When my maternal grandparents died they gifted some shares of stock to the family. After learning the company names and ticker symbols, International Paper and Dial Soap, I would frequently flip to the back of the newspaper to look up their current price. Eventually, I would use dialup internet (AOL) to “quickly” check stock quotes online.

Ironically, I hope you are reading that preceding paragraph wondering what Stone Age companies and technologies I’m referring to and needing an interpreter. I hope much time has passed and we all lived a long life. I hope these lessons were imparted to you long before you read this and that we had an opportunity to learn together.

However, if we don’t have that chance, I want to share some words of wisdom with you. As always, take what’s helpful and leave the rest – you decide. These words represent 20+ years of reading, research, and countless errors. May you prosper and avoid some of my mistakes along the way.

Investing can be thrilling. I remember the first time our total account value went up in a day more than a day’s work. Imagine working eight hours for $160, and then opening up your investment account to another $160 gain. I invested in Apple, Google, and other tech companies early on – seeing them reach many multiples from the original stock purchase. Sadly and more frequently, I would sell those high flyers before they reached those multiples, missing out on vast gains.

Investing should be boring. Our gains from individual companies pale in comparison to simple index funds. Low-cost, market funds that try to buy up most of the investable world serve a very different purpose. These are long-term bets on the world economy. When the funds go up, it’s a result of our collective successes. You won’t ever perform better than the global sum, but you won’t be worse off either. And I like rooting for the world. It’s our original home team.

I can’t say how the market will perform this year. I can’t say what companies will succeed in the next decade. I can’t say whether this next 30-year period will be lost and your working income will represent more of your wealth and growth. Anyone who says they can guarantee your returns is either lying to you, to themselves, or on behalf of others. I want you to be inoculated against this mental deception early on. Although, there is one thing we can control: fees. Never allow someone to sell you investment advice or products that cost something like 1% per annum. Over the course of your investing life, you will spend hundreds of thousands if not millions for this “professional advice.”

Instead, I want you to read three timeless books. First, A Random Walk Down Wall Street by Burton Malkiel. The author guides readers through various errors in behavioral economics and trends in investing psyche. Malkiel helped me understand where to maximize gains and reduce fees. Second, I Will Teach You to Be Rich by Ramit Sethi. This was one of the first “personal finance” books I ever read. Focus on automating what you can and structuring your life to support a “rich” life (think beyond the material, as well). Third, The Psychology of Money by Morgan Housel. Filled with quotes and inspiring tidbits, Housel’s work will help you question your ego and assumptions when investing. Please read them and internalize their messages. Perhaps your context in life has changed, and investing is not what it is today. Ask for advice from accountants, lawyers, and other fiduciaries if the ideas are confusing.

John Maynard Keynes, a famous economist from the early 20^th century, is credited with saying, “The market can stay irrational longer than you can stay solvent.” If you take a keen interest in investing during your lives, you will see bubbles and crashes. You will see others’ wealth evaporate, and your accounts will likely shrink, too. You likely will be inclined to protect your wealth or grow it even faster. You might see the decline in the stock market and wonder whether you should get out before the big drop, or invest heavily as people rush to enter during a frenzied buying spree. I would generally caution you from taking such actions as long as you’re diversely invested in the market. One of the wisest investors and founder of Vanguard (one of the only investment firms I trust), Jack Bogle, suggested, “Don’t just do something, stand there!” Stay engaged and informed, but oftentimes, the best action is nothing.

Relatedly, buying low and selling high is unhelpful advice. I have no idea what investing will look like for you or the generations to come, but this oft-parroted line has bothered me since I first heard it. When is the market too high? Too low? I have never in all my investing life been able to call a top or bottom. Never. The statement is meaningless, as it doesn’t provide any actual advice or feedback about how to buy low and sell high. The only way to do this is by holding some majority investment in stocks/equities, and then a portion in bonds (for instance, 90% stocks and 10% bonds). As the market tumbles, rebalancing to the distribution allows you to buy during dips and sell during wild swings up. This is the only reasonable method to buy low and sell high.

Pay your taxes and enjoy doing so. I truly hope you pay more in taxes as a percentage and in actual dollars than we ever did. That would tell me two things: you live in a liberal democracy and you have prospered. Currently, there are zero liberal democracies who do not charge income taxes. The lesson for me is that a functioning, civil society requires taxation. It’s the price of democracy. I am grateful that you are Canadian and American citizens. You have choices, but be grateful that you were born into countries with histories of liberal democracies (even if they are fragile as I write this letter). Be generous with your country and those in your community, whether by taxation or donation.

There’s an old adage that says, “Wealth only lasts three generations.” Unfortunately, research suggests most wealth is lost by the third generation. Against the odds, I write this letter to you, hoping for better. We didn’t grow up with this wealth. We want better for you, and also for generations that will never know us. Please consider this in your decision-making, as we want your kids, their kids, and their kids’ kids to know we worked hard to provide stability and security.

Ask yourself what enough is routinely. Beyond a simple number, envision what enough material wealth and health is to you and yours. Work backwards from your dreams to create them. And know that we always saw you as enough. Always.

With love, eternally.

S.

Poutine — typically a porridge of fries, gravy, and cheese curds — is a dish best served after a night of heavy drinking. Sober, it’s like a MAC truck plowing into your stomach and dumping anvils down your intestines. Despite the gastronomic assault, I love it, as I do the city it hails from: Montreal.

I fell in awe with the food, bilingual French-English culture, and lifestyle the moment I first visited the city. It sucked me into this vortex of la belle vie and le bien commun — the good life and the common good, respectively. The pace of life — time for coffee and a quick snack, grabbing a world-class meal with friends, and walking aimlessly — was intoxicating.

That first encounter with the province of Quebec did a number on me. Until then, I had never really thought about learning French, but always thought it beautiful and appreciated how it's built into English (e.g., chic, entrepreneur, cafe). Suddenly, I wanted to acquire the skills to speak and return to the City of a Hundred Steeples. I could see myself living there (I confess, I still dream of it).

I came home, tapped open Duolingo, and studied. The language app was helpful at learning new words and an occasional phrase or two, but not really helpful for conversations. Eventually, my practice ended.

During COVID, I dipped my toes into hiring a tutor to meet with me online and practice. Combined with Duolingo, I actually had a dream in French. But this, too, came to a conclusion.

A couple of years ago, we tried to get a French tutor and speaker to visit the house and build skills for the entire family, but that didn’t lead anywhere.

I took a continuing education course in French where the average age was likely 60 years old, leaving me the child at 34. I enjoyed being in a class-like environment for learning, but noticed that I wasn’t getting enough practice outside the course. When the semester ended, I didn’t do anything.

Start, stop. Start, stop. Start, stop. I would feel inspired and act on it. When the wind in my sails changed directions, the apps, books, classes ceased.

As I detail my expedition in language learning, I wonder what words you might apply to yourself if you went through a similar journey — whether about learning a language, trying something different, or beginning a hard journey. Would you say you are trying to learn? Failing to learn? That you will try again? Or that you always give up?

Clients suffering from depression will — with near universality — say they failed. Moreover, they might say they failed, always fail, and shouldn’t have even tried because this is what always happens. Why try if the outcome is known failure?

Resilience sounds very different. Perhaps a client will say, “I stopped learning French, and I am going to continue” or “It’s okay that I struggled, and I’m looking for ways to pick it back up now.” Hope remains eternal despite ups and downs.

These reactions to the same event remind of the ancient Chinese parable titled, “The old man lost his horse.” In the story, a farmer loses his horse and neighbors provide well-meaning condolences. But the farmer wonders if there will be a “silver lining.” Eventually, the horse returns with a number of other horses. Again, neighbors are there to comment on the farmer’s great fortune. The farmer simply replies, "Who knows what misfortune this foretells?" Over and over again, the farmer is faced with a new challenge or opportunity, but meets the moment with a sort of appreciation that the future could hold anything — they’re not tied to any one direction and they don’t assign one to it.

When we use depressed language, we are fixed to the world being one way and have blinders on for anything but the bad potential, past, and present. It’s a type of confirmation bias and self-fulfilling prophecy all wrapped in one. I tell my clients their “word-bank” (a nod to Mad-Libs) is filled with only a select few options from the English language — absent are words of praise, understanding, empathy, and encouragement. The depressed farmer sees every update as another thing proving why life is miserable and awful.

Ironically, it’s incredibly human to have this negative self-talk. Nearly every person with depression I have seen in this decade plus of work employs the same “tough” language, and plenty defend its use because they “deserve it” or are concerned about becoming “complacent” if they don’t. In provocative sessions, I ask clients to role-play and talk to me with their inner voice — to direct it at me. Most squirm at the thought of telling me I’m awful, worthless, or a failure. They are better friends to others than themselves.

Their homework — ridiculously simple, while painfully hard to reproduce — is to ask themselves two questions. “Would I say this to a friend?” Followed by, “If not, then what?” The expectation I put forth is to actually model what they would say to a friend on paper or aloud. When we shape these reactions, we stand a chance at lasting change.

When I look at my efforts to learn French and return to Montreal, I can hear my inner voice say I’m a “failure,” should “stop trying,” “what’s the point,” or “you’ll just quit again in the future.” But I also know I’d never say that to my wife, children, a family member, a friend — shit, I wouldn’t say that to a stranger on the street. So why I am giving more grace to a stranger than myself?

No, what I’d say to a friend is that there’s always today — or tomorrow — to continue. It’s okay to have paused. What might motivate you to start again? There’s opportunity in this interpretation of self.

Maybe I can still learn French.

On Saturday morning, I gathered with my family, enjoying time with neighbors. We made coffee, shared small talk, and watched as our children looked at an interactive globe we’d bought for our son’s birthday.

You spin it around and point a little stylus at countries, landmarks, and geographic features. Our son likes to explain how Kathmandu is the capital of Nepal, and how earthquakes create tsunamis that impact Japan. How his brain retains these facts, I do not know. But he’s also learned about conquest and imperialism by simply asking, “Why is France in Europe, but also in the middle of the ocean?”

Globes and maps have a funny way of showing our scars — a complex history etched into the surface of our planet. We have so many arbitrary borders and leaders. Why does Denmark manage Greenland? How did Easter Island become Chilean? Israel and Palestine. Iraqis and Kurds. Davids and Goliaths are everywhere.

In this pleasant and peaceful moment with neighbors, the globe was merely an educational toy.

After our neighbors left, we returned to our phones and watched videos of a man murdered by Border Patrol agents in… Minnesota. What border were they defending? The fleeting peace was gone. Adding horror to the nightmare, a government apparatus designed to propagate lies, obfuscate, and distract quickly assembled and told us that we shouldn’t believe our own eyes. Many fellow Americans still haven’t seen the moment-by-moment execution; they have only been presented the “facts” our administration wants them to know.

We were told this VA ICU nurse was “brandishing a weapon,” that he was “Antifa,” and part of a “highly organized” network of rioters. We were told he threatened the lives of ICE and Border Patrol agents. We were told that the protesters — human beings out in the frigid temps of Minneapolis’ winter — are paid actors and provocateurs looking to sow discontent.

“The Party told you to reject the evidence of your eyes and ears. It was their final, most essential command.”
-George Orwell, 1984

A lump filled my throat and traveled down to my abdomen — it’s just been sitting there for days. Living in this America is an onslaught to the nervous system. I am frequently caught between survival responses: Should I fight, flee, or freeze? My neurological system is inundated by this near-constant stream of governmental harm against my fellow Americans.

Alex Pretti and Renée Good were both 37.

It crosses my mind that I will be 37 in three weeks. I have donated, spoken out online, and rallied in person against this administration. But peaceful protest gets you killed these days — never mind the First (or Second) Amendment.

What does my country think of me? What does my country think of the millions of people who have flooded the streets of the Twin Cities in recent days to say, “ICE out”? Are we all paid protesters trying to smear a “good” president?

These questions and the closeness of these killings swirl around in my head at all hours now. This is what it means to be American. We live amidst such wealth and privilege, yet the government chooses to use it to kill and kidnap people in foreign lands and our own backyards. We could be affording healthcare and improving education; instead, we are dismantling it all for war at home and abroad.

I watched Pretti get shot ten times and hesitated to tell my partner about it, but I couldn’t help myself. Eventually, she saw it for herself. Silence fell over us both. I turned to her and said, “We need to talk about our red line.”

I talk about interpersonal boundaries like this frequently at work. The best example I was ever taught uses a simple analogy of a traffic light. Each color helps us assess our boundaries with others. Often, I provide examples without setting expectations for what their specific lines should be. For instance, a couple of red lights I often hear are “If my partner cheats on me with another person, it’s over” or “If they ever physically hit me, I’m done.” I explain to clients that red means you’re supposed to stop, but some people run red lights anyway.

Yellow lights may be areas of caution such as name-calling or a partner looking at their phone without permission. This might not signal the end of the relationship, but we should definitely be questioning things — slowing down.

Green is overlooked most of the time, but I emphasize with my clients that knowing what’s working well and leaning into that is just as important. Maybe a partner surprises you with flowers, takes an hour to just be there for you and listen to your hard day, or gives a hug. They don’t have to be major overtures, but they communicate safety and trust.

By creating traffic light examples, we turn fleeting thoughts and uncertainty into concrete lists that can be cited by the client in the future. If a partner or colleague or family member should cross a boundary and move from yellow to red, perhaps it’s time to “stop the car and get out.”

The traffic light analogy was intended to be employed with interpersonal relationships — not an entire country. My wife and I hadn’t created one for America. Ten years ago, who would’ve thought we would be here, needing to define our red lines? Even after convening and trying to talk, we struggled to make it concrete. What does it mean to have a red light with a country? We were pained to completely outline what our limits would be, but there was something in Pretti’s murder that haunted us.

The future is darker suddenly. My family immigrated from Europe in the early 20th century, making a brave and courageous move for a better life. My wife moved to Canada from Iran when she was ten. The fall of the Shah, followed by a theocratic autocracy, destabilized the country and disparaged its women. The country is still unstable today, with authorities killing thousands over the last couple months. I know it’s in our blood to move when necessary.

We’ve talked about staying and digging in. Or leaving and starting over in Canada. She’s a citizen of our northern neighbor, as are our two children. Moving there would be easier for us than most Americans. We’d be able to buy property without the Foreign Buyer Ban (aka, “Prohibition on the Purchase of Residential Property by Non-Canadians Act”). Our professions would require significant licensing burdens, but our American degrees are transferable.

Then, we look around our neighborhood and broader community — at real friends and family. They are close by, and we don’t know what we’d do without them. We are here in America, not because its marketed veneer of success and power, but because this is where our people are.

Our community is here. Our cups of coffee and children’s playdates are here. To us, America isn’t a polished brand of achievement. It’s the place where my neighbors are texting in grief and unison to say: There is something deeply wrong here.

Every day brings another yellow line — warning signs of what’s to come. The greens seem lost to the past, and whether we stay or go, the red grows nearer.

In May 2023, our family traveled to Denmark. I had recently turned 34, and this was my first trip to Europe. Meanwhile, my son was 1.5 years old. We were affording our child something our younger selves could’ve only dreamt of.

Countless areas of Denmark seemed designed specifically for families in mind, and even more, people seemed to help and accommodate children everywhere. The attendants at Copenhagen Airport ushered  — literally, an attendant found us, brought us to a separate lane, and deposited us to the front. I thought we were in trouble, about to get robbed, or upsold some vip package. This service costs serious money in America — you'd have to be flying first-class.

There were highchairs in every restaurant. People ran over to assist us with our stroller on stairs, but it was rarely needed because the streets were fairly accessible. Family lanes in museums and event spaces allowed us to keep on whisking right through the lines. We felt like royalty and having a child didn't slow us down one bit; in fact, having him with us enhanced the entire experience.

Copenhagen was better than a spa day. Every block and neighborhood had something new to be seen (or eat). The streets felt safe to walk around and explore by foot for us adults and little ones, too. I could let my son off the invisible leash and breathe. Invariably, we’d run into another playground every block or so.

The Danish are famous for a kind of play and playground that many Americans would find horrifying. In fact, the concept of “Adventure” and “Junk” Playgrounds both have their roots in the Kingdom. Whether playing with hammers, knives, or climbing at frightening heights, by playing with risk the thinking goes that children learn to respect it. There's an emphasis on creative play with these everyday items, and helping them recognize limits. Parents are usually more hands-off — more trusting.

I came back to the States emboldened and excited to allow my son the freedom he enjoyed in Scandinavia. We hopped around our home city, played on playgrounds, and I let my little one do some leading — walking a bit ahead of us. Maybe we could bring a little bit of it back home?

This idea of children exploring on their own (even when parents or guardians are nearby) is seen as a novelty in much of the world — it makes for good TV. In fact, "Old Enough!" has aired for years and highlights Japanese and Canadian children walking around doing chores, picking up ice cream, and asking for help from shopkeepers near their homes. The show constantly highlights how our children are highly capable — we just need to trust them.

I wanted that for my son. We continued our stroll. Then, a woman approached our son and with total panic in her voice, yelled, "Has anyone seen this child's mother?" I was 25 feet away at this point. I calmly walked over, but the woman appeared aghast that I had let my child walk on their own this distance. The terror astounded me, as I was right there. Where one person saw negligence, I saw freedom and autonomy for my child.

Over two years have passed since then. In this time, my son has grown up a lot. He's tall for his age and able to converse with adults pretty well. Undeterred by this previous encounter, I wanted to empower my child to take on more autonomous tasks (with me close by).

Recently, I tasked him with going into a pizza shop and picking up our online order. I explained he would need to ask for three pizzas under the name "Sam." The only question he had was whether he could order a cannoli. I smiled and said, "Only one," as I handed him my credit card.

We rehearsed what he needed to say over and over again. Three pizzas. Online order. Pick up. Sam. Oh, and you want one cannoli. He was excited and ready to go — enough practice, dad! He looked down at the credit card with superpower-like awe.

Many minutes passed. I stood outside the shop, peeking in through the windows, not wanting to ruin the experience. He sat there at a table by himself, and the shop manager had given him a pad and pen to draw on. I could see that the order was ready, but he wasn't moving. I grew concerned.

My "Old Enough!" experiment seemed to be failing miserably. I aborted the mission. I walked in to find my son patiently waiting. However, another parent seated next to him whispered to me, "I don't think they took him seriously, so they didn't take his order."

I suddenly flashed back to my own childhood. I remembered walking into a bakery around five years of age, standing in line, and then being skipped entirely. I stood there with money in hand, unable to employ it, as other adults passed me by to place their orders.

There was my son, minding the credit card, pizzas remaining on the takeout rack, and a cannoli sitting undisturbed behind glass. History was repeating itself.

I invited him to place the order with me seated at the table. He was hesitant suddenly as this wasn't the script we practiced; eventually, he worked up the courage and ordered the cannoli. It wasn’t quite what I pictured, but he did it.

We expect something less of children — whether as a society or as parents, specifically. What I see in these moments isn’t an individual failing to listen to a child; rather, this is a reflection of culture today. When compared to more equal countries such as Sweden or The Netherlands, Americans struggle to trust each other. Only 55 percent of Americans say most people can be trusted. When you compare this to places like The Netherlands (79%) or Sweden (83%), the level of trust in each other is stark.

When we fail to trust one another or treat it like a coin flip, it trickles down to our children. We need to begin building it for ourselves and our children. They are more capable than we even know — or allow.

When I was a teenager, I dreamt of becoming an actor. I never told anyone. It wasn’t for fame or fortune; rather, the opportunity to wake up each day and be something different, develop a character, and find a new perspective on life. Actors will play librarians, psychologists, thieves, medical doctors, lawyers, writers, heroes, villains, and even presidents in a single career.

I remember watching The Firm, The Paper Chase, and A Few Good Men, dreaming of becoming a lawyer. I’d then segue to the life of a secret agent, watching The Bourne Identity or The Recruit. Then, a week later I might go on a stretch of ER, Grey’s Anatomy, and House, considering a medical profession. As silly as it sounds today, I could see a future career in each of these tv shows and movies as a child.

As a psychologist, my job has remained mostly same since roughly 2013 when I saw my first client. I sit down, mind my posture, nod, question, inform, and invite. It’s not simple, but there are patterns to it — like any job. These actions and words have evolved over time, but day in and day out this is generally my role. I traded the dream of an ever-changing profession for a single one. What made it easier was knowing that every client that walked through my door (or magically poofs online for telehealth) would have a different story.

Every single person was and is unique. I’ve worked with some who are homeless and broke, others who run multi-million dollar businesses and drive $250,000 G-wagons. There have been lawyers, writers, tech execs, students, and owners. Each person who is courageous enough to sit before me — mind you, I’m a stranger (initially) — and share vulnerable truths, I’ve been given a gift of a window into worlds I never understood or belonged to.

I live for this newness at every corner of my work. It’s kept me hooked and serving clients for over 12 years now. But even I struggle with the darkness of some of my sessions, eventually getting burnt out. There have been unspeakable, traumatic truths my clients shared over the years — ones I will go to my grave knowing and no one else. These moments bring a heaviness and gravity to my work that bleeds overnight or into the weekends. It keeps me up at night, wondering and worrying.

That’s part of the reason I started this site. I’m convinced there’s a little bit of me that didn’t become an actor, but still desired using my brain in a multiple ways every day. Having multiple outlets allows my clinical brain to relax slightly, and recognize another interest and passion. Nor am I alone in this need for diversity in our days.

A couple of weeks ago, I met with a burnt out, I’m-done-with-this client. Some of the details that follow have been changed to protect their identity. She talked about quitting her job, applying for disability, leaving her city, state — shoot, even the country. She was done, done, done. So we explored how she got here, feeling exhausted. The client explained how she always wished to be a business owner, but was now “stuck” in a demanding job, paying off student loans, and needing to support her family. There wasn’t any time or money to start a business. Her dreams had been permanently put on hold.

What I hear in these moments and resonate with is that life has various demands, which pull on our values. Perhaps what we find important is our family, social life, health, and/or our job. Unfortunately, we might find those things playing tug-of-war for attention. To invest more in our family, might come at the expense of the job. Spending more time at our work, might mean saying no to our friend’s party. At times, they feel like impossibly difficult decisions to make in our effort to make life purposeful.

In my clinical work, I frequently bring out a values assessment at these times or an Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT) tool known as the Bullseye Worksheet. Regardless of the specific method, each one is getting at the same two ideas: 1) what are your values? and 2) how closely aligned are you to your value today vs where you want to be in the future? Sometimes, that gap in values-congruent actions is large. Whenever that’s the case, my clients are usually feeling pretty awful about themselves. Using a Likert scale, I invite clients to consider how we might live into our values and close the gap — moving more into alignment.

Ninety-nine percent of the time, my clients voice the need to get more engaged — not less — with their communities, home life, and work. But that’s a puzzling idea when so many experience “exhaustion” and “burnout.” If we’re so tired, why do we say we need to do more? Don’t we just need sleep and time off? The answer is not simple, but quite interesting for most of the people I serve.

Oftentimes, what’s needed ironically is more engagement and time — with one big caveat. The increased effort needs to feel existentially fulfilling, meaningful, and values-congruent. When we’re engaged in life in those ways, we often experience a dividend of energy. When we put more time into our purposeful activities, we have more energy for the drudgery of work or challenges at home. Exhaustion is a paradox: when we work harder and in more fulfilling ways, we can actually create energy.

It’s easy for me to melt into the couch, binge-watching Owning Manhattan. And yet, I know this brings me further from what’s meaningful in my life, and even though it feels relaxing, might actually leave me more tired the next day.

My client needed to feel like she, too, was moving towards their values. We talked about her researching the formation of a business and coming up with a plan as homework. The emphasis was on treating our values as a journey, not a destination. Not a simple on/off switch of values, but one of degrees.

I never became an actor. Never got to experience my work emulating some new person or life. Instead, my clients have gifted me the privilege of being able to collaborate, join, and build with them as a psychologist. And I’ve learned with them about the importance of diversifying our life, finding our passions, and honing our crafts.

Now, how will you lean into your values today?

Every month, I’ll spend $1020 in premiums for health and dental insurance in 2026. For readers with an employer subsidizing your plan, you might think that only a portion of this $1020 will be my responsibility. But I have some sad news: all of that is on our family. Even worse, millions more people are on the brink of losing their healthcare due to unsubsidized costs.

Today, I want to tell you about being self-employed, how I chose my plan, and how many of us will likely gamble with our health in 2026.

When I moved into private psychotherapy practice in 2020, I only needed a computer and Zoom. “Hanging up a shingle” was more accessible than ever before.

I had nothing to lose. I started the practice while at another group practice, benefiting from their health insurance plan. It was slow, and I questioned whether the practice would ever work out.

A year later, some actual revenue was coming in. In year two, I made more than I ever thought possible. I was sucking on the free market teat and getting fat while doing so.

And then I got sick last year. Like, really sick. The kind of sick where I wondered if I'd ever be okay again. My medical bills were over $100,000 before insurance coverage. Every coverage line of my policy was maxed. The health insurance company was calling me to inquire what was happening (i.e., calling to see if I’d stop going to the emergency room anytime soon).

Self-employed with no sick leave or vacation days, the loss of income then followed. I couldn’t work part- or full-time for about two months. From flying high to nothing. The best and worst of the free market — in a couple of weeks time. After that, shopping for 2026 coverage felt different — less like comparing plans and more like preparing for disaster.

My wife and I sat down and reviewed our healthcare “choices.” Every year, I’m optimistic: maybe my children and I can join her plan! She’s completely subsidized as an individual — amazing! — but they offer no subsidy for families. No matter how we square the math, it’s always way more expensive to be on her plan. Her plan would be at least $1300 per month. The implicit message is that you either need to be poor enough to go on Medicaid, employed by another company with benefits, or rich enough to not give a damn.

Self-employed, I fall into this healthcare trap — responsible for it all and needing to cover our children, separately.

What choice do we have but to check Healthcare.gov for a cheaper plan? The government site highlights premiums, out-of-pocket maxes, co-pays, and estimates for general procedures. The documents would likely take the average person days to critically analyze everything. This is a system designed by healthcare companies for their profits, not for easy understanding.

I was stuck in some purgatory of decision hell about which of the hundreds of plans to “choose.” Once again, I turned to Claude AI, feeding it PDFs and asking it to analyze which plan would work best for us. It’s a great technological trick, but really symptomatic of a system failure.

Eventually, we selected the “Better Together HMO Bronze 6500 Ded/8750 MOOP.” Rolls right off the tongue! Decoding the title, this equals $6500 in deductibles and a $8750 max out-of-pocket before the insurance really starts kicking in. Mind you, we’ll be spending about $1000 per month either way.

No developed nation accepts this preposterous process. Can you imagine how much productivity, home life, and joy is lost to these “choices?” Other countries have long moved on to socialized healthcare and other government-led options. They’re saving money, but more importantly, they’re saving time by not choosing. Everyone affords the care they need, when they need it.

In fact, I increasingly wait until I visit my in-laws in Canada for health and vision care. Recently, I got my eye exam done in Ontario, Canada for $65 USD — at least 50% less than in the States. I repeat, this is without health insurance in Canada — as a foreigner!!! This is nonsense.

Millions are staring at losses of federal subsidies for their healthcare. Some are looking at their premiums going from $180 to $1200 per month!

There’s no way people will be able to afford this year-over-year increase. Many will go without or be underinsured — rolling the dice in 2026. Gamble and stay healthy all year long, and you might take home a $10000+ jackpot. Bust, and you’ll be on the hook for your medical bills in full — likely bankruptcy, too.

We were here before. Prior to the introduction of Obamacare, people could be charged more for their personal health — pre-existing conditions could make you uninsurable or a fortune to insure. And citizens could opt-out of carrying healthcare at great risk. In 2019, the individual mandate's tax penalty was eliminated, removing the last incentive for healthy people to keep insurance. And with skyrocketing premiums, how could anyone afford this?

As Americans, we seem to be using "Cut off your nose to spite your face" as inspiration for policy. We'll save money today by cutting FEMA and the Department of Education. This is the same short-term thinking behind letting healthcare subsidies expire. We are saving today, at risk of tomorrow. And tomorrow always comes.

In the short term, we need to ask our representatives to support continued subsidies for 2026. People have already selected plans. Payments on plans are coming due for the new year. Long term, we need a real government plan available to everyone, regardless of income, employment, or health status.

We are killing ourselves, drowning in the illusion of “choice.” When our only decision is dying in poverty (without healthcare) or living in poverty (with healthcare), we’ve failed.