Everyone complains about kids being on their phones. “They don’t talk anymore,” we say. “They’re addicted to their screens,” we sigh. “They’ve lost the art of conversation,” we warn. But for a generation we’re so quick to diagnose, we rarely ask the more uncomfortable question: Who handed them the prescription?
We bought the phones. We set up the tablets. We gave them Netflix passwords before we gave them a language for their emotions. We posted their pictures before they could talk, and we taught them to swipe before they learned to speak. They were watching us long before they were watching YouTube.
What we normalized, they absorbed.
And that’s the crux of it, isn’t it? Children don’t build cultures. They inherit them. They don’t set the pace. They learn to keep up with ours. If they are always looking down, maybe it’s because they saw us looking elsewhere too. Into screens. Away from them. Away from each other.
We say it was the technology. The dopamine loops. The short attention spans. But that’s only part of the truth. The harder part to admit is this: we traded presence for convenience, connection for control, and curiosity for quiet. And in doing so, we created a world where stillness became uncomfortable and silence became suspicious.
We made “busy” the new holy grail, multitasking the modern virtue, and digital fatigue an acceptable cost of ambition. We trained ourselves to respond instantly, to fill every blank moment, to check before we breathe. And they watched.
When did we lose our ownership in all this? When did agency slip through our fingers? We act like passive observers in a world we actively designed. We complain about the fruits while ignoring the roots. But if we planted the seeds, watered the habits, and tended the soil, why are we surprised at the harvest?
Agency doesn’t just mean choice. It means responsibility. It means remembering that what we normalize, we multiply. That our smallest habits become someone else’s default settings. That every time we choose to check out of a moment, we’re teaching someone else when it’s okay to do the same.
And this isn’t just about parenting. It’s about leadership. In any space – home, office, classroom, community – the leader sets the tone. Culture is not what you declare, it’s what you tolerate. It’s what you reinforce in your daily rhythm, in the silence between decisions, in the way you behave when no one’s watching and especially when everyone is.
You can’t lead a culture of reflection if you model reaction. You can’t expect integrity while cutting corners. You can’t teach presence while running on distraction. Leaders don’t just manage behavior. They shape environments. They define what’s acceptable by what they accept in themselves.
Whether you’re a CEO, a coach, a parent, or a mentor, leadership begins in the mirror. If you’re tired of disengaged teams, maybe check the level of engagement at the top. If your students are addicted to screens, what’s the faculty room like at lunch? If your organization values well-being, are your executives logging off when they say they will?
Leaders are culture architects. They don’t just set rules. They live them. And in doing so, they give others permission to follow – not blindly, but confidently. They create the atmosphere in which others grow. Or shrink. Or coast. Or care.
Yes, technology has changed childhood. It’s changed work. It’s changed attention and relationships and learning and identity. But so have we. So has our leadership. So have our choices.
This isn’t about blame. It’s about remembering where influence begins.
So instead of rolling our eyes at “kids these days,” or disengaged staff, or distracted colleagues, maybe it’s time we reflect on the adults they’ve been learning from. The environments they’ve been surviving in. The norms we’ve let slide. The standards we’ve stopped living.
Maybe we stop asking, “Why are they always on their phones?” and start asking, “What did we teach them about being off of them?” Or more honestly still – “Did we ever really teach them anything else?”
Because the answer, whether we like it or not, begins with us.