The future isn't what it used to be
Thoughts on extrapolative expectations.
“Imagination/ That’s the way that it seems/ A man can only live in his dreams” — The Flaming Lips
“No future/ No future/ No future for you” — The Sex Pistols
If you have kids — or if you’re planning to have kids in the future — I want you to think about a question: How will you make sure your kids have a successful life?
Obviously, this isn’t a question that anyone can ever answer with certainty. But ten years ago, in 2016, you could have given a pretty good answer. You’d work hard and save money and invest wisely, so you would have enough family wealth to cushion against unexpected shocks. You’d teach your kid good values, make sure they went to a good school, and send them to a good college. You might even encourage them to enter a promising elite professional field, like software engineering, medicine, or law. If you did all of this, you could be reasonably confident that your child would grow up to be at least economically secure, and probably upwardly mobile as well.
What answer would you give now, in 2026? Do you have any confidence that colleges — even top colleges — will actually teach your kid the skills they need to make it in a job market defined by AI? What field of study could you recommend to your child, knowing that there’s a possibility it will be automated by the time they finish studying it? Will even family wealth be enough to protect your descendants, in a world where land and energy are being gobbled up for data centers?
The sudden rise of artificial intelligence has cast a great fog over our future. It may bring wonders beyond our comprehension — the end of aging and disease, material hyperabundance, digital worlds to suit our every desire, expansion into outer space. Or it might bring chaos and destruction, as rogue agents wreak havoc with bioweapons and drones. Or it might become a superintelligence that turns us all into house pets.
Your kids might be chronically unemployed, as the CEO of ServiceNow recently predicted. Or AI tools might turn them into highly paid super-workers, as the founder of Uber recently predicted. The truth is that they don’t know, and I don’t know, and you don’t know either. Financial markets don’t know either. The people actually building AI certainly don’t know. The future is a blank wall of fog, rushing toward us at top speed, and nobody knows what to do.
Plenty of people have predicted this. It’s called a Technological Singularity — a period of accelerated technological change so rapid that it’s impossible to predict what life or society will look like afterwards. You can argue that the Industrial Revolution was a kind of Singularity, moving humanity in today’s developed countries from the edge of starvation to material abundance. Who could have predicted, in 1890, what life in 1990 would look like? And the AI revolution is happening much faster, promising to compress a century’s worth of change into a couple of decades.
AI may be the biggest thing casting a fog of uncertainty over our future, but it’s not the only thing. The political chaos of the last decade, and especially the governing style of the second Trump administration, has swept away much of what we thought we knew about American society. The rise of China has raised the possibility that global power will now reside with totalitarian countries instead of democratic ones. The possibility of another world war looms.
Now here’s the crucial point — even back in 2016, this period of rapid change was on the way. Most people just didn’t see it coming. Everyone who thought their kids would be safe if they just followed the standard 2016 playbook — a good college, a professional career — was wrong. They just didn’t know they were wrong yet.
But because they didn’t see what was coming, they were optimistic. Back in 2016, 69% of Americans expected a good life in the future — a number that’s now down to only 59%:
Even during Covid and the Great Recession, American optimism about the future didn’t waver. We “knew” — or at least we thought we knew — that we would recover from those shocks, and be able to live a good life. We might have been wrong, but we thought we could see the future — and it was those extrapolations that comforted us, even as we endured one shock after another.
It occurs to me that this can also explain why Americans are so nostalgic for the 1990s and the early 2000s.
