Whats happening with this generation and jobs

[Moon_Walker]

@Sucker @Konebhar6@Dallas_baluu@Bitcoin_Baba@krishnaaa@Spartan@Jatka Bandi

Reading this really got me rethinking on whats going on with this generation in this country.

*****PLEASE IF YOU HAVE YOUNG BOYS YOUNG MEN AT HOME READ THIS****

I told my son to “man up” and stop making excuses. I didn’t realize I was shouting at a drowning man until I found his bed empty and the silence in his room became permanent.

My son, Leo, was twenty-three. To the outside world, and frankly, to me at the time, he looked like a failure.

I’m a simple guy. I grew up in a time when sweat equity meant something. I bought my first house at twenty-four working at a local manufacturing plant. I drove a beat-up truck, fixed it myself, and never complained. That was the American way. You work hard, you get the white picket fence. Simple math.

So, when I looked at Leo, I didn’t see a struggle. I saw laziness.

He had a college degree that was gathering dust. He spent his days glued to his phone, delivering food for one of those gig-economy apps, and sleeping until noon. He lived in my basement, wore the same oversized hoodie every day, and had a look in his eyes that I interpreted as boredom.

I was constantly on his case. "The world doesn't owe you a living, Leo," I’d say, slamming my coffee mug down. "Get a real job. Build some character."

The Tuesday that changed my life started like any other. I came home from the shop, grease on my hands, feeling the good ache of a hard day's work.

Leo was in the kitchen, staring at a bowl of cereal. It was 6:00 PM.

"You just waking up?" I asked, the irritation rising in my chest like bile.

"No, Dad," he said softly. "Just got back. Did a few deliveries."

"Deliveries," I scoffed. "That’s not a career, Leo. That’s a hobby. When I was your age, I had a mortgage and a baby on the way. You can’t even pay for your own gas."

He put the spoon down. He looked pale, thinner than I remembered.

"The market is tough right now, Dad. Nobody is hiring entry-level without three years of experience. And the rent... a studio is two thousand a month. I can’t make the math work."

"The math works if you work," I snapped. "Stop blaming the economy. Stop blaming 'the system.' It’s about grit. You think it was easy for me in the 90s? We didn’t have safe spaces. We just got it done."

Leo looked up at me. His eyes were heavy. Not sleepy—heavy. Like they were holding up the ceiling.

"I’m trying, Dad. I really am. But I’m just... so tired."

I rolled my eyes. I actually rolled my eyes.

"Tired? From what? Sitting in a car? Playing on your phone? I’ve been on my feet for ten hours. I am tired. You’re just unmotivated. You have everything handed to you—electricity, food, a roof—and you act like you’re carrying the weight of the world."

The kitchen went quiet. The refrigerator hummed. The news played softly in the background, talking about inflation rates, but I wasn't listening. I was waiting for him to argue, to fight back, to show some spark.

Instead, he just nodded.

"You're right," he whispered. "I'm I'm not who you were at my age. I'm the math doesn't work for me."

He stood up, walked over to me, and did something he hadn't done since he was ten. He hugged me. It wasn't a strong hug; it was a lean, a collapse of weight against my shoulder.

"I won't be a burden anymore, Dad. I promise. Get some sleep."

I stood there, feeling vindicated. Finally, I thought. Finally, I got through to him. Tough love. That’s what this generation needs.

I went to bed feeling like a good father.

The next morning, the house was silent. Too silent.

I woke up at 6:30 AM, ready to wake him up early. We were going to look for "real" jobs today. I was going to drive him to the industrial park myself.

"Leo! Up and at 'em!" I shouted, banging on the basement door.

No answer.

I pushed the door open.

The room was spotless. The piles of laundry were gone. The blinds were open. The bed was made—military tight.

And on the pillow, there was his phone and a folded piece of notebook paper.

A cold shiver, sharper than any winter wind, shot down my spine.

"Leo?"

I checked the bathroom. Empty. The backyard. Empty. The garage.

My old pickup truck was gone.

I ran back to the room and grabbed the note. My hands were shaking so hard I almost ripped the paper.

Dad,

I know you think I’m lazy. I know you think I’m weak. I wanted to be the man you are. I really did.

But the mountain you climbed doesn’t have a path anymore. I’ve applied to 400 jobs this year. I didn't tell you because I was ashamed. I drove for that delivery app for 14 hours a day just to pay the interest on my student loans, not even touching the principal.

You told me to save. I tried. But when rent is double what you paid, and wages are half of what they should be, saving feels like trying to fill a bucket with a hole in the bottom.

I stopped taking my medication three weeks ago because my insurance cut out and I didn't want to ask you for money again. That’s why I was "tired." My brain has been screaming at me, and I didn't have the volume knob to turn it down.

You were right. The world is for the strong. And I don’t have any fight left.

I’m taking the truck to the old bridge. I’m sorry. You won’t have to pay my bills anymore.

Love, Leo.

The scream that tore out of my throat didn’t sound human. It sounded like an animal caught in a trap.

I dialed 911. I drove to the bridge. I drove so fast the world blurred into gray streaks.

I saw the flashing lights before I saw the river.

I saw the tow truck. I saw my pickup, the one I boasted about fixing, being hauled up from the water, dripping mud and weeds.

I collapsed on the asphalt. The officer who helped me up was a guy about my age. He didn't say, "It’s going to be okay." He just held me while I shattered.

It’s been six months.

People tell me, "It wasn't your fault, Jack. Depression is a silent killer."

And they are right. It is a disease.

But I can’t stop looking at the math.

I looked at his phone records later. He wasn't lying. He had applied to hundreds of jobs. He was rejected by automated emails. He was working while I slept. He was fighting a war I refused to see because I was too busy looking at the past through rose-colored glasses.

I measured his success with a ruler from 1990, and I beat him with it when he didn't measure up.

We tell our kids, "When I was your age, I had a house and a car." We forget to mention that a house cost two years' salary then, not twenty. We forget that we had pensions, not gig contracts. We forget that we had hope.

Leo didn't need a lecture on grit. He needed a dad who understood that "I'm tired" didn't mean "I need sleep." It meant "I'm running out of reasons to stay."

I visit his grave every Sunday. I tell him about the truck. I tell him I’m sorry.

But he can’t hear me.

The world is full of Leos right now. Young men and women who are working harder than we ever did, for half the reward, carrying the weight of a broken economy and a digital isolation we can't comprehend.

If your child tells you they are tired... if they seem stuck... if they are struggling to launch in a world that has clipped their wings...

Please. Put down your judgment. Throw away your "back in my day" stories.

Don’t tell them to man up. Tell them you are there. Tell them their worth isn't in their paycheck or their property.

I would give everything I own—my house, my pension, my pride—just to see my son sleeping "lazily" on that couch one more time.

A "perfect" dead son is a trophy of nothing but regret.

Listen to the silence before it becomes eternal.

Acknowledgement to unknown writer

[Dallasbaluu]

39 minutes ago, Moon_Walker said:

@Sucker @Konebhar6@Dallas_baluu@Bitcoin_Baba@krishnaaa@Spartan@Jatka Bandi

Reading this really got me rethinking on whats going on with this generation in this country.

*****PLEASE IF YOU HAVE YOUNG BOYS YOUNG MEN AT HOME READ THIS****

I told my son to “man up” and stop making excuses. I didn’t realize I was shouting at a drowning man until I found his bed empty and the silence in his room became permanent.

My son, Leo, was twenty-three. To the outside world, and frankly, to me at the time, he looked like a failure.

I’m a simple guy. I grew up in a time when sweat equity meant something. I bought my first house at twenty-four working at a local manufacturing plant. I drove a beat-up truck, fixed it myself, and never complained. That was the American way. You work hard, you get the white picket fence. Simple math.

So, when I looked at Leo, I didn’t see a struggle. I saw laziness.

He had a college degree that was gathering dust. He spent his days glued to his phone, delivering food for one of those gig-economy apps, and sleeping until noon. He lived in my basement, wore the same oversized hoodie every day, and had a look in his eyes that I interpreted as boredom.

I was constantly on his case. "The world doesn't owe you a living, Leo," I’d say, slamming my coffee mug down. "Get a real job. Build some character."

The Tuesday that changed my life started like any other. I came home from the shop, grease on my hands, feeling the good ache of a hard day's work.

Leo was in the kitchen, staring at a bowl of cereal. It was 6:00 PM.

"You just waking up?" I asked, the irritation rising in my chest like bile.

"No, Dad," he said softly. "Just got back. Did a few deliveries."

"Deliveries," I scoffed. "That’s not a career, Leo. That’s a hobby. When I was your age, I had a mortgage and a baby on the way. You can’t even pay for your own gas."

He put the spoon down. He looked pale, thinner than I remembered.

"The market is tough right now, Dad. Nobody is hiring entry-level without three years of experience. And the rent... a studio is two thousand a month. I can’t make the math work."

"The math works if you work," I snapped. "Stop blaming the economy. Stop blaming 'the system.' It’s about grit. You think it was easy for me in the 90s? We didn’t have safe spaces. We just got it done."

Leo looked up at me. His eyes were heavy. Not sleepy—heavy. Like they were holding up the ceiling.

"I’m trying, Dad. I really am. But I’m just... so tired."

I rolled my eyes. I actually rolled my eyes.

"Tired? From what? Sitting in a car? Playing on your phone? I’ve been on my feet for ten hours. I am tired. You’re just unmotivated. You have everything handed to you—electricity, food, a roof—and you act like you’re carrying the weight of the world."

The kitchen went quiet. The refrigerator hummed. The news played softly in the background, talking about inflation rates, but I wasn't listening. I was waiting for him to argue, to fight back, to show some spark.

Instead, he just nodded.

"You're right," he whispered. "I'm I'm not who you were at my age. I'm the math doesn't work for me."

He stood up, walked over to me, and did something he hadn't done since he was ten. He hugged me. It wasn't a strong hug; it was a lean, a collapse of weight against my shoulder.

"I won't be a burden anymore, Dad. I promise. Get some sleep."

I stood there, feeling vindicated. Finally, I thought. Finally, I got through to him. Tough love. That’s what this generation needs.

I went to bed feeling like a good father.

The next morning, the house was silent. Too silent.

I woke up at 6:30 AM, ready to wake him up early. We were going to look for "real" jobs today. I was going to drive him to the industrial park myself.

"Leo! Up and at 'em!" I shouted, banging on the basement door.

No answer.

I pushed the door open.

The room was spotless. The piles of laundry were gone. The blinds were open. The bed was made—military tight.

And on the pillow, there was his phone and a folded piece of notebook paper.

A cold shiver, sharper than any winter wind, shot down my spine.

"Leo?"

I checked the bathroom. Empty. The backyard. Empty. The garage.

My old pickup truck was gone.

I ran back to the room and grabbed the note. My hands were shaking so hard I almost ripped the paper.

Dad,

I know you think I’m lazy. I know you think I’m weak. I wanted to be the man you are. I really did.

But the mountain you climbed doesn’t have a path anymore. I’ve applied to 400 jobs this year. I didn't tell you because I was ashamed. I drove for that delivery app for 14 hours a day just to pay the interest on my student loans, not even touching the principal.

You told me to save. I tried. But when rent is double what you paid, and wages are half of what they should be, saving feels like trying to fill a bucket with a hole in the bottom.

I stopped taking my medication three weeks ago because my insurance cut out and I didn't want to ask you for money again. That’s why I was "tired." My brain has been screaming at me, and I didn't have the volume knob to turn it down.

You were right. The world is for the strong. And I don’t have any fight left.

I’m taking the truck to the old bridge. I’m sorry. You won’t have to pay my bills anymore.

Love, Leo.

The scream that tore out of my throat didn’t sound human. It sounded like an animal caught in a trap.

I dialed 911. I drove to the bridge. I drove so fast the world blurred into gray streaks.

I saw the flashing lights before I saw the river.

I saw the tow truck. I saw my pickup, the one I boasted about fixing, being hauled up from the water, dripping mud and weeds.

I collapsed on the asphalt. The officer who helped me up was a guy about my age. He didn't say, "It’s going to be okay." He just held me while I shattered.

It’s been six months.

People tell me, "It wasn't your fault, Jack. Depression is a silent killer."

And they are right. It is a disease.

But I can’t stop looking at the math.

I looked at his phone records later. He wasn't lying. He had applied to hundreds of jobs. He was rejected by automated emails. He was working while I slept. He was fighting a war I refused to see because I was too busy looking at the past through rose-colored glasses.

I measured his success with a ruler from 1990, and I beat him with it when he didn't measure up.

We tell our kids, "When I was your age, I had a house and a car." We forget to mention that a house cost two years' salary then, not twenty. We forget that we had pensions, not gig contracts. We forget that we had hope.

Leo didn't need a lecture on grit. He needed a dad who understood that "I'm tired" didn't mean "I need sleep." It meant "I'm running out of reasons to stay."

I visit his grave every Sunday. I tell him about the truck. I tell him I’m sorry.

But he can’t hear me.

The world is full of Leos right now. Young men and women who are working harder than we ever did, for half the reward, carrying the weight of a broken economy and a digital isolation we can't comprehend.

If your child tells you they are tired... if they seem stuck... if they are struggling to launch in a world that has clipped their wings...

Please. Put down your judgment. Throw away your "back in my day" stories.

Don’t tell them to man up. Tell them you are there. Tell them their worth isn't in their paycheck or their property.

I would give everything I own—my house, my pension, my pride—just to see my son sleeping "lazily" on that couch one more time.

A "perfect" dead son is a trophy of nothing but regret.

Listen to the silence before it becomes eternal.

Acknowledgement to unknown writer

Matter in 2 lines lo chepu anna

[Moon_Walker]

5 minutes ago, Dallasbaluu said:

Matter in 2 lines lo chepu anna

Read man once. U have to understand the pain of father for his child struggling in this generation.

[Dallasbaluu]

Just now, Moon_Walker said:

Read man once. U have to understand the pain of father for his child struggling in this generation.

ok annna

[Konebhar6]

Tough dad who worked hard in his generation, wanted his son to be more hardworking and not give reasons, find a good job instead of delivery jobs. He was being a tough father disciplining his son. 
One day son left, committed suicide. His note said how many jobs he applied, today’s job environment is not same, etc.

[Konebhar6]

@Moon_Walker Not every kid is same. Where most parents fail is to accept who their kids are. 

Accept the way your kid looks - Do not shame them for being light/dark/thin/chubby/wearing glasses/lack of hair/etc

Accept the intelligence of your kids - Some are avg or below avg. or not good at studies

Accept your kids are not socially smart or not like your friends/neighbors kids who are outgoing. 
Accept your kids choice of the partners they want. 
Accept your kids don’t want to be an engineer/doctor and want to settle for a simple job/life. 
 

Trust me it’s not easy as parents to accept these as we want the best for our kids, want them to lead a great life and think they are taking it easy. 
We gotta see the signs. Try to find out what’s going on in their lives without being intrusive. Be supportive. Understand the difference between them being lazy/depression.

[krishnaaa]

Hopefully the future is going to be better once Universal Basic Income kicks in.

Our generation had to endure quite a bit.

One of my friends was telling me how hard his dad worked. Had to remind him that he is working much harder.

One income was more than enough during that time. Once you come home ,the home was neat and food was ready.

Men nowadays have to work and share household duties as well as their wives are working too.

[Konebhar6]

I have seen a few incidents similar to this in my life. Some are my friends. Worst part is that there is no remorse in their parents. 
This is why I have utmost respect for my parents. Gave me all freedom to take my own decisions and let me be the person I am, accept me as I am and be very proud of it. 
I do the same for my kids.

[Dallasbaluu]

7 minutes ago, krishnaaa said:

Hopefully the future is going to be better once Universal Basic Income kicks in.

Our generation had to endure quite a bit.

One of my friends was telling me how hard his dad worked. Had to remind him that he is working much harder.

One income was more than enough during that time. Once you come home ,the home was neat and food was ready.

Men nowadays have to work and share household duties as well as their wives are working too.

 

6 minutes ago, Konebhar6 said:

I have seen a few incidents similar to this in my life. Some are my friends. Worst part is that there is no remorse in their parents. 
This is why I have utmost respect for my parents. Gave me all freedom to take my own decisions and let me be the person I am, accept me as I am and be very proud of it. 
I do the same for my kids.

ABCD assam no why new threads

[Bhagath_Singh]

1 hour ago, Moon_Walker said:

@Sucker @Konebhar6@Dallas_baluu@Bitcoin_Baba@krishnaaa@Spartan@Jatka Bandi

Reading this really got me rethinking on whats going on with this generation in this country.

*****PLEASE IF YOU HAVE YOUNG BOYS YOUNG MEN AT HOME READ THIS****

I told my son to “man up” and stop making excuses. I didn’t realize I was shouting at a drowning man until I found his bed empty and the silence in his room became permanent.

My son, Leo, was twenty-three. To the outside world, and frankly, to me at the time, he looked like a failure.

I’m a simple guy. I grew up in a time when sweat equity meant something. I bought my first house at twenty-four working at a local manufacturing plant. I drove a beat-up truck, fixed it myself, and never complained. That was the American way. You work hard, you get the white picket fence. Simple math.

So, when I looked at Leo, I didn’t see a struggle. I saw laziness.

He had a college degree that was gathering dust. He spent his days glued to his phone, delivering food for one of those gig-economy apps, and sleeping until noon. He lived in my basement, wore the same oversized hoodie every day, and had a look in his eyes that I interpreted as boredom.

I was constantly on his case. "The world doesn't owe you a living, Leo," I’d say, slamming my coffee mug down. "Get a real job. Build some character."

The Tuesday that changed my life started like any other. I came home from the shop, grease on my hands, feeling the good ache of a hard day's work.

Leo was in the kitchen, staring at a bowl of cereal. It was 6:00 PM.

"You just waking up?" I asked, the irritation rising in my chest like bile.

"No, Dad," he said softly. "Just got back. Did a few deliveries."

"Deliveries," I scoffed. "That’s not a career, Leo. That’s a hobby. When I was your age, I had a mortgage and a baby on the way. You can’t even pay for your own gas."

He put the spoon down. He looked pale, thinner than I remembered.

"The market is tough right now, Dad. Nobody is hiring entry-level without three years of experience. And the rent... a studio is two thousand a month. I can’t make the math work."

"The math works if you work," I snapped. "Stop blaming the economy. Stop blaming 'the system.' It’s about grit. You think it was easy for me in the 90s? We didn’t have safe spaces. We just got it done."

Leo looked up at me. His eyes were heavy. Not sleepy—heavy. Like they were holding up the ceiling.

"I’m trying, Dad. I really am. But I’m just... so tired."

I rolled my eyes. I actually rolled my eyes.

"Tired? From what? Sitting in a car? Playing on your phone? I’ve been on my feet for ten hours. I am tired. You’re just unmotivated. You have everything handed to you—electricity, food, a roof—and you act like you’re carrying the weight of the world."

The kitchen went quiet. The refrigerator hummed. The news played softly in the background, talking about inflation rates, but I wasn't listening. I was waiting for him to argue, to fight back, to show some spark.

Instead, he just nodded.

"You're right," he whispered. "I'm I'm not who you were at my age. I'm the math doesn't work for me."

He stood up, walked over to me, and did something he hadn't done since he was ten. He hugged me. It wasn't a strong hug; it was a lean, a collapse of weight against my shoulder.

"I won't be a burden anymore, Dad. I promise. Get some sleep."

I stood there, feeling vindicated. Finally, I thought. Finally, I got through to him. Tough love. That’s what this generation needs.

I went to bed feeling like a good father.

The next morning, the house was silent. Too silent.

I woke up at 6:30 AM, ready to wake him up early. We were going to look for "real" jobs today. I was going to drive him to the industrial park myself.

"Leo! Up and at 'em!" I shouted, banging on the basement door.

No answer.

I pushed the door open.

The room was spotless. The piles of laundry were gone. The blinds were open. The bed was made—military tight.

And on the pillow, there was his phone and a folded piece of notebook paper.

A cold shiver, sharper than any winter wind, shot down my spine.

"Leo?"

I checked the bathroom. Empty. The backyard. Empty. The garage.

My old pickup truck was gone.

I ran back to the room and grabbed the note. My hands were shaking so hard I almost ripped the paper.

Dad,

I know you think I’m lazy. I know you think I’m weak. I wanted to be the man you are. I really did.

But the mountain you climbed doesn’t have a path anymore. I’ve applied to 400 jobs this year. I didn't tell you because I was ashamed. I drove for that delivery app for 14 hours a day just to pay the interest on my student loans, not even touching the principal.

You told me to save. I tried. But when rent is double what you paid, and wages are half of what they should be, saving feels like trying to fill a bucket with a hole in the bottom.

I stopped taking my medication three weeks ago because my insurance cut out and I didn't want to ask you for money again. That’s why I was "tired." My brain has been screaming at me, and I didn't have the volume knob to turn it down.

You were right. The world is for the strong. And I don’t have any fight left.

I’m taking the truck to the old bridge. I’m sorry. You won’t have to pay my bills anymore.

Love, Leo.

The scream that tore out of my throat didn’t sound human. It sounded like an animal caught in a trap.

I dialed 911. I drove to the bridge. I drove so fast the world blurred into gray streaks.

I saw the flashing lights before I saw the river.

I saw the tow truck. I saw my pickup, the one I boasted about fixing, being hauled up from the water, dripping mud and weeds.

I collapsed on the asphalt. The officer who helped me up was a guy about my age. He didn't say, "It’s going to be okay." He just held me while I shattered.

It’s been six months.

People tell me, "It wasn't your fault, Jack. Depression is a silent killer."

And they are right. It is a disease.

But I can’t stop looking at the math.

I looked at his phone records later. He wasn't lying. He had applied to hundreds of jobs. He was rejected by automated emails. He was working while I slept. He was fighting a war I refused to see because I was too busy looking at the past through rose-colored glasses.

I measured his success with a ruler from 1990, and I beat him with it when he didn't measure up.

We tell our kids, "When I was your age, I had a house and a car." We forget to mention that a house cost two years' salary then, not twenty. We forget that we had pensions, not gig contracts. We forget that we had hope.

Leo didn't need a lecture on grit. He needed a dad who understood that "I'm tired" didn't mean "I need sleep." It meant "I'm running out of reasons to stay."

I visit his grave every Sunday. I tell him about the truck. I tell him I’m sorry.

But he can’t hear me.

The world is full of Leos right now. Young men and women who are working harder than we ever did, for half the reward, carrying the weight of a broken economy and a digital isolation we can't comprehend.

If your child tells you they are tired... if they seem stuck... if they are struggling to launch in a world that has clipped their wings...

Please. Put down your judgment. Throw away your "back in my day" stories.

Don’t tell them to man up. Tell them you are there. Tell them their worth isn't in their paycheck or their property.

I would give everything I own—my house, my pension, my pride—just to see my son sleeping "lazily" on that couch one more time.

A "perfect" dead son is a trophy of nothing but regret.

Listen to the silence before it becomes eternal.

Acknowledgement to unknown writer

Tears really rolled in my eyes……

No matter what, i will not treat my kids as failure if they take time…will support them as long as i am alive 😢

[Bhagath_Singh]

29 minutes ago, krishnaaa said:

Hopefully the future is going to be better once Universal Basic Income kicks in.

Our generation had to endure quite a bit.

One of my friends was telling me how hard his dad worked. Had to remind him that he is working much harder.

One income was more than enough during that time. Once you come home ,the home was neat and food was ready.

Men nowadays have to work and share household duties as well as their wives are working too.

It will never work, the 60-70% of the population should always suffer and work their azzz off to keep the 1% rich ppl to be in that position.

We are just followers, rule makers will always try to keep us grounded !!!

[akkum_bakkum]

18 minutes ago, Bhagath_Singh said:

It will never work, the 60-70% of the population should always suffer and work their azzz off to keep the 1% rich ppl to be in that position.

We are just followers, rule makers will always try to keep us grounded !!!

Leftist BS!

[krishnaaa]

20 minutes ago, Bhagath_Singh said:

It will never work, the 60-70% of the population should always suffer and work their azzz off to keep the 1% rich ppl to be in that position.

We are just followers, rule makers will always try to keep us grounded !!!

UBI will be very low amount.

Reason being that there will be a huge deflationary cycle as we get robots.

Home construction will become cheaper , uber will become cheaper, food will become cheaper.

This is the prediction by many billionaires as well.

Population would keep going up. Land will become expensive.

[futureofandhra]

1 minute ago, krishnaaa said:

UBI will be very low amount.

Reason being that there will be a huge deflationary cycle as we get robots.

Home construction will become cheaper , uber will become cheaper, food will become cheaper.

This is the prediction by many billionaires as well.

Population would keep going up. Land will become expensive.

I thought fertility going down 

[krishnaaa]

1 minute ago, futureofandhra said:

I thought fertility going down 

Initially yes...but it will become easier and cheaper to have kids in future with modern tech.

You can even have custom babies with With Einstein genes mixed in.

Bezos was saying that there will be more than Trillion humans on EArth.

Thats why he created Blue Origin so that all the manufacturing can happen in space.