David McElroy

Most people sense something is wrong.

They may not have language for it. They may not be able to explain it. But beneath the distractions, beneath the noise, beneath the endless scrolling and entertainment, there is a quiet unease — a feeling that something foundational has slipped.

We were told we were building the most advanced civilization in history. Scientific. Rational. Enlightened. Smarter than every generation that came before us.

So why does it feel so fragile?

For years, I believed the solution was better arguments. If something was wrong, it could be explained. If people misunderstood reality, clearer reasoning would fix it. If the culture drifted into confusion, the answer was more clarity.

I grew up believing in the power of direct language and linear logic. Declarative sentences. Cause and effect. If something was true, you could prove it.

But somewhere along the way, I began to notice that proof didn’t change much.

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A sweet little girl amused me at dinner tonight — but she embarrassed her mother.

Kayleigh is 4 years old and her mom is one of the managers of a restaurant where I’m a frequent customer. I was there for dinner Friday when Kayleigh came in with her mom and I got to meet her. She’s an outgoing little girl and she likes to talk.

When she found out my name, her face lit up and she said, “You come in here all the time!” I asked her how she knew that. She looked proud of herself as she explained how she knew who I was.

“My momma has a crush on you!” she said happily.

Her mother turned purple in the face and they suddenly had to leave.

I’ve told this amusing story to several people tonight, both online and in real life. A common response from well-meaning people is that I should ask the mom to go out sometime. I’ve tried to explain why not — and I finally had a sudden insight.

I’m not interested in Kayleigh’s mom. She’s attractive enough and she’s nice enough, but something’s missing. She’s not an “alpha woman.” Something clicked and I suddenly realized something I’d never noticed before.

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I’ve never worried about my status in the world. I was always so confident about myself that I never tried to make people like me and I never worried about where I fit in a hierarchy.

Some people liked me. Some people didn’t like me. I had friends. Some hated me. But everybody knew where I fit wherever I was.

As a child, I was the leader of the groups I ran with, but I never really thought about it. In school, I had high status in classrooms because I was typically the new “smartest kid in class” when I moved to a new town. I was acknowledged as a leader.

In high school, I won top leadership positions in the things I cared about, at school and church. I wasn’t the most popular kid, but I was the one you wanted in charge to get things done. On my early jobs, I had quick status. I was the youngest managing editor of a daily newspaper in the country at 21. I was younger than all the people I managed.

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