When the pace of change accelerates, speed alone does not help us navigate. In fact, it often makes things worse. Without orientation, acceleration amplifies anxiety rather than offering insight.
Children feel this acutely.
They hear adults talk about jobs that won’t exist, skills they’ll need, and futures they must prepare for — often without context or coherence. They absorb concern without always receiving understanding. They sense pressure without clarity.
This is not because parents or teachers are doing something wrong.
It’s because we are all being asked to make sense of a world that no longer pauses long enough for reflection.
Our institutions struggle here too.
Schools, designed to deliver stability and predictability, are now asked to prepare children for volatility and uncertainty. In response, they often narrow focus rather than expand perspective. They measure what can be measured, even when what matters most is harder to quantify.
This creates a gap.
On one side is a rapidly changing world.
On the other is a system optimized for consistency.
In between are children, trying to understand where they fit.
Parents feel this gap too.
We feel it when education seems disconnected from reality.
When learning feels transactional rather than meaningful.
When curiosity fades under pressure to perform.
And yet, despite all of this, something remarkable remains true:
Children are still curious.
They still want to learn.
They still ask honest, searching questions.
I was reminded of this when students in my classroom overheard me talking about the future with fellow teachers. The conversation was casual, half-serious, filled with phrases like things are changing fast, no one knows what’s coming, and kids are going to have it harder than we did.
After a moment, one student asked a simple question: “Is the future something to be worried about?”
I paused. No one had meant to sound alarmist. No one had intended to pass along anxiety. But the message had already landed.
What struck me wasn’t the question itself — it was the posture behind it. The child wasn’t asking for predictions or reassurance. They were looking for orientation. For a sense of whether the world ahead was something to fear, avoid, or step into.
That moment lingered with me. It was a quiet reminder that when adults talk about the future, children are often listening — not for answers, but for cues about how to make sense of what they’re hearing. What they need is not more acceleration—but a way to orient themselves within it.
Orientation does not slow progress. It gives children a way to situate themselves inside change—to understand not just what is happening, but why it matters.
Without orientation, fear fills the space.
With orientation, uncertainty becomes navigable.
Not that the future is predictable.
Not that we can prepare children for every outcome.
But that we can help them develop the perspective and agency needed to move forward with confidence.
When children lack orientation, uncertainty feels like something to survive.
When they have it, uncertainty becomes something they can move through.
That distinction matters more than we realize.
Next: Why fear is the wrong guide — and what happens when adults rush to prepare instead of helping children orient.
©2025 Richard Tavener
