I don’t know about anyone else, but I’ve been scared to death recently by the prospect of a Great Depression Two. I’ve found myself waking up an hour early, staring at the ceiling, wondering if all of this could be true. It is more selfish than anything. I don’t want to give up my comfort.
I am not going to pretend like I know. I am not going to assign blame. I am not going to interject politics, because this is possibly a moment in America equal to, or bigger, than 9-11. I am comforted by one thought, and I am