I was out with kids the other day.
Running. Climbing. Exploring. Laughing in that unfiltered way that only happens when no one is watching too closely.
We weren’t optimizing anything. There was no curriculum in the traditional sense. No screens. No metrics. No pressure.
Just movement, curiosity, and connection. Just a trip to Fort Wetherill.
And it hit me—again: We know what makes kids happy. So why is it so hard to give them more of it?
Across the United States—and much of the Western world—we are in what some are calling a sadness crisis.
Rates of anxiety and depression are rising. More than 40% of teenagers report persistent feelings of sadness or hopelessness. College students are reconsidering their futures—not because they can’t learn, but because they are struggling to feel okay.
Even more striking: after decades of relatively stable self-reported happiness, the data shows a sharp and sustained decline in how Americans feel about their lives.
Something has shifted.
There are many explanations:
A culture of individualism that pulls us away from one another. An increase in diagnoses that both reflects and amplifies distress. A media environment saturated with negativity. An economy that feels harder to navigate and afford. A quiet but profound rise in time spent alone—inside, and often online.
Layer these together, and you begin to see it: We are more connected digitally than ever,
and yet more disconnected in our lived, human experience.
But here’s the tension I can’t shake:
The kids are showing us a different way.
When they are given space—real space—to move, to take risks, to build relationships, to be known…
They come alive. Not in theory. In practice. They don’t need a new app. They don’t need a new diagnosis. They don’t need another abstraction.
They need people, places, and possibilities. At FabNewport, we see this every day.
When young people are integrated into the fabric of the community—working alongside adults, exploring the outdoors, contributing, creating, belonging—their sense of agency grows.
Their confidence grows. Their joy grows. And importantly, their sense of future grows.
So maybe the question isn’t: “How do we fix the sadness crisis?”
Maybe it’s: “Why have we drifted so far from what we already know works?”
What would it look like if we took this seriously as a community?
If we measured not just academic outcomes, but wellness, belonging, and connection?
If we thought about our public investments—schools, safety, business—not just as systems, but as contributors to human flourishing? If we designed environments where young people didn’t have to opt out of childhood in order to succeed?
Newport County could be a place that answers these questions. Not perfectly. But intentionally.
We are small enough to experiment. Close enough to connect. And resourced enough to try.
I felt it out there with the kids Friday afternoon. In the running, the climbing, the laughter.
A reminder that the solution may not be as complex as we make it out to be.
More time together. More trust. More real lifeWe know the way. The question is whether we have the courage to follow it.