They're Not the Problem. We Are.

They’re Not the Problem. We Are. 

My son is coming home from college for the summer, resume in hand, ready to figure out what's next. And watching him navigate this moment is doing something to me,  because I remember exactly what it felt like to be in his shoes. 

While I was in college, I worked at the same factory my dad worked at. Second shift. Four PM to midnight. The work was hard and dirty, and it was absolutely not ideal for a college student's social calendar. That summer, people would always ask me some version of the same question. “I bet you’re finding out why you want to go to college?” But here's what I want to be clear about: I never felt like that work was beneath me.

What I did feel, what I couldn't shake, was the weight of disengagement all around me. When I'd make small talk with coworkers, many of whom had been there for years, sometimes decades, and ask what kept them there, the answer was almost always the same. The pay was solid. They didn't have much of a choice. The paycheck was good, and they were miserable.

That was the moment I understood my why for going to college. Not status. Not climbing a ladder. Not because factory work was beneath me. I wanted to do what I did best every day;  I just didn't have the Gallup and CliftonStrengths language for it yet. Arguably, neither did Gallup.

When I finally got the opportunity to do an internship, everything shifted.

My first opportunity was at Vera Bradley in Fort Wayne, and I have the distinction of being their very first intern. Neither of us really knew what to do with me, which, in hindsight, was the best possible thing that could have happened. Some days, I'd drift toward design or marketing because something sparked my curiosity. On other days, if someone in the shipping department called in sick, I packed boxes. No task felt too small. No department felt off limits. I was learning by doing, seeing the whole picture, and figuring out in real time what lit me up and what didn't. They saw potential, and I saw opportunities. 

My second internship was a different universe entirely. The Neiman Marcus corporate headquarters in Dallas, Texas. The Couture Department- the most coveted placement in the program. I want to be honest with you: I did not even know what the word "couture" meant when I showed up. Think Devil Wears Prada meets Indiana intern, and you're pretty close. What I learned there had less to do with fashion and everything to do with what it feels like to step so far outside your comfort zone that you have no choice but to grow.

Both experiences ended the same way — with me being offered a job. Which, I have to tell you, genuinely shocked me both times. By the end of each internship, my full imposter syndrome had kicked in. I'd received little to no feedback along the way, so I'd convinced myself they'd be relieved when I was gone. At Neiman's, I was so certain my boss — a Couture Buyer whose energy ran parallel to the Meryl Streep character in Devil Wears Prada, except she actually spoke to me LESS— wanted nothing more than for things to get back to normal. Instead, she told HR to offer me a position working directly for her.

I didn't know. Because nobody told me.

And here's what keeps running through my mind about that: how many of your Gen Z employees are feeling exactly the same way right now?

Gallup's latest research tells us that from 2020 to 2025, Gen Z and younger millennials became 13 points less likely to strongly agree that someone at work cares about them as a person. Thirteen points. In five years. And the percentage who felt they had real opportunities to learn and grow dropped from 48% to 37% in that same window.

They're not checked out. They're not lazy. They're waiting for someone to tell them they're doing okay. They're waiting for someone to notice. Just like I was — standing in a couture department in Dallas, completely convinced I was invisible. 

In the past year, Amy and I have been doing something that feels deeply connected to all of this. In partnership with the Region 8 Educational Service Center, we've been building a framework to help students explore four simple but powerful questions: Who am I? Where am I going? How do I get there? And what’s my next step? It's career development work, but really it's identity work. It's giving young people the language to understand and articulate their own strengths and interests before they walk through your door. (Check it out at www.DiscoverYourNext.org)

Which made it all the more meaningful when I recently pulled out my old internship binder — an actual physical binder, the kind with plastic sheet protectors and tabbed dividers — that I was required to keep as an artifact of my experience. The word artifact feels right now, honestly. It's a little archaic. The film photos, the paper maps, the printed brochures — those can go.

But the ideas inside that binder? Those deserve a second look.

People coming together to learn. Strangers building real relationships. Getting uncomfortable on purpose. Someone taking the time to believe in a person who didn't yet believe in themselves.

That's not dated. That's exactly what's missing.

Because here's what the data is telling us, loudly and clearly: Gen Z isn't disengaged because they don't want to work. They're disengaged because we haven't done enough to make them feel seen, developed, or cared about. Gallup tells us that 88% of employees say their onboarding experience can make or break their decision to stay long term. And yet we're rushing them through it, giving them little to no feedback, and then wondering why they leave. I’d be curious to know if you’re even taking the time to onboard your interns. 

I didn't know I was doing well at Vera Bradley. I didn't know my Neiman's boss thought I was exceptional. Nobody told me — and I almost walked away from both opportunities, convinced I had failed.

How many of your best people are walking out the door right now thinking the same thing?

Let's do better. Not just with technology, not just with process. With presence. With feedback. With the radical, simple act of telling someone — clearly, directly, genuinely — that they matter and that they're doing great work.

They're not the problem. We are. And that means the solution is ours too.

Reach out to Sarah@AspenRootCollective.com to find engagement solutions rooted in what matters most to your organization.

In growth & gratitude — Sarah