Normally, I love being a millennial. We really do have it all--access to anything we want: fast food, fast cars, fast wifi--all on demand. Our swiftly paced lifestyle is matched by no other generation. That inspires me. It inspires me to reach for the stars and to strive to do my best, to use everything I’ve been given and thrive.

However, today that is not the case. Today, I am smiling. Today, I am saying all the right things. I’m laughing and joking and shouting “Bingo!” as yellow cars pass along the freeway. Today, I am grieving.

In our society, complete with Gucci purses and McDonald’s drive-thru's, there is no room for grief. It goes as follows.

10 Steps to Grieving as a Millennial:

1. Don't.

2. If you must, keep it to yourself.

3. Never let on that you're not okay.

4. If you do, you'll be told to still act like yourself.

5. Because you don't exist for yourself.

6. You exist for the pleasure of those around you.

7. So grieving is not an emotion you can display.

8. But don't shut down. That's bad too.

9. So smile.

10. But don't forget to grieve.

This needs to change. Death should hurt—it’s the greatest loss a person can feel. To have someone ripped so unnaturally from your life, never to be seen again brings a kind of anguish incomparable. So when my world came crashing to a halt, and my lungs collapsed around me with sorrow, I expected support, love, compassion even. That’s not the culture millennials cultivated. We send sympathy through Facebook, but refuse to acknowledge any outward sign of grief; reject it, even. I was chastised for being alone. I was told to stop wailing, to breathe, to smile. Ironically, to be “Moriah” as if grieving somehow stole my personhood, as if it removed me from myself, as if I was only “Moriah” when I was happy.

When did we allow the pursuit of happiness to dictate our lives, to overrule a larger range of emotions? When did we refuse to truly empathize with those surrounding us? When did we remove grief from the mold of humanity? Why did we exile grief from community?

Grief is the strongest, most satisfying emotion I know. It encompasses all others—love, loss, desire, pain, anger--and projects them onto a soul so strongly that it’s not overcomeable. At least, not at first. Grief, though horrid, comes as a refreshing reminder that humans still have souls. In our fast paced life, with our instant coffee, microwave meals, and Facebook updates, and snaps, we still exist under all the accessories our generation is granted. Grief grounds us. It opens its arms and reminds us there is something more than happiness to be sought out.

It reminds us of fulfillment and empties our soul for just a moment. A moment long enough to catch our attention and steal our breath. We need grief. We need to grieve in community. We need to support the tears and sorrows and wailing in the night. This "still be Moriah” shit is not true friendship. It is not true support. It is a weak substitute cultivated by an unwillingness to walk alongside someone in their pain and in their anger. It’s a cop out to friendship, and it’s the norm for millennials. Why?