I believe the sun should never set upon an argument
I believe we place our happiness in other people's hands
I believe that junk food tastes so good because it's bad for you
I believe your parents did the best job they knew how to do
I believe that beauty magazines promote low self esteem
I believe I'm loved when I'm completely by myself alone

In the Winter of 1999, as I was preparing to get to college, I was a regular run-of-the-mill rebellious teenager, convinced I was unique, that I alone held the keys to life, the universe and everything else, while my parents fumbled in the dark. They could never identify with the “new” world. Their advice felt archaic, shackled to a conservative past that couldn’t possibly sync with the rapid pace the “modern world” was evolving at. Every suggestion they offered seemed wrong, every boundary they set was an affront to my budding independence. I was certain they didn’t understand me, and worse, they never could.

That same winter of 1999, Savage Garden came out with their second album “Affirmation”. I wouldn’t stumble upon the titular song, a part of which I wrote above, up until a few months later. But when I did, it was a revelation, unlocking doors that I didn’t know were closed. As my life layered on experiences over the years, I returned to these “I believe” statements again and again, finding meaning and new depths in them every time and they’ve come to shape my thoughts and opinions.

The line that really struck a chord with me was “I believe your parents did the best job they knew how to do”. It forced me to confront my own history. My parents grew up in an environment near post-independence India, an era marked with economic scarcity, limited opportunities, and societal norms still trying to shed the colonial shadows. They carved their paths through hardship: meager incomes, scarce resources, and traditions they questioned but often had to endure. Looking back, I see the deliberate detours they took from their own upbringings to give me a freer rein. When their suggestions clashed with my worldview, feeling outdated or restrictive, it wasn’t malice; it was the lens shaped by their lived realities. My resistances, rational or not, met with their own pushback or quiet concessions, all in the name of steering me toward what they hoped was better.

Now, as a parent myself, I watch this cycle unfold in real time. My kids once hung on my every word like gospel truth. But as they find and form their own identities in a world of digital nativity and endless information, our opinions occasionally collide. These clashes will only intensify as they absorb the zeitgeist of their generation. I’ve tried to adapt, reshaping my views where I can. Yet, after four-plus decades of experiences etched into my mindset, change doesn’t come easy even when I try my hardest. Old habits and hard-won lessons cling all too well.

It’s tempting for every next generation to label these intergenerational frictions as “trauma” inflicted by out-of-touch parents. But in many cases, we the next gen can be just as disingenuous and selfish in building up that narrative. I think about how we handle debates with friends. If approached earnestly, we listen, remain open to persuasion, or respectfully agree to disagree—without burning down the relationship (We are becoming less and less patient here as well though :)). Why, then, do we not afford that grace to our parents? We expect them, as the “older and wiser” generation, to intuitively know better, or as our caregivers, to yield every time. But they’re human, still evolving, bound by the constraints of their eras. They haven’t stopped growing just because they’ve hit 40, 50, or 60; they retain that potential if we extend the patience to nurture it.

Or maybe they don’t, and that’s fine too and sometimes it can be us embracing their imperfections, as we’d do for our kids when we try to do the best job we can for raising them.