idea of what “good” could be. As a fat girl in Southern California who sometimes flinched at social cues, I quickly learned that being “smart” was my only chance to be “good.”
Thankfully, whether my parents intended to or not, they countered much of this conditioning by giving me uninterrupted access to whatever I wanted to read and signing me up for all the art activities geared toward weird kids like me. If anyone asks what radicalized me, I’d say it was the time I came home with a Jesus coloring sheet from “art” class from 6th grade and angrily volunteered to start a program my mom enrolled me in at my conservative Christian school. Real Art program there. (To everyone’s surprise, he took her up on it.)
But whether or not you grew up surrounded by people who thought coloring sheets by Jesus was art, this was the era of American Girl dolls and “girl power.” Even though Gatorade was being poured on us by girls who could barely fit into clothes during PE class, many of us believed that if we got A’s and worked hard on those science projects, we would be fine, and grow up to be happy adults.
Adolescence: 2001–2006
Between walking into 8th grade homeroom and seeing my teacher staring open-mouthed at the live coverage of 9/11 from CNN and hearing my first anti-Muslim slur in real time, I began to wonder if the idea of being “good” I had grown up around wasn’t true at all.
This began the first stage of my many doubt-belief cycles. During my teenage years in the early 2000s, I oscillated between believing that America stood for freedom, and vocally expressing my anger when forced to watch news coverage of Operation Shock and Awe during English class. Some months I prayed for Jesus to guide me, some months I went to the sobriety club on campus with my friends just for the free cookies they gave me. A bleach blonde pop-punk aesthetic gave way to the American Eagle polo, and back to the “weird thrift store girl wearing winged eyeliner.”
I became even more cynical towards humanity in general.
The diet culture of the 2000s had an evil hold on many of us, so I believed in Atkins, Weight Watchers, and SlimFast as much as some of my classmates believed in a literal interpretation of the Bible. But when I got tired and hungry, I leaned into my growing “funny fat girl” identity. However, throughout all of this, I continued to believe that being good in school was my path to college, and college meant a good job and happiness.
Early adulthood: 2007–2016
The Obama years may have made some of us more optimistic than usual, but it also gave us a version of the Internet that rewired our brains. I believed in the books so much that I majored in English, thinking I could become a professor. My goal was to earn a living by reading, writing books, and getting smart people to listen to me. It seemed like a dream. But the harsh economic reality of the Great Depression years hit everyone in one way or another.
I had no remaining faith in Jesus, except that he was probably a nice Middle Eastern guy who had been seriously misinterpreted by powerful people. Once I soured on academia as I attempted to navigate the harsh realities of the labor market during a disappointingly aborted PhD program, I had to put my faith somewhere. After starting out as a copy-editor for an accounting firm (yes, really) I put the same confidence into becoming DC Wink.
Living in DC during the Obama years further intensified the belief/skepticism cycle. I took several jobs in communications. I liked being close to people I viewed as making smart decisions. I met the man I married. I went to a lot of trivia nights. I came back to improv comedy, which is probably the most gentle cult one would ever encounter.
I became even more cynical towards humanity in general. Networking as a lifestyle and being in constant touch with every self-proclaimed expert’s opinion on every terrible event in the world will do the same to a person. So will wear a lot of uncomfortable pencil skirts. I got stuck in the “grind” mentality and at times made my work my personality, because I thought doing otherwise would render me unemployed. I worked out religiously, downloaded and deleted MyFitnessPal repeatedly, got into yoga seriously, and ran half-marathons, because they were the equivalent of physical discipline, which equaled goodness.
And then a certain guy came down the gold escalator and became president. People I previously thought were smart and “nice” started openly saying hateful things and voicing support for that person. As election returns began, I vomited in the bathroom at Mellow Mushroom in Adams Morgan.
“Fuck Getting Real” Years: 2017-2024
After the inauguration, I started going to protests. After a work meeting in which we discussed how to formulate policy talking points in “Trump-esque” (all bullet points, short words, one page maximum), I knew I had to get out of DC. My husband and I moved to California, a place I now consider safer, easier, and better for living a real life, and adopted a dog.
I’m almost 38 but some days I feel 1,000 years old.
It was, but “sensible” and “easier” life became relative during the pandemic. Here it was again, another “once in a generation” event. I told anyone who would listen that if I heard the word “phenomenal” even once, I would throw my laptop out the window. I began writing my first novel, and my skepticism about the inherent goodness of humanity began to border on misanthropy. I blocked former friends on social media when they became anti-vaccine. I started meditating at home and doing a lot of yoga, while being unable to keep myself away from the internet. I became more resilient and more angry.
The Biden years brought a pandemic-postponed wedding, a revenge trip, a house purchase, and a signing with a literary agent. I made new friends, took antidepressants, and started a comedy competition. Then the Biden years ended. I cried on election night, lying on the floor in front of my old dog, with my husband lying behind me.
“Where we are now”: 2025–present
I’m almost 38 but some days I feel 1,000 years old. The flood of news of atrocities and the growing sense of powerlessness will do the same to a person.
My faith in the inherent stability and goodness of the American government has mostly gone the way of Jesus. Wherever he is, he’s probably angry.
I have stopped exercising religiously, and have gained so much weight that 20 years ago I thought it would be life ending.
This leads to the key belief I have left: realistic hope. For a while I took a hard turn toward destruction, but I’m pulling myself out of it. I think a lot of us in my age group are trying to do that right now, especially those who are raising or trying to have kids. We are still planning for the future, because what other choice do we have? Dedication? I watched too much PBS Kids programming for this.
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stay well Available at Heliotrope by Sarah Flocken.
