Preparing for a Future That May Not Exist

“What should I study?”

It’s the most common question I get as a guidance counselor. It should be an easy one. But every time a student asks, something inside me hesitates. Because how do I guide them toward a future I don’t fully believe in anymore?

How do I encourage them to chase degrees and careers when the world they’re stepping into is unraveling?

How do I tell them to focus on university applications when the very countries they dream of moving to are lurching toward fascism?

How do I reassure them about long-term career prospects when war, economic collapse, and mass protests are redefining what “long-term” even means?

There are days when I feel like I’m playing a role, reading lines from a script written decades ago. A script that promised the future was predictable, that the right choices would lead to security, that success was something you could earn if you just followed the steps.

But what if that was never true?

And more importantly—what if my students are starting to see through it?

The Illusion of Stability

The system wants students to believe in a clear, linear path:

Work hard → Get into a good university → Secure a stable career → Build a successful life.

It’s comforting. It gives them direction. It gives me direction. But it’s also a lie. Because what does “stable” even mean anymore?

Tech layoffs wipe out entire industries overnight. Housing is unattainable even for those with solid incomes. Degrees that once guaranteed jobs now come with crippling debt and no employment security. Even once-sacred professions like law and medicine are being eroded—oversaturated, underfunded, or slowly replaced by AI.

And beyond all that, the world itself is becoming unlivable.

The Western countries that students are so desperate to get into? They’re closing their doors. Immigration laws are tightening under the weight of rising far-right movements. The U.S. and the U.K., once the holy grails of higher education, are descending into reactionary politics, with governments passing openly authoritarian policies. Universities in these countries are actively being defunded and attacked for being “too woke” and students are literally being kidnapped by the authorities and detained in undisclosed locations. It’s ridiculous even typing this out, and yet just yesterday another phD student from Tufts university was taken by ICE agents.

And it’s not just the West.

Everywhere, things are escalating. Gaza is burning. Ukraine is at war. Sudan is in crisis. Closer to home, police are beating protesters in the streets. Students, journalists, and activists are being arrested just for daring to question the state. Every week, a new protest erupts, and every week, the crackdown gets more violent.

And yet, in the middle of all this, my students are expected to sit for exams, perfect their personal statements, and pretend like the world outside the classroom isn’t on fire.

When the Kids Are the First to Question It

I see it in the conversations I have with students.

They ask, What’s the point of university if I’ll just be drowning in debt?

They ask, Why should I pick a career if it might not even exist in 10 years?

They ask, If the world is burning, why does it matter whether I take AP Calculus or IB Math AA?

And I don’t have good answers.

I try. I talk about adaptability, about learning how to think critically, about keeping doors open. But there are moments when I feel like I’m gaslighting them into believing in a system that even I no longer trust.

It’s one thing to lose faith in the future for yourself. It’s another thing entirely to stand in front of a 17-year-old and pretend you believe in theirs.

The Ritual of Education

At some point, school stopped being about preparation and became a ritual.

Students take the hardest courses, join the best extracurriculars, ace standardized tests—not because they’re passionate, but because that’s just what you do. It’s a performance. A game. And in the end, most of them aren’t even sure what they’re competing for.

The world is changing faster than we can prepare them for it. But instead of adapting, we double down on outdated metrics—GPA, SATs, acceptance letters, prestige. As if a Harvard admission will shield them from an economy that no longer values human labor the way it once did.

And beyond that, we act as if the world is still safe. As if their biggest worry should be which major to pick, not whether they’ll have to flee their home country in five years because of political instability.

We act as if we’re still preparing them for a future with certainty.

But certainty is dead.

What Am I Even Preparing Them For?

I used to believe in this system.

I was the kid who played by the rules, who excelled academically, who trusted that if I just worked hard enough, the universe would reward me.

It didn’t.

And now, I sit across from students who are walking the same path I did, and I don’t know what to tell them.

I can’t lie and say, “It’ll all work out.”

I can’t promise them that a degree will guarantee security.

I can’t even pretend to believe that the system is fair.

But I also can’t just leave them with nothing.

So I do what I can. I tell them that uncertainty isn’t failure. That their worth isn’t tied to their acceptances. That flexibility, creativity, and resilience will matter more than any title they chase.

But I wonder—am I actually helping? Or am I just giving them a softer version of the same illusion?

The Fear That Lingers

There’s a student sitting in my office right now, looking at their college applications.

They turn to me and ask, “So… what should I do?”

And for a long moment, I sit with the weight of that question.

Because maybe the real question isn’t what they should do.

Maybe the real question is: If we know the future is collapsing, what do we owe the next generation?

And if we don’t have an answer—then what the hell are we even preparing them for?