But Does It Cure Cancer? The Great “More”Generation

The Waterbury Times|Editorial|Oct 1, 2026

I’ve been thinking about something lately.

Maybe it started with a phone.

Every year, there’s a new one.

More cameras. More storage. A better processor. A brighter screen. A new feature that the phone you bought last year suddenly doesn’t have.

And then there’s the next one.

Then the next one.

And somehow, the phone that worked perfectly well twelve months ago has become something we’re supposed to replace.

Why?

Because the new one is better.

But better at what?

That question has been bothering me.

Because it isn’t just phones.

It’s everything.

More money.

Bigger Houses.

More cars.

More followers.

More subscribers.

Go Faster.

More Storage.

More channels.

More entertainment.

More features.

More productivity.

More convenience.

More choices.

More, more, more.

We live in a culture that has become remarkably good at convincing us that whatever we have right now isn’t quite enough.

And I’m not talking about ambition.

Ambition is good. (once was said “Greed is Good”)

Wanting a better life is good.

Wanting to provide more for your family is good.

Wanting to build something bigger is good.

There is nothing wrong with wanting more.

The question is: When does more stop being a goal and start becoming the entire point?

Because there is always another upgrade.

Another level.

Another achievement.

Another thing we are supposed to want.

And once we get it, we adjust.

It becomes normal.

Then we want the next thing.

Psychologists have studied versions of this phenomenon for years. Economists and social scientists have examined consumption, comparison and the way expectations rise alongside what we acquire. There are entire books about the feeling that achievement itself can become a never-ending race.

But I think about it in much simpler terms.

But does it cure cancer?

That’s the question.

You buy the newest phone.

But does it cure cancer?

You work another twenty hours this month to make another thousand dollars.

But does it cure cancer?

You buy the car with every possible feature.

But does it cure cancer?

You spend three hours scrolling through videos about things you apparently need to buy.

But does it cure cancer?

You spend your entire life trying to become more successful, more productive, more impressive.

But does it cure cancer?

No.

Of course it doesn’t.

And I’m not suggesting that everything we buy, build or accomplish needs to cure a disease to have value.

That’s not the point.

The point is perspective.

Because sometimes I wonder whether we’ve become so obsessed with improving everything that we’ve forgotten to ask whether everything actually needs improving.

We have created refrigerators that can tell us what’s inside them.

Cars that can practically drive themselves.

Televisions bigger than some apartment walls.

Phones that can translate languages, edit photographs, generate writing and put the world in our hands.

And we’re still sitting around wondering what we’re missing.

There is something strange about that.

We have more than previous generations could have imagined, yet the message surrounding us remains remarkably consistent:

You need more.

More money.

More success.

More stuff.

More experiences.

More followers.

More.

And maybe that’s why the question matters.

Not because cancer is some metaphor for everything that’s wrong with society.

But because cancer is one of those things that immediately puts the rest of the conversation into perspective.

When someone you love is sick, nobody cares how many features the new phone has.

Nobody cares whether your car has the upgraded package.

Nobody cares how many followers you have.

You care about one thing.

Will they be okay?

Suddenly, the hierarchy changes.

And perhaps that’s what I’ve been thinking about.

What if we applied that same perspective before life forces us to?

What if we occasionally stopped chasing the next thing and asked whether the thing we’re chasing actually matters?

Not whether it is impressive.

Not whether it is new.

Not whether everyone else has it.

Not whether an advertisement told us we need it.

Does it matter?

That’s a different question.

And I don’t have a grand answer to it.

I’m not writing this from the mountaintop.

I’m just looking around at the world like everybody else.

Watching us constantly upgrade, replace, improve, optimize and consume.

And wondering when enough became such an uncomfortable place to stand.

Maybe there is nothing wrong with wanting more.

Maybe the problem is that we have forgotten how to recognize enough.

So I’m going to leave you with the question I’ve been asking myself:

The next time you want something new, something bigger, something better, something more—

Ask yourself why.

And then ask the question that started all of this for me when that marketing and sales teams are done with the pitch. When the commercial is done. When the ad stops running.