Stop permitting your own suffering.

Depressingly, a Medium post titled This is Your Life in Silicon Valley has been making the rounds, shared by friends on Facebook with comments like “Too true.” There are those who simply acknowledge the dystopian life described as familiar, and those who state they do not like it.

To the latter, I can only say: Stop it. Stop permitting your own suffering. These are human choices, not forces of nature, and you make them every day.

You can always do something else.

Last year, in 2015, I had one New Year’s resolution: I will not permit my own suffering. That resolution served as a lens through which I could find and examine things that made me miserable, and subsequently consider which I could and could not control.

Of course, we cannot control all of our own suffering. We cannot control whether or not we become ill, whether loved ones die and leave us bereft, and the like. But my New Year’s resolution experiment showed that I was permitting most of my own suffering. I was, through all sorts of behavior, teaching people what I would accept and tolerate.

When I answered texts, emails, and calls after work (or immediately), I taught people that they would receive — and thus should expect — responses from me at these times of day. Likewise when I attended early morning and late night meetings to accommodate other time zones, on multiple days of the week rather than one.

When I accepted invitations to meetings without agendas, or for which my presence was not required, I taught people that it was acceptable to waste my time.

When I skipped meals to attend last-minute meetings, I taught people that their lack of planning and panic was more important than my eating and taking a break. I rewarded them for bad behavior.

When people asked me to do things and I said yes by default, and didn’t make them choose a trade-off (i.e. “If I’m going to do that, then something else will have to go”), I taught them to overload me, and to continue to add to that load, every time.

When I repeatedly glanced at my phone at home, I showed my husband that I was not fully present for him. I gave my employer higher priority than my most loved one. My employer didn’t do that: I did. I allowed it.

The somber Medium post (which some people claim to find funny, shudder) opens with: “You wake up at 6:30am after an Ambien-induced sleep.” Stop it. Unless you have a baby, or are poor and must work two or three shifts to survive, you control how much sleep you get. Only you allow others to take sleep from you.

Put your phone in Do Not Disturb mode. Ban screen time (yes, that includes reading on the Kindle and Netflix) a minimum of two hours before bedtime. Take a shower. Have an herbal tea. Read something pleasant, on paper, for a minimum of 30 minutes before you fall asleep. Kick the Ambien and, if your doctor gave you a prescription for more than a few at a time and didn’t advise you to quit your job as s/he did so, kick your doctor, too.

The post describes a person losing an awful lot of allegedly limited time to online content: podcasts, Facebook, what have you. Stop it. Stand up, put the device down, and walk away. Turn it off, put it in airplane mode, avail yourself of the Freedom app, stop looking at it. Hours will magically reappear.

After describing someone who has no time to see his child, the post mentions “You have to decide where to go for dinner tonight.”  No, you don’t. Cook something simple — start with spaghetti, maybe — in less time than will be required to choose a restaurant, eat there in protracted fashion, and get home. The sooner you do, the sooner you can start your new process of seeing your child and creating pre-bedtime relaxation.

The post describes a dinner at which “You are all too busy making your own points and citing articles to really listen to each other.” Knock that shit off, then. You yourself can shut up, for starters, and actually listen. If you’d really like to kick the hornet’s nest, you could point out what’s happening. Try “Hey Bill, what’s the last thing Tom mentioned?”

Or, redirect the conversation to something more vulnerable and honest. Ask an interesting question. What was your favorite Halloween costume? Have you ever lived in a place with winter? Do you miss the snow? Who was your favorite family member? What was your favorite book in Junior High? Get to the point.

And on, and on, and on.

This, my dear ones, is why I ultimately had to quit my tech job more than one year ago. When I could finally see, and then began to address, all the various sources and instances of my suffering, I felt like I was playing a wild game of whack-a-mole.

After maddeningly addressing sources of suffering for six months, I had to accept that my tech job required me to suffer. People were indignant and offended when I simply asked “What should I prepare for this meeting?” or “What do you need from me on this call?” They’d reply, “Well, nothing! I just need you to be there.” No.

When I said I would not fly 30 hours round trip to be in an office in Asia for 36 hours, unless someone could tell me why I had to be there physically, I got tsk tsks and warnings (and still no explanation for why this travel was required).

Anything, and anyone, that requires you to suffer unnecessarily has got to go. Don’t allow it for another day more. And if you find, as I did, that a culture or company requires and depends on your suffering, then it has made the decision for you.

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How To Divest from Specific Stocks in Wealthfront

One of my favorite bloggers, Dr. Doom, recently wrote an excellent post on how to unload (clever, that) guns from your Vanguard portfolio. It prompted me to publish this post, which has been sitting in draft form for some time.

Before I get rolling (and do feel free to skip this and scroll to the how-to with screenshots)…

I was surprised at the number of comments Doom’s post solicited, and the venom therein. I will probably never understand what it is about another person’s freedom to choose (in this case, one’s investments) that freaks people out so much, to the point that they scream “Unfollowing!” What’s so crazy about deciding how you want to invest your own, hard-earned money? What’s so frightening about ideas different from your own (which no one forces you to read about)?

But I digress.

How To Divest from Specific Stocks in Wealthfront

It’s remarkably easy.

First, you need a Wealthfront account.

Go to your account “Settings.”

On the left hand side, click “Restrictions.” You will see the following box into which you can type any ticker symbol, for any stock you do not want Wealthfront to purchase:

Wealthfront screen in Settings > Restrictions
Wealthfront screen in Settings > Restrictions

If you read Dr. Doom’s post on his challenges with Vanguard, you will find the reasons we still have some investments in Wealthfront. I have an Apex-Clearing-and-IEX-exchange beef with Wealthfront, but that’s another post. I’d rather have more of our money in Vanguard but, until I can more easily exclude specific stocks, our Wealthfront account lives to see another day.

There are numerous reasons someone may not legally be able to trade a certain stock, which is the likely use case Wealthfront had in mind when they designed this feature. But it can also effectively be used to divest from, and/or avoid purchasing, certain stocks.

Why would anyone want to do this?

Why might you want to divest from specific companies?

I’ll start with the emotional/personal reasons and move on to the logical/rational ones.

The ability to divest from (or never invest in) specific stocks is the ability to refrain from profiting from things that don’t align with your values and/or incentives.

Frankly, I have never believed that violating our principles and earning money must be mutually exclusive. I don’t care what personal beliefs and morals you have (unless, of course, they limit mine). I do believe, however, that any person should be able to put their money where their mouth (and heart) is, and that there is no need for it to be difficult. (The fact that it is difficult indicates that divestment is powerful, and that companies do not want us to be able to do this easily, which is itself a tacit acknowledgment that they know many of us don’t like their doings.)

Personally, I cannot abide the state of cognitive dissonance that results from my behaving in ways that don’t reflect my values. You may not be this kind of person. If so, I’m envious. My life would be easier (and more fun) if I were. But I’m not.

Bother.

Shifting from the emotional/moral to the logical view of divestment, it doesn’t make sense to shoot yourself in the foot. This is a matter of incentives and a focus on our desired, rational outcomes, vs. our feelings.

Let’s say, as the climate movement has, that we humans have an interest in Earth remaining habitable for… humans. It makes no sense for us to continue pull oil and gas out of the ground, because greenhouse gas omissions contribute to global warming and to the opposite outcome of the one we want.

Oil and gas companies, by contrast, have little or no incentive to create our desired outcome. Perhaps the humans who run these companies don’t care if Earth remains habitable for current and future generations, or perhaps Earthly habitation is less important than current profits to shareholders… which includes every person whose pension and/or retirement fund makes them a few dollars a month based on the oil and gas company’s performance.

Ah. There’s the rub, and our shot in our foot.

It’s not entirely our fault. The very structure of investment funds doesn’t make it easy for us to notice the extent to which we profit from the very things we abhor. Index and mutual funds may contain dozens, hundreds, or thousands of funds, with names and descriptions that mask what they do. We pick one of a few funds allowed in the company 401(k) plan, and that’s the extent of our “consumer choice.” Hours of research might be required to see, look up, and truly understand the contents of our portfolios (believe me, I know). And those contents change all the time.

This system creates an uncomfortable conflict in our rational incentives: We humans want to be able to survive in retirement, but we also know that our survival can only take place on Earth, with its key ingredients for human life: sun, water, bees, and top soil. It is entirely rational, then, for us to decide that the planet — the only one known to sustain human life — is more important than a certain segment of our portfolio. We should be allowed to make that choice. It’s rational. The market is all about rational actors, no? (Ha ha.)

When taken beyond the individual effort to a collective one, it’s possible that — if enough people divest — they can begin to starve the beast. (Divestment was one of several strategies that helped end apartheid, for example, and its cumulative effects can be powerful.) This can change the company’s incentives: if they lose institutional investors, if their stock price plummets, they have an incentive to change their behavior or risk further failure.

Anyway, this is just one example that applies to all humans. Depending on your personal beliefs and morals, you may not want to invest in a pharmaceutical company that manufactures the Plan B pill, for example; or a clothing manufacturer that uses child slave labor; or a media company that donates to a certain presidential candidate. Whatever you believe, I believe it should be possible and fairly straightforward for your investment behavior to align with your beliefs.

How Do You Divest?

If you’ve found ways to divest from and/or avoid purchasing stocks, I’d love to hear about these mechanisms and your experiences in attempting to use them. Please do comment. Thanks!

One Year On

Today is my husband’s one-year anniversary of his last day at work. We reminisced a bit this weekend, about what he and we felt like one year ago. Our old lives are increasingly difficult to remember in a tangible way (forgetting can be a blessing), but we were able to muster some details.

He remembered how the hot breakfast and free, fresh-squeezed orange juice used to be the highlight of his day — the absolute best thing about having to go to an office. It was true, and deeply depressing in its truthfulness, while also a sign that my husband is easily contented. The basics — a roof over his head, food on the table — count for a lot (as they should) and, after that, returns diminish.

I reminded him of what he was like at the end of the day, after a four-hour daily commute in a tech shuttle, how he was already stressed out on Sunday nights and about that time I wept in the car, begging him to quit, saying I’d rather have a husband alive than more money as a widow. And I wasn’t exaggerating: I meant it. I was worried he was going to have a heart attack and die at work, as a couple of friends had at age 38 and 39.

On Saturday, my husband abruptly got out of bed, walked into the kitchen, and walked back into our bedroom with a garbage bag while I was still sipping coffee. (We enjoy coffee in bed every morning.) He started loading up the garbage bag with all of his tech t-shirts and said “We need to make a Goodwill run today.” I asked, “Are you sure? We talked about making a weird sort of quilt out of them or something.”

He hasn’t worn any of these shirts since he left (not that he wore them then, either — they were too juvenile and embarrassing to wear in public).

We still don’t understand how the tech t-shirt and hoodie trend started, even though we both worked in tech for 20 years (and at some very big, popular companies). You’d think we’d have noticed when the first t-shirt showed up. But we didn’t.

Over time, though, I concluded that the t-shirts and hoodies were there to blunt or make up for the fact that software is so ephemeral, to provide more substantive evidence that you had once made a thing that existed, even if it no longer did. The phone you created mobile UI for might no longer be in use, a particular platform no longer popular and nearly dead, but here was a t-shirt to remind you and your progeny that you’d once made something that some people had seen, and that had mattered a little bit, to a small group of people, for a brief time.

My husband said, “I don’t want to look at these. I can’t even stand to look at them folded up in the closet. I’m not going to wear them, I’d be ashamed of that. It’s been so nice to really start to forget that place that, now, I really don’t want to be reminded.”

So we loaded up two huge garbage bags full of nothing but tech tees and hoodies, from both of our jobs, over the course of our entire 40 years combined in tech. My husband saved one hoodie he actually wears, more subtle and less offensive than most (no logo, no words). He had 45 t-shirts and four hoodies from his last job alone. Nearly all of them featured childish slogans and drawings far more suitable for a kindergarten lunch box than a grown man.

It was cathartic and a nice way to mark a one-year anniversary of freedom, though my husband hadn’t yet realized it was. He woke up and it was just time to move on, more completely.

We have a new life now, completely new identities, no longer tied to working or any company. We don’t want or need more reminders that it was ever otherwise.

Flagging in FIRE

Financially independent, retired early (FIRE) folks — and frugal, Mustachian types in general — can seem almost irritatingly consistent, unwavering, and diligent. We keep our eyes on the prize, never purchase anything and, even when spending a fraction of the norm, tirelessly look for frugal life hacks: for ways to optimize spending, savings, energy usage. Worst of all, we make it look easy.

Except it’s not, always, and many of us don’t. We get lazy, we fall off the bandwagon, we let things slide. Here is a recent case in point from my quarterly review of our spending, just in case anyone on the Internet thinks I’m perfect (unlikely).

Wanton Eating Out

Did you think I was careful with food and grocery spending?

Because we managed to spend $5,113 on groceries, dining out, and wine in three months. Looks like some of us have been celebrating early retirement a little too much.

Some of this is because my family visited, a rare occasion, with multiple family members in town at the same time from different locations. It was a logistical triumph. Sweet Huz and I, being the rich people we are, paid for a few group dinners for seven people with wine (probably $1,500 of that $5,113 total) and filled the larder with groceries for that many during the visit (another $200) and rented a mini van to haul everyone up and down Highway One ($400 + $100 fuel). I can’t think of a better occasion for which to do so. No regrets.

But take away the special occasion, $1,700 family vacation food bill, and that still leaves over $1,000 month on food spending. For two adults.

Hell. No. The frugal hammer is coming down on that.

Typically, I’ve trained a close eye on our dining out spending. We go to bars and have alcohol with dinners out on very rare occasion, which keeps the tabs down. We almost always bring half a meal home as leftovers.

But living in cities makes consistent behavior difficult sometimes. The San Francisco Bay Area has a lot of good food in it. (Much of it is cheap, at least. Pupusas pupusas pupusas. I love pupusas.) And, now that we’re FIRE and at home a lot, going out with friends is one of the main ways we get out of the house and see other people. It’s wonderful, because our friends are actually friends again (no longer replaced by coworkers standing in for real, unfettered, truly social time). It’s a lot less wonderful on the pocket book.

Dormant, Not Dead

The nice thing about generally good habits is that they don’t go anywhere. All of my now effortless home cooking and meal planning habits (i.e. staring at ingredients we already have, looking up the one we have the most of in the Joy of Cooking index, and figuring out what to make with it, improvising based on the other ingredients) I developed over 20 years of saving money like a crazy person are still there, and kick back into action instantly.

Today was almond flour pancakes and will be tamale pie for dinner. Yesterday was broccoli and cheese quiche for breakfast and quinoa salad for lunch (Costco organic quinoa, tossed with whatever cut up vegetables are on hand, a little salt, and a sprinkling of olive oil and lemon juice), with leftover chicken soup for dinner (with Joy of Cooking dumplings).

This week will be a lot more of the same.

We’ll probably allow ourselves one lunch and one dinner out per week, but even that will be a huge improvement over $1,000+/month food spending.

 

Bait and Pitched

There is a Silicon Valley thing that has happened several times, to both Dear Husband (DH) and me, since we left the tech industry. It needed to happen a few times before we realized we had a behavioral pattern rather than a series of isolated incidents.

It goes like this.

DH: I’m going to have a beer with John tonight.
Evie: Oh, hey, that’s awesome. He was a pretty cool guy when you worked together, if I recall.
DH: Yeah, yeah he was. Never fully bought in to the bullshit, smart guy. We’ve only had beers a couple of times since I left Former Tech Employer, and he left a few months ago, so it will be nice to catch up.

Two hours later…

Text from DH: Beers with John was just a fucking job offer. Irrationally angry.

Bait and pitched. Again.

It’s reasonable to ask “What’s so bad about a job offer?” especially if you could use a job yourself. My husband recognizes this, which is why he chose “irrationally angry.” Who could rightfully be angry about a job offer?

But my husband’s anger is completely justified, and that’s not just my wifely bias talking. There’s a lot more to the bait and pitch than a job offer. Deception, manipulation, and exploitation are (like so many things in these here Valley parts) key to the execution of a bait and pitch.

The bait and pitch may even indicate that, for a significant part of the population at least, there is no such thing as friendship here, that all is business, and that the social activities that used to strengthen friendships are all part of one big, ceaseless networking event.

Let’s examine the key elements of the bait and pitch. I will use two proper nouns, The Pitcher (to refer to the person doing the pitching) and The Mark (to demarcate the unwitting recipient of the bait and pitch).

The Elements of Deception

First, we’ll look at the bait part, where there are several deceptive elements at play.

The Invitation – The invitation to the bait and pitch must be as brief and stripped down as possible, such as a text asking only “Beers on Wednesday?” Any more than that and The Pitcher risks tipping his hand.

The invitation has a few other implementation details.

It That Shall Not Be Named – Absolutely no mention of or allusion to the pitch, as such, can be made in advance. The Pitcher cannot, for instance, drop a line like “I can’t wait to tell you what I’m working on.” The jig is up.

They Who Shall Not Be Named – Likewise, The Pitcher cannot mention other people to whom he has recently spoken. The Pitcher cannot say “I talked to Joe and he said…” The can of worms is open now!

Does Joe have skills similar to those of The Mark? If so, “I talked to Joe” may mean Joe was already bait and pitched. If so, what did Joe say? Does Joe want to work with The Pitcher again and, if so, did Joe recommend that The Pitcher pitch The Mark? Or is Joe actually Judas, not wanting to touch The Pitcher’s hot mess of a start-up with a 10-foot pole, and thus throwing The Mark under the bus to get pitched in a desperate bid to free himself from his own bait and pitch? If Joe “helps” The Pitcher, maybe The Pitcher will leave him alone.

An equally loud death knell will toll from the mention of any additional person who might show up for the bait and pitch event, AKA beers:

The Pitcher: Beers on Wednesday?
The Mark: Sure. Cerverceria at 6?
The Pitcher: Works. Eric may join.

Nope.

Social Media Shhh – No social media may allude to the subject of the bait and pitch, i.e. The Pitcher’s Current Endeavor. No Twitter snippet, no LinkedIn one-liner, no Facebook Intro or About section should reference What The Pitcher Is Working On.

For maximal deception, The Pitcher’s former employer should still be listed as the most recent employment item. However much The Pitcher might be tempted, he should not allow so much as a “Looking for my next thing” and certainly nothing so brash as “Founder at Hopefully Lucky Labs.” You’ve gotta know when to hold ’em.

Wherefore this sneakiness, this furtive slippery?

An unhealthy preoccupation with stealth mode contributes to bait-and-pitch behavior. The preoccupation with stealth mode itself depends on massive ego, optimism, and a failure to comprehend probability and likelihood of success (or, even in the case of “success,” failure to comprehend the many ways in which VC success does not trickle down or equate to founder success in any meaningful way. You didn’t really agree to pay anybody out at 1.5x, did you?).

Why, you might well wonder, can’t the invitation be honest, something more like “I started a company and really need some help. Beers on Wednesday?”

Because the bait and pitch requires breach of trust. Otherwise, it’s just a pitch, and that required no cunning or clever turns of phrase from The Pitcher, who needs to believe he is capable of the Feats Of Great Salesmanship on which his new company depends for fundraising, hiring, and otherwise snowing people into doing things that are not in their own best interest.

The Pitcher deliberately exploits friendship, or at least the appearance of it. The Pitcher knows The Mark wants to socialize and is unlikely to want to talk about work. The Pitcher has discerned this from Facebook posts that indicate The Mark is living it up, and may even be in the position in which he need never work again. The Mark has no incentive to work for The Pitcher. The world is The Mark’s oyster, full of hobbies, ample sleep, and sunshine, and The Pitcher can scarcely compete with that.

And The Pitcher knows it, which means there is resentment involved, a resentment that makes it somewhat easier for The Pitcher to rationalize and justify his forthcoming bait-and-pitch behavior.

The Pitcher, perhaps, rues the day when he decided to start his own company, because that’s just what you do with your Facebook or Google money. The Pitcher, too, would like hobbies, ample sleep, and sunshine, but he took the path more traveled. Worse, he also took other people’s money, and now a teeny tiny part of The Pitcher wants to take that now tanned, healthier, rosier engineer and sit his ass down in front of a screen so he can crank out some code to help The Pitcher make more money, so he can make a better choice next time. Next time, he will choose hobbies, ample sleep, and sunshine. Next time.

The Pitcher needs The Mark’s skills and does not appreciate this fact. This prevents The Pitcher from just acting like a human being, and a friend: The Pitcher is now a hiring manager, desperate for engineering help like all the other hiring managers.

But the Pitcher doesn’t have much to offer: a fair-to-middling salary, the knowledge that The Mark will need to agree to accept at least some of that compensation in the form of stock options that, like most stock options in history, will almost certainly amount to nothing (or, worse than that, to an AMT tax bill of tens or hundreds of thousands of dollars on exercise). The Mark is too smart. He will never agree to this.

And yet, The Pitcher persists. Perhaps it is all he knows to do. Go big or go home. If you’re not growing, you’re gone.

Dread is not lost on The Pitcher. He knows it’s probably all for naught, quite likely doomed from the start. But he has to tick that box, show the Board he’s trying, much like the unemployed person showing they sent some applications out.

But what nags at The Pitcher, while he waits with a beer for The Mark to appear, his colleagues waiting for The Pitcher’s text to make their entry and pile on to the bait and pitch, is the faint thought that if the bait and pitch is doomed to failure, his endeavor might well be, too. The bait and pitch points out that the magical, pie-in-the-sky thinking and hope The Pitcher is applying to The Mark may be the same he’s applying to his start-up, and that could be very bad, indeed.

It’s too bad he can’t have beers with a friend, and talk about it. He has a lot on his mind these days.

The Proof In the Panama Papers Pudding

No one has ever accused me of being an optimist or a utopian thinker. I have a bleak view of the world. But perhaps a bleak view is required in order to be able find hope in revelations as dark as those in the Panama Papers.

I find hope in the Panama Papers. Their contents prove that things our leaders dismiss as impossible are, indeed, quite possible, and that the money exists to pay for them. They illustrate why society cannot, and should not, rely on personal morals and intrinsic motivation to do the right thing, and that policies and systems must ensure people do the right thing. A few more charitable donations from Bill Gates and yours truly will not, cannot fix systems that legally enable systemic greed and exploitation of the planet and its people.

The Panama Papers are not the only — or primary — source of my hope. I believe that the agony we’re currently experiencing is a necessary part of a global awakening (of which the Panama Papers are but one part). Even I, the Eastern European harbinger of doom, see changes that give me a weak feeling of optimism. I know that:

  • People can and do choose to have less even when they could have more.
  • People can and do know when they have enough and feel genuine contentment, the state of genuinely not wanting more.
  • Many people do not require very much at all to feel contentment.
  • People give away things they do not need (Freecycle), which is not the same thing as “participating in the sharing economy” (Uber).
  • Minimalism is popular.
  • People can distinguish between access and ownership (the difference between needing to drive sometimes via a car share program and owning a car; the creation of libraries for not just books but tools, seeds, and other items).
  • People want other people to have just as much as, if not more than, they do, and to get it with less suffering and effort. I do not deserve more than anyone else just because I worked hard. Most everyone on earth works hard, after all. I want everyone to have clean water from a faucet; a well made house they own free and clear; enough healthy, delicious, pesticide-free food to eat; more time to spend with their families; as much sleep as they want; time for hobbies; and time be a citizen.

Some consider such views dangerous. Our political and economic systems depend on a belief that these things are not true, on a belief that other people do not deserve what we have, on a belief that we must always want more.

But that is not how I feel. And, by the looks of it, not how a lot of other people feel.

At risk of sounding grandiose, this is why it is important for people who are FIRE, who no longer have to work, to describe what life looks like from the other side. When we do, we have all of the necessary pieces required for a vision of what our future looks like.

The world feels like it is falling apart right now because, well, it literally is (climate change, poisoned water, dying bees, the sixth mass extinction), and because we know we can’t stop it, but also because we don’t yet have a clear vision of what will replace our current mess. We need the latter so that we can create something to fill the big, black void of a scary, post-climate world.

I think we have all of the pieces we need in order to begin to more explicitly articulate not just a vision for a new way of living, but also how it might work, mechanically:

  • We have the first piece — what life looks like with enough (non-consumerist/minimalist/thinking folks).
  • We have the second piece, what life looks like without having to work (the voices of FIRE, moneyless world, homesteady-independent, and frugal folk of all kind)
  • And now we have the third piece, the Panama Papers, which quantitatively prove that global society can afford a more FIRE-like life — in the form of universal basic income, say — for everyone, today.

Lest I sound like John Lennon (and if so, great), the Panama Papers prove that the U.S., at least, can afford a basic income for all. By some estimates, $20 trillion of money is missing from the world economy (entirely possible, given that the U.S. alone loses up to $100 billion every year due to corporations stashing their money in the Cayman Islands, Bermuda, and in Panama).

This is more than enough money for the 7.4 billion people on earth to have universal basic income, today.

Those trillions are our transition money, and our world needs it. We all need the time and mental space to slow down and figure out what a world not based on shopping and infinite consumption from a finite planet looks like.

It is OK to admit we tried something, that it did not work, and that it’s time to try something different. That’s what compels us to change our lives. The Panama Papers show we’ve been played for suckers, and we need to change some laws and systems in order to change the global society that is the sum of our lives.

And it’s important for FIRE people to speak up and serve as living proof of what people who do not have to work actually do with our time. Politicians (and especially the right-wing news and radio folks) make all sorts of wild claims about why we need to work (we need money to live, yes, but work is not the only way to obtain money) and the horrible things that will befall society if we stop working, but only the self-sufficient, FIRE and moneyless world folks really know.

We know that, even in our 30s, life without a job is not scary or bad, but wonderful. We know we’re happier and healthier. (Health insurance companies ought to support the idea of basic income most of all.) We don’t lay about drunk and smoking marijuana all day. We get plenty of sleep, sunshine, and fresh air. We’re making things because we can, for free. We’re writing and creating and pursuing other intellectual pursuits. We’re taking care of each other – elderly family, friends’ kids — for free.

No one can tell me this is not true because I know they’d be lying. This is what I do, it’s much the same thing that other FIRE people do, and I have every real, observable reason to believe it’s what a lot of people would do if they, like me, had enough money to live on without needing a job.

This is why I know that universal basic income would be as life and world changing as FIRE has been for me. Why shouldn’t it be?

And we know we can afford it.

How the Democratic Establishment Lost Michigan

Dear Democratic Party Establishment,

Though you scarce deserve it, I’m going to explain why Hillary Clinton lost in Michigan and why I don’t expect you’ll do well in the Midwest. Your quantitative polling methods might benefit from some qualitative, ethnographic research. Here are some observations from my home state, where I still spend a great deal of time.

Executive Summary
The Democratic Party is blissfully unaware of, and thus does not sufficiently account for, the deep pain, sorrow, loss, and shame endemic to Michigan and the Midwest. The good people of Michigan are a grieving people. They have been kicked when they’re down for decades (at least six). Establishment Democrats are blind to this, which is precisely the problem when it comes to your winning votes.

Deeds, not words, matter, and there has been too vast a gulf between Democratic words and deeds for too long. The Democratic Party is in the middle of a class war it was hoping might go away if it were only ignored. That has not worked.

The good people of Michigan have nothing left to lose. This is when people are most dangerous: when they have nothing left and are not afraid, not even afraid to die (almost looking forward to it) because the worst has already happened. Their children have moved away, for better jobs needed to support their parents. Wall St. stole their homes, fraudulently (it’s not as if they could produce the mortgage note or authentic documents that proved ownership, after all). If they’ve managed to keep their homes, many of those are worth less than they paid for them in the 1960s and 1970s. They’ve lost their life savings in pension funds. Most recently, their family members in Flint have been literally poisoned by the governor and state.

They have nothing left.

But back to you.

1. You do not understand the multi-generational economic horror that Bill Clinton’s NAFTA and WTO policies hath wrought.
The promised benefits (better, “knowledge worker” jobs, education, training) never materialized, and you did nothing to help people when they didn’t. In the Midwest, Bill Clinton was called the “outsourcer-in-chief.”

Outsourcing one US job causes generations of financial distress. The family bloodline is cut off, left to die on the vine: A married couple supporting two to four parents (and possibly a few grandparents and/or siblings, too), paying off student loan debt, who must save for their own retirement (no pensions), cannot also afford to have children of their own. Many adults in Michigan have no familial future, the very reason their ancestors immigrated to the US in the first place. The family dream of three, four, five generations is now dead. That’s a lot to swallow, and more than some people can emotionally bear.

2. Our reliance on China is a bigger and more emotional issue than you realize. Conservatives and Democrats alike are very, very angry — seething angry — that a Communist, selectively-aborting, high-infanticide entity holds our debt, and thus that we depend on a place with values so different from ours. Put more simply: This is pure evil. Bill Clinton forced us into a deal with the devil, so we could have… cheap clothing. We’ll burn in hell for this.

Many Catholics, for example, were traditionally Union Democrats, heavy on the social justice and very engaged in Dorothy Day’s Catholic worker movement. For many of the same, underlying reasons — that all human life is inherently valuable, including the lives of slave workers and the poor — they’re pro-life. They despise Bill Clinton — who tried to persuade Congress to admit China to the WTO — for making them put their money in China’s human rights violating hands. They’re not thrilled about Democrats being pro-choice, but most recognize that even abortion is different here than in China (far more rare, far less easy, not taken as lightly), and they recognize our infanticide and “disappeared baby” rates are far, far lower than in China.

3. You failed to pass true, single-payer healthcare when the Democratic Party controlled the presidency and both houses, in the first two years of Obama’s first term. As a result, people believe you never wanted (and don’t want) single-payer healthcare in the first place. You appear no different than Republicans when it comes to being influenced by for-profit insurance companies. At worst, you’re liars. At best, your party can’t get its shit together to act effectively.

This doesn’t include all of the family members who died and/or were bankrupted for decades because they either couldn’t afford or didn’t qualify for health insurance. There is so much grief you do not see, so much death for which you bear some responsibility. So many parents who died, so many babies, so many grandparents who said “Let me go. At least then you’ll get the life insurance policy. I’m worth more dead than alive.”

It’s a lot to bear.

4. You failed to break up the big banks and put criminal bankers and traders in jail. Because of this, our financial system remains dangerously unstable. There’s another big crash coming, we all know it (all the devils are here, again), because Obama and you mainstream Democrats failed to make the necessary structural changes to stop it. And this goes back to Bill Clinton, who repealed Glass-Steagall. However unintentionally, his deeds laid the groundwork for banks stealing people’s houses and pensions, outright.

The housing crash was not only a matter of unpaid, predatory mortgages, though of course it was that. Banks foreclosed on houses for which they could not prove ownership, for which they did not hold the mortgage note. And they got off scot free, on your watch. People were made homeless. Can you comprehend this? Homeless. It’s one thing when you can’t pay your mortgage and lose your house, but entirely another when your government, and your Democratic president, allows the bank to take it from you.

Do you know, or care, that Detroit has 250,000 fewer people in it now than it did in 2008, and that this is why? The New York Times can write whatever they’d like about a few artists moving in. The Detroit I remember from my childhood had a lot more people in it, and was much nicer.

Related to this, low-to-zero interest rates on safe cash savings mean that you force people — whether a pension fund manager or a personal investor — to invest in the markets, as that’s the only hope of them earning any money on their savings. And, through fraud, outright theft, and lack of regulation, people’s life earnings were stolen. Detroit city worker pensions were cut to pay Wall St.

My librarian aunt and two uncles (fireman and water department pipe man, respectively) had to pay for the sins of wealthy Wall St. traders. You cannot grasp our rage.

You will not win until bankers and traders are punished and put in prison.

5. You failed to act to improve national and Midwest infrastructure when the Democratic Party controlled the presidency and both houses, in the first two years of Obama’s first term. Sure, we can now blame Congress for a lot of things, like not creating an entity similar to the Civilian Conservation Corps that would give people — especially those with manufacturing and infrastructure skills (welders, pipe fitters, and so on) — good jobs. But you had the chance to do it, and you failed.

You do not understand the deep shame and low quality of life from living with poor infrastructure, because you don’t have to. How do you think teachers and students feel when urine slides down the walls at their Detroit public school, when moldy food is served, when you breathe damp and moldy air all day, every day… and then people proceed to slam you for having low test scores? Kick them while they’re down. How do you think people feel when there are better roads and plumbing in second and third world countries than people have in Flint? Shame. They feel shame.


6. You have not called for Governor Rick Snyder’s head, or at the very least his resignation.
The man is responsible for killing and poisoning people, for ruining untold numbers of lives, and there he sits in his protected roost, rubbing the noses of the lead-poisoned people of Flint in his insolence and arrogance. He dines in Ann Arbor while children carry bottled water home from pick-up points.

7. You waffle on fracking in a region where Ohio residents now feel more earthquakes than I do in California.
I don’t think you realize, tangibly, what that is like, for someone to go — in a single lifetime — from living on stable ground, the kind that enables you to build Chicago skyscrapers and use brick construction — to shaking, malleable, unsafe quarters. People’s very moorings are gone, their homes — their entire regions — suddenly dangerous. Their groundwater is being contaminated and poisoned because another corporation just had to get richer at the expense of everyone else, and the Democratic establishment permitted it.

This is not the half of it but, hopefully, at least makes you aware that there is some Versailles-level shit afoot in Michigan.

And we know how that turned out.