I feel like the American Dream is alive, but not well.
As the United States marks two and a half centuries of existence, a foundational promise — that effort and perseverance yield a better life — is being weighed against the lived reality of millions. Surveys now show only a third of Americans believe the Dream still holds, while economists trace a decades-long erosion of upward mobility that has quietly dismantled the social contract underpinning the nation's self-image. The story is not simply one of decline, but of a reckoning: between the America that was imagined and the America that arrived, between those who still believe and those who have begun to look elsewhere.
- Economic mobility has collapsed so sharply that a child born in the 1980s has only a coin-flip's chance of outearning their parents — compared to near-certainty for those born in 1940.
- Faith in the Dream has fractured along generational lines, with fewer than one in five Americans aged 18 to 29 believing it remains within reach.
- In an unprecedented reversal, Americans are emigrating in record numbers to Canada, Ireland, the UK, and EU nations, citing healthcare costs, political instability, and vanishing opportunity.
- Immigration to the US has slowed under sweeping restrictions, eliminating legal pathways like the diversity visa that once offered refuge to people fleeing war and poverty.
- Those who arrived with the least — first-generation immigrants — often remain the most hopeful, even as the systems meant to support them erode beneath their feet.
Abdi Nor Iftin grew up in Somalia dodging militants, teaching himself English from Hollywood films until his friends called him "Abdi America." In 2013, he won a diversity visa from a pool of nearly eight million applicants. By 2014 he was in Maine, installing insulation, building a life, becoming a citizen. This year, he lost his job at a refugee resettlement agency — and with it, his health insurance. When he says the American Dream is "alive, but not well," he is not reciting a poll. He is describing his own life.
As the United States approaches its 250th birthday, the surveys confirm what many already feel. Only one-third of Americans believe the Dream still exists. Most say the country's best days are behind it. Even a young actor who appeared on a Disney television series has recently become a Canadian citizen and is relocating to Vancouver, where a growing film industry offers what Hollywood no longer seems to. "Wealth is getting consolidated," he said, "and as that happens, the opportunities are dwindling."
The Dream was never purely material. When the phrase was coined in 1931, during the Great Depression, it described a social order where each person could reach their fullest potential. Over time it became something more concrete: hard work rewarded with stability, homeownership, and children who would do better. For decades, the math held. Nine in ten children born in 1940 earned more than their parents. But around 1970, globalization and wage stagnation began hollowing out the middle class, and the 2008 financial crisis finished what that erosion had started. Today, only half of those born in the 1980s are on track to surpass their parents' earnings.
The story resists simple conclusions. First-generation immigrants remain among the most optimistic — they measure their lives against where they came from, not against an idealized past. But fewer are arriving now. The diversity visa program that changed Abdi's life has been blocked. Meanwhile, the flow is reversing: more Americans moved to Ireland last year than Irish moved to the United States. Record numbers are seeking UK citizenship. Americans are appearing in rising numbers across nearly all 27 EU member states.
Not everyone has lost faith. A 44-year-old Navy Reserve commander in Florida — the first in his family to finish high school, then college — says plainly that he is living the Dream. The divide runs along age and experience: older Americans hold the belief; younger ones have largely abandoned it.
Abdi's brother Hassan, blocked by visa restrictions, became a Canadian citizen instead. "He says they have better healthcare," Abdi says, laughing. Yet despite the lost job, the lost insurance, and the distance between the America he imagined and the one he found, Abdi says he would make the same choice again. "I guess it's my first love." The question the country now faces is whether it can remain worthy of that love — or whether the next 250 years will be shaped by those who stopped believing and quietly left.
Abdi Nor Iftin spent his childhood in Somalia ducking gunfire from al-Shabab militants, dreaming of escape. He taught himself English by watching Hollywood films, and his friends called him "Abdi America" for his obsession with the country he'd never seen. In 2013, he won what felt like the lottery—a diversity visa drawn from nearly eight million applicants. Sixteen years later, at 41, he is a US citizen living in Maine, but the dream has fractured.
He arrived in 2014 with nothing but hope. He found work installing insulation, built a life, became a citizen. This year, he lost his job at a refugee resettlement agency. With it went his health insurance. When he tells people now that he feels the American Dream is "alive, but not well," he is speaking from lived experience, not polling data.
Abdi is not alone in his disillusionment. As the United States approaches its 250th birthday, surveys paint a portrait of a nation losing faith in its founding promise. Only one-third of Americans believe the Dream still exists. The Associated Press-NORC poll, the Pew Research Center, study after study—they all tell the same story. Most Americans say the country's best days are behind it. Even Luke Mullen, a 24-year-old actor who appeared on the Disney show Andi Mack, has decided to leave. He recently became a Canadian citizen and is moving to Vancouver, where tax credits and a growing film industry offer him opportunities that Hollywood, of all places, no longer seems to provide. "Wealth is getting consolidated in this country and as that happens, the opportunities are dwindling," he said.
The American Dream was never a single thing. When James Truslow Adams coined the phrase in his 1931 book The Epic of America, written during the Great Depression, he defined it as more than material accumulation. It was a vision of social order where each person could reach their fullest potential. Over time, the concept evolved into something more concrete: the belief that if you work hard and follow the rules, you will have a decent life. Your children will do better than you. You will own a home. You will have security.
For decades, this worked. Among children born in 1940, 90 percent earned more than their parents. The 1950s post-war boom seemed to validate the entire American experiment—white picket fences, single-family homes, the visible machinery of upward mobility. But the math has changed. Of children born in the 1980s, only half are on track to earn more than their parents. The decline began around 1970, economists say, when globalization and wage stagnation started to hollow out the middle class. Then came 2008. The financial crisis shattered what remained of the economic bargain. Home ownership and job stability became luxuries rather than reasonable expectations.
Yet the story is more complicated than simple pessimism. First-generation immigrants like Abdi often remain optimistic. They are coming from less wealthy nations. By any measure, they are doing better than they would have at home. Research shows immigrants are more likely to say they have achieved the Dream, or are achieving it. They tend to be more hopeful about their children's prospects. But fewer immigrants are coming now. President Trump has made immigration restriction central to his presidency, blocking legal pathways including the diversity visa program that saved Abdi's life. Meanwhile, something unprecedented is happening in reverse: Americans are leaving. Last year, more Americans moved to Ireland than Irish moved to the United States. Record numbers are applying for UK citizenship. Americans are arriving in nearly all 27 EU member states in rising numbers. Some cite politics. Others point to healthcare costs and quality of life. For Luke, it is simply that the work is elsewhere now.
The question of whether the Dream is dead divides the country along predictable lines. Republicans are more likely to believe it survives. Older Americans hold the faith. Young adults—only one-fifth of those aged 18 to 29 think it remains possible—are deeply skeptical. Yet even this narrative has a counternarrative. Some polling suggests 61 percent of Americans still believe in the concept. Brandon Patty, a 44-year-old Navy Reserve commander and clerk in Florida, is one of them. He was the first in his family to graduate from high school, the first to finish college. "I'm 44 now, and, candidly, I'm living it," he said. For him, the Dream means limitless opportunity, the chance to build something from nothing.
Back in Maine, Abdi reflects on his brother Hassan, who could not immigrate to the US because of visa restrictions. Hassan became a Canadian citizen instead. "My brother says they have better healthcare," Abdi says with a laugh. Despite everything—the lost job, the lost insurance, the gap between the America he imagined and the America he found—Abdi says he would do it all again. "I guess it's my first love." The question now is whether America can remain worthy of that love, or whether the next 250 years will be defined by the people who stopped believing and chose to leave.
Notable Quotes
Wealth is getting consolidated in this country and as that happens, the opportunities are dwindling.— Luke Mullen, 24-year-old actor moving to Canada
I'm 44 now, and, candidly, I'm living it. The opportunities are limitless—that in America, you can go from nothing and find your way.— Brandon Patty, Navy Reserve commander and first in his family to graduate college
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why does Abdi's story matter now, at this particular moment?
Because he represents the collision between the myth and the reality. He won the lottery to get here. He did everything right. And he still lost his footing. If the Dream can't hold someone like him, what is it holding?
But he says he'd do it again. Doesn't that suggest the Dream still works?
It does, but listen to what he's actually saying. He's not saying it worked. He's saying it was worth it anyway. That's different. That's love surviving disappointment.
The polling seems contradictory. One-third believe, 61 percent believe. Which is it?
It depends on how you ask the question. If you ask people conceptually whether the Dream exists, they're skeptical. If you ask them directly whether they believe in it, more say yes. People can hold both things at once—doubt and faith, side by side.
Why are young people so much more cynical than older generations?
They've watched the math fail in real time. They've seen their parents work hard and still struggle. They've seen housing become unaffordable, student debt become permanent, job security disappear. The Dream promised that hard work would compound. For them, it hasn't.
Is Luke Mullen's move to Canada a betrayal of America?
He doesn't think so. He says he's not abandoning it, just going where the work is. But there's something symbolic about an actor—someone who embodies the Hollywood Dream—deciding the Dream has moved north.
What would it take to restore faith in the American Dream?
Probably the same thing that built it in the first place: the actual experience of upward mobility. Not the idea of it. The lived reality. Until that returns, all the rhetoric in the world won't matter.