The “burn it all down” mentality comes from, in my experience, the heartfelt and sincere belief, more often right than wrong, that literally no amount of perseverance, effort, dedication and so on will make a noticeable difference. In some, or many, or possibly most cases, “burn it down (and start over)” is the only sane and rational disposition to have…..sometimes tinkering around the edges just isn’t enough.
Thank you for sharing this, and I appreciate you naming the emotional and experiential weight behind the “burn it down” mentality. It often *does* come from a place of deep disillusionment, where people have genuinely tried and feel like nothing has changed. I don’t dismiss that. I think part of what makes this conversation so hard is that both the frustration and the desire for transformation are valid.
Where I struggle is when the impulse shifts from "start over" to "let it all collapse and walk away." There’s a difference between radical change and total abandonment. Some systems probably do need full-scale reimagining—but that still requires people who are willing to lead, build, and stay engaged.
But what concerns me even more is when the frustration turns into cynicism so deep that we start rooting for failure—hoping that even those who *are* trying will fall flat, just to prove the system is beyond saving. It feels less like strategy and more like surrender dressed up as righteousness. Not always, but more often lately.
Tinkering at the edges isn’t enough, I agree. But I’m wary of thinking collapse guarantees something better will follow. Without intentional rebuilding, collapse often leaves a vacuum, and our kids are the ones most vulnerable to what fills it.
Thanks again for your input. I am really grateful for the conversation and the way it pushes this deeper.
Thanks for taking the time to reply. I live in Detroit for 10+ years now, so I am living witness to what happens when something is (in this case literally) burned to the ground with (again, literally,) no plan to rebuild.
The vacuum in the case of Detroit was filled by the worst sort of grifters, snake oil salesmen, delinquents, opportunists, carpet baggers, criminals and general n’er-do-wells….and they, or their descendants, and the energy they brought with them, still control every institution in this once great city today. It is a toxic brew of entrenched entitlement, multi-generational criminality, and celebrated mediocrity which has left the population hopeless, resigned, and disempowered.
Detroit is probably one of the more extreme( but by no means unique, unfortunately) examples of decay, and the decay runs deep, starting at home, to the schools, the block clubs, and through every government institution, big and small, crossing racial and class lines with ease…mediocrity is everywhere.
At least in my small circle of friends and acquaintances, those who lean towards the “burn it down” position, whether locally or nationally or internationally, we don’t mean destroy and let’s see what happens. We mean dismantle to allow space and time to the positive forces that wish to rebuild something beautiful and free and healthy in all aspects. We wish to burn it down so that there is a future for our children. We wish to burn it down so that there is the time and space to have actual conversations, the fruit of which we do not know, but are confident will be sweet and filling. We wish to burn it down, not to leave a vacuum, but to give a chance to people to fill that space with the fruits of their labor, and mind and heart, to regain the agency that has been given to institutions and credentialed experts who are only experts at enslaving others but bring nothing of value to the table. We wish to burn it down so that all the time, money and energy that we are spending on begging city council or the church group or our Senator or Congressman is given back to us to be able to create, build, think, love, laugh and nurture.
It’s not about giving up. It’s about leading…lead, follow, or get out of the way.
Thank you for this—it’s clear your perspective comes from lived experience, not theory, and I’m grateful you shared it. What you’ve seen in Detroit brings a whole different depth to this conversation.
The way you describe the desire to clear space so something better can be built—that’s a distinction I respect. It’s not about destruction for its own sake, but about reclaiming agency and creating room for something more honest and human.
Really grateful for the conversation—it’s helping me see the fuller picture.
Absolutely—well said. Perseverance is one of those things that can’t really be explained into someone; it has to be *lived out in front of them*. And you’re right—when it’s paired with confidence and optimism, it becomes not just endurance, but momentum. Thanks for adding your voice to this—it matters.
I'm still thinking about this essay, Erin. After reading this yesterday, I'm still thinking about how the sentiment can be conveyed to those who are not parents. In reflecting, how much would I care if I weren't a parent? Would I want to see it all fall apart out of frustration?
That’s such a great question, Jesse. Parenting does have a way of naturally tethering us to the future. It forces us to care, to stay invested, even when we’re tired or disillusioned—because we see who’s coming after us. But even for those who aren’t parents, I think the deeper call is about stewardship—about choosing to build and protect something we didn’t just inherit, but belong to.
This is where I resist the urge to go on a rant about entitlement, and instead lean into gratitude. I just listened to an interview this morning with Sean O’Brien, and it struck the same chord Bart touched on in his comment below: if not us, then who? If not now, then when? We don’t have to be parents to be good stewards of the gifts we’ve benefited from, but I do think we have a moral duty to take care of those gifts and share them with whoever comes next.
I’m still fleshing this out, so I’m not sure I’m articulating it clearly yet. But I’d love to hear your take—what blind spots or weaknesses do you see in where I’m going with this?
Well said, Erin. This makes sense, in theory, and I agree with the sentiment. After further consideration, the deeper problem I envision is motivation. What experiences do people have that encourage them to care? Apathy seems like a huge problem now, but then again, a lot of these thorny issues are timeless, evidenced by their presence in timeless writings (e.g., Bible, Greek philosophers).
I suppose there are also parents who don't care about future generations, so it's not as if that characteristic means they're automatically thinking that way.
I've often thought a service requirement between high school and college could be helpful. Military service, development work, public works, etc.; perhaps these could instill an element of caring about something, instead of caring about nothing.
Interesting question—what actually motivates people to care? Apathy is real, and I keep coming back to how much entitlement might play into it—that sense that we’re owed comfort without responsibility. I think you’re on to something: service might just be the path forward. Perspectives shift when we show up and invest in something bigger than ourselves—meaning discovered through action.
I really appreciate the back-and-forth. Your perspective is challenging me in all the right ways.
I remember a time when I was so frustrated with a local committee I served on. Every meeting felt like a shouting match, and nothing ever seemed to get done. I found myself fantasizing about them dissolving completely. But then, I realized, I was part of the problem! Instead of walking away, I decided to try something different. I started bringing snacks to the meetings, which sounds silly, but it lightened the mood. And I made a point of actively listening to everyone, even those I disagreed with. Slowly, things shifted. It wasn't perfect, but we started to find common ground. Sometimes, burning it down seems like the easiest solution 🔥, but often the harder, more rewarding path is to stick around and try to fix what's broken. It’s far less exciting to repair than to destroy, but the end result of keeping things together for the community, for myself, is far more satisfying.
That’s such a great story—snacks, self-reflection, and open-mindedness! That kind of quiet leadership is what so often turns the temperature down enough for real change to happen. It’s not flashy, and it doesn’t usually make headlines, but it’s the kind of work that holds communities together.
I love how you named the moment you realized *you were part of the problem*. That’s the kind of self-awareness and humility we need more of. Thanks for sharing this, my friend—it’s the perfect reminder that repair starts small, often with something as simple as snacks and the willingness to listen.
I think this is perfect. Poignant, timely, and passionate. When it comes to the "big picture", it's easy to release ownership of a country, a city, a church, when challenges arise and pass that responsibility on to the leaders in charge. But when the destruction knocks on your own front door - your family, your job, your school - have we practiced resilience in the small challenges to tackle the large, personal issues? I'm unsurprised but incredibly excited by how excellent this piece is. We need you on the soapbox more often, Momma!
Thank you, sweet girl. You’ve always had a way of sticking with hard things—not just talking about solutions, but *embodying* them. You remind me that grit and grace can (and must) coexist. I love how you framed this: if we haven’t practiced resilience in the small stuff, how can we possibly show up for the big stuff?
And thank you for the nudge—grateful for your feedback that it was time to lean into the bold and reveal a deeper layer of my thoughts and feelings. Always my muse. ❤️
I find it as difficult to believe in any one system as I do in a group of humans to make good collective decisions. When the exploits of our fellow humans became primetime entertainment, (thinking back to Jerry Springer and the like) my faith in humanity began to erode. The sensationalization of bad behavior influenced my young mind to rely less on (and expect less from) others and more on myself and the people in my small circle. Tommy Lee Jones, in "Men in Black" said "A person is smart. People are dumb panicky animals." That's a cynical view, but the human display on social media does nothing to disprove it. Even if we do believe a system can be fixed or rebuilt, can we rely on others to do it with us?
Thanks for this honest reflection, Bart. I think a lot of people feel exactly what you're expressing—the disappointment, the erosion of trust, and the disillusionment that comes from watching the worst of human behavior get amplified for entertainment or attention. We're not wrong to feel wary. It's hard to believe in collective goodness when dysfunction is louder, flashier, and more rewarded than quiet integrity.
And you're right—trusting in a group of people to make good collective decisions *does* feel risky. History and social media don’t exactly stack the odds in our favor. But here's where I land: systems don’t get better on their own, and they don’t get better if the people who *could* improve them have already opted out. Cynicism feels like self-preservation, and sometimes it is. But if it becomes a permanent posture, we end up reinforcing the very outcomes we most resent.
No, we can’t guarantee others will show up. But if we stop showing up ourselves, we’re modeling exactly what our kids are now learning—it’s not worth it. It can’t be fixed. Don’t bother.
Maybe the work starts small—our circle, our community, one institution we still care about. That feels less like naïvety and more like strategic hope. And maybe the fix isn’t believing in "the system" wholesale, but in choosing to be one of the people who make it better for someone else. It doesn’t solve everything. But it’s a start.
Very elloquently written! There is only one answer to the question “If not us, then who?” As you say, the best response may be to focus on areas where your efforts will have the most impact. Perhaps that’s one reason why we write for parents.
Thanks so much, Nancy. Building is harder—it takes patience, courage, and a willingness to stay when it would be easier to walk away. *But build we must.*
"It’s easy to tear things down—it’s far more challenging, but infinitely more rewarding, to fix what’s broken or build something better.
Let’s choose to create, not destroy. Let’s show our kids that, even when things don’t go our way, we roll up our sleeves, engage, and get busy making, mending, rebuilding, and improving.
Our kids deserve more than what they’re getting from us right now. They deserve a world where resilience and progress define the future—and it's on us to deliver it."
Very well said!
It takes a well-trained architect and an entire construction crew to design and erect a building.
It takes an idiot with an oil can and a match to bring one down.
Thank you—I love the imagery here. It’s such a sharp contrast, isn’t it? The time, effort, coordination it takes to build versus the careless ease of destruction.
And still, yes—*build it anyway*. That’s the heart of it. Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.
"You can spend your whole life building something from nothing, one storm can come and blow it all away. Build it anyway."
We should never make the mistake of confusing the outcome of this all-encompassing conflict with the struggle to win it—it is the struggle itself that holds all of the meaning, and that is where our true personal victory lies. Nothing in our life has ever been about whether we win or lose, it has only ever been about how we conduct ourselves during these trials and tribulations.
The “burn it all down” mentality comes from, in my experience, the heartfelt and sincere belief, more often right than wrong, that literally no amount of perseverance, effort, dedication and so on will make a noticeable difference. In some, or many, or possibly most cases, “burn it down (and start over)” is the only sane and rational disposition to have…..sometimes tinkering around the edges just isn’t enough.
Thank you for sharing this, and I appreciate you naming the emotional and experiential weight behind the “burn it down” mentality. It often *does* come from a place of deep disillusionment, where people have genuinely tried and feel like nothing has changed. I don’t dismiss that. I think part of what makes this conversation so hard is that both the frustration and the desire for transformation are valid.
Where I struggle is when the impulse shifts from "start over" to "let it all collapse and walk away." There’s a difference between radical change and total abandonment. Some systems probably do need full-scale reimagining—but that still requires people who are willing to lead, build, and stay engaged.
But what concerns me even more is when the frustration turns into cynicism so deep that we start rooting for failure—hoping that even those who *are* trying will fall flat, just to prove the system is beyond saving. It feels less like strategy and more like surrender dressed up as righteousness. Not always, but more often lately.
Tinkering at the edges isn’t enough, I agree. But I’m wary of thinking collapse guarantees something better will follow. Without intentional rebuilding, collapse often leaves a vacuum, and our kids are the ones most vulnerable to what fills it.
Thanks again for your input. I am really grateful for the conversation and the way it pushes this deeper.
Thanks for taking the time to reply. I live in Detroit for 10+ years now, so I am living witness to what happens when something is (in this case literally) burned to the ground with (again, literally,) no plan to rebuild.
The vacuum in the case of Detroit was filled by the worst sort of grifters, snake oil salesmen, delinquents, opportunists, carpet baggers, criminals and general n’er-do-wells….and they, or their descendants, and the energy they brought with them, still control every institution in this once great city today. It is a toxic brew of entrenched entitlement, multi-generational criminality, and celebrated mediocrity which has left the population hopeless, resigned, and disempowered.
Detroit is probably one of the more extreme( but by no means unique, unfortunately) examples of decay, and the decay runs deep, starting at home, to the schools, the block clubs, and through every government institution, big and small, crossing racial and class lines with ease…mediocrity is everywhere.
At least in my small circle of friends and acquaintances, those who lean towards the “burn it down” position, whether locally or nationally or internationally, we don’t mean destroy and let’s see what happens. We mean dismantle to allow space and time to the positive forces that wish to rebuild something beautiful and free and healthy in all aspects. We wish to burn it down so that there is a future for our children. We wish to burn it down so that there is the time and space to have actual conversations, the fruit of which we do not know, but are confident will be sweet and filling. We wish to burn it down, not to leave a vacuum, but to give a chance to people to fill that space with the fruits of their labor, and mind and heart, to regain the agency that has been given to institutions and credentialed experts who are only experts at enslaving others but bring nothing of value to the table. We wish to burn it down so that all the time, money and energy that we are spending on begging city council or the church group or our Senator or Congressman is given back to us to be able to create, build, think, love, laugh and nurture.
It’s not about giving up. It’s about leading…lead, follow, or get out of the way.
Thank you for this—it’s clear your perspective comes from lived experience, not theory, and I’m grateful you shared it. What you’ve seen in Detroit brings a whole different depth to this conversation.
The way you describe the desire to clear space so something better can be built—that’s a distinction I respect. It’s not about destruction for its own sake, but about reclaiming agency and creating room for something more honest and human.
Really grateful for the conversation—it’s helping me see the fuller picture.
I believe you are not alone in your thinking. Perseverance needs to be taught by example. It helps to be confident and optimistic as well.
Absolutely—well said. Perseverance is one of those things that can’t really be explained into someone; it has to be *lived out in front of them*. And you’re right—when it’s paired with confidence and optimism, it becomes not just endurance, but momentum. Thanks for adding your voice to this—it matters.
I'm still thinking about this essay, Erin. After reading this yesterday, I'm still thinking about how the sentiment can be conveyed to those who are not parents. In reflecting, how much would I care if I weren't a parent? Would I want to see it all fall apart out of frustration?
That’s such a great question, Jesse. Parenting does have a way of naturally tethering us to the future. It forces us to care, to stay invested, even when we’re tired or disillusioned—because we see who’s coming after us. But even for those who aren’t parents, I think the deeper call is about stewardship—about choosing to build and protect something we didn’t just inherit, but belong to.
This is where I resist the urge to go on a rant about entitlement, and instead lean into gratitude. I just listened to an interview this morning with Sean O’Brien, and it struck the same chord Bart touched on in his comment below: if not us, then who? If not now, then when? We don’t have to be parents to be good stewards of the gifts we’ve benefited from, but I do think we have a moral duty to take care of those gifts and share them with whoever comes next.
I’m still fleshing this out, so I’m not sure I’m articulating it clearly yet. But I’d love to hear your take—what blind spots or weaknesses do you see in where I’m going with this?
Well said, Erin. This makes sense, in theory, and I agree with the sentiment. After further consideration, the deeper problem I envision is motivation. What experiences do people have that encourage them to care? Apathy seems like a huge problem now, but then again, a lot of these thorny issues are timeless, evidenced by their presence in timeless writings (e.g., Bible, Greek philosophers).
I suppose there are also parents who don't care about future generations, so it's not as if that characteristic means they're automatically thinking that way.
I've often thought a service requirement between high school and college could be helpful. Military service, development work, public works, etc.; perhaps these could instill an element of caring about something, instead of caring about nothing.
Interesting question—what actually motivates people to care? Apathy is real, and I keep coming back to how much entitlement might play into it—that sense that we’re owed comfort without responsibility. I think you’re on to something: service might just be the path forward. Perspectives shift when we show up and invest in something bigger than ourselves—meaning discovered through action.
I really appreciate the back-and-forth. Your perspective is challenging me in all the right ways.
"meaning discovered through action"
That may be the key.
Thank you, Erin.
Appreciate today's thought-provoking post. Reminded me of the adage: We can choose to be part of the solution or part of the problem.
Thanks, Mom. ❤️
I'm grateful I heard this message growing up. It’s simple, but it holds up in every room, every stage of life.
I remember a time when I was so frustrated with a local committee I served on. Every meeting felt like a shouting match, and nothing ever seemed to get done. I found myself fantasizing about them dissolving completely. But then, I realized, I was part of the problem! Instead of walking away, I decided to try something different. I started bringing snacks to the meetings, which sounds silly, but it lightened the mood. And I made a point of actively listening to everyone, even those I disagreed with. Slowly, things shifted. It wasn't perfect, but we started to find common ground. Sometimes, burning it down seems like the easiest solution 🔥, but often the harder, more rewarding path is to stick around and try to fix what's broken. It’s far less exciting to repair than to destroy, but the end result of keeping things together for the community, for myself, is far more satisfying.
That’s such a great story—snacks, self-reflection, and open-mindedness! That kind of quiet leadership is what so often turns the temperature down enough for real change to happen. It’s not flashy, and it doesn’t usually make headlines, but it’s the kind of work that holds communities together.
I love how you named the moment you realized *you were part of the problem*. That’s the kind of self-awareness and humility we need more of. Thanks for sharing this, my friend—it’s the perfect reminder that repair starts small, often with something as simple as snacks and the willingness to listen.
I think this is perfect. Poignant, timely, and passionate. When it comes to the "big picture", it's easy to release ownership of a country, a city, a church, when challenges arise and pass that responsibility on to the leaders in charge. But when the destruction knocks on your own front door - your family, your job, your school - have we practiced resilience in the small challenges to tackle the large, personal issues? I'm unsurprised but incredibly excited by how excellent this piece is. We need you on the soapbox more often, Momma!
Thank you, sweet girl. You’ve always had a way of sticking with hard things—not just talking about solutions, but *embodying* them. You remind me that grit and grace can (and must) coexist. I love how you framed this: if we haven’t practiced resilience in the small stuff, how can we possibly show up for the big stuff?
And thank you for the nudge—grateful for your feedback that it was time to lean into the bold and reveal a deeper layer of my thoughts and feelings. Always my muse. ❤️
I find it as difficult to believe in any one system as I do in a group of humans to make good collective decisions. When the exploits of our fellow humans became primetime entertainment, (thinking back to Jerry Springer and the like) my faith in humanity began to erode. The sensationalization of bad behavior influenced my young mind to rely less on (and expect less from) others and more on myself and the people in my small circle. Tommy Lee Jones, in "Men in Black" said "A person is smart. People are dumb panicky animals." That's a cynical view, but the human display on social media does nothing to disprove it. Even if we do believe a system can be fixed or rebuilt, can we rely on others to do it with us?
Thanks for this honest reflection, Bart. I think a lot of people feel exactly what you're expressing—the disappointment, the erosion of trust, and the disillusionment that comes from watching the worst of human behavior get amplified for entertainment or attention. We're not wrong to feel wary. It's hard to believe in collective goodness when dysfunction is louder, flashier, and more rewarded than quiet integrity.
And you're right—trusting in a group of people to make good collective decisions *does* feel risky. History and social media don’t exactly stack the odds in our favor. But here's where I land: systems don’t get better on their own, and they don’t get better if the people who *could* improve them have already opted out. Cynicism feels like self-preservation, and sometimes it is. But if it becomes a permanent posture, we end up reinforcing the very outcomes we most resent.
No, we can’t guarantee others will show up. But if we stop showing up ourselves, we’re modeling exactly what our kids are now learning—it’s not worth it. It can’t be fixed. Don’t bother.
Maybe the work starts small—our circle, our community, one institution we still care about. That feels less like naïvety and more like strategic hope. And maybe the fix isn’t believing in "the system" wholesale, but in choosing to be one of the people who make it better for someone else. It doesn’t solve everything. But it’s a start.
Very elloquently written! There is only one answer to the question “If not us, then who?” As you say, the best response may be to focus on areas where your efforts will have the most impact. Perhaps that’s one reason why we write for parents.
Building something up is so much harder than tearing it down.
But build it we must.
I like where you are coming from, Erin.
Thanks so much, Nancy. Building is harder—it takes patience, courage, and a willingness to stay when it would be easier to walk away. *But build we must.*
"It’s easy to tear things down—it’s far more challenging, but infinitely more rewarding, to fix what’s broken or build something better.
Let’s choose to create, not destroy. Let’s show our kids that, even when things don’t go our way, we roll up our sleeves, engage, and get busy making, mending, rebuilding, and improving.
Our kids deserve more than what they’re getting from us right now. They deserve a world where resilience and progress define the future—and it's on us to deliver it."
Very well said!
It takes a well-trained architect and an entire construction crew to design and erect a building.
It takes an idiot with an oil can and a match to bring one down.
Build it anyway.
Thank you—I love the imagery here. It’s such a sharp contrast, isn’t it? The time, effort, coordination it takes to build versus the careless ease of destruction.
And still, yes—*build it anyway*. That’s the heart of it. Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.
Thank you Erin.
The last was borrowed from this lyric:
"You can spend your whole life building something from nothing, one storm can come and blow it all away. Build it anyway."
We should never make the mistake of confusing the outcome of this all-encompassing conflict with the struggle to win it—it is the struggle itself that holds all of the meaning, and that is where our true personal victory lies. Nothing in our life has ever been about whether we win or lose, it has only ever been about how we conduct ourselves during these trials and tribulations.
To borrow another lyric:
"Life's a journey, not a destination."
Build it anyway.
*it has only ever been about how we conduct ourselves during these trials and tribulations*—this is everything.