I’ve been silent on this newsletter for a while. There are some personal reasons (all of which are in decent places now). But let’s focus on the matter or matters that matter or matters for you.

A few questions keep coming up, as they always do whenever I write on a public platform:

1. What is the point of the project?
2. Why should others care?
3. What should they hope to take away?

I’m hesitant to call this newsletter purely personal, though it’s undeniably personal in nature. But I like to think I share myself in a way that some–but not all–people can relate to, and find a takeaway or two. These hopes are the best themes I can find for this newsletter.

So, if you never know what to expect as far as topics go, what can you expect as a common thread?

Here are a few things I’ve come up with:

1. An acknowledgement that little in life is black and white, as we all live in the grey all day, every day; ambiguity is a feature, not a bug, of the world around us.
2. A realization that there are few absolutes in life; and, somewhat related:
3. An understanding that asking the right questions is far more important than the need to have all the answers.

Where the hell will this framework take us? No idea. The path will be meander, but I think it’s bound to take us somewhere good in the end, if only we’re patient enough.

P.S. If you’re interested in the title of this edition, you’ll find the answers on a short video.

RSS subscribers: Because I’ve moved my site back to micro.blog, my default RSS feed now includes both longform posts and microposts. If you wish to see only my longform posts going forward, please check out my feeds page.

I'm not really in the prediction game, but 2026 got me feeling a little frisky.

What follows aren't predictions so much as what I'll keep my eyes on for the next year, though you'll be able to see my bias in how I present the following stories of interest.

So let's get to it and dig into what lies ahead.

Especially because one of my bingo card items already hit.

The US will invade Venezuela

As of January 3, 2026, this one's a gimme, as President Trump claims the US has captured Nicolas Maduro of Venezuela.

Another reason this one was a gimme: You don't rename the Department of Defense to the Department of War if you plan to sit on the sidelines.

The Russia-Ukraine war will continue

I know there have been reports of peace negotiations taking place, but I still say this one's gonna keep on keepin' on in 2026.

For the record, if a peace agreement is reached but Russia attacks again, then that counts as a hit on my 2026 bingo card.

Israel-Gaza will end

This one feels like it will come to an end. The world can't have too much conflict, right? We gotta get a break somewhere.

China will invade Taiwan

You didn't think we were just gonna get rid of one conflict (Israel-Gaza), did ya? No, we gotta make room for the BIG ONE!

China wants Taiwan back. America will stretch itself too thin with other conflicts. Now is the time to strike.

Once China goes after Taiwan, we can say goodbye to the Democrat hoax we call 'affordability', because no one will be able to afford an electronic device ever again!

The AI bubble will burst

I've been calling this one since 2021, and I've been wrong every year since.

But 2026 will be different. Why? Because I gotta be right at some point. I mean it--any day now, the bubble will burst. It has to, because it has little substance. There's just no there there, ya know?

While the bubble must burst, the last few years have shown that desperate money can prop up a house of cards far longer than you'd think possible.

Trump won't finish the year as president

I'm not predicting an assassination, or another impeachment, this time followed by removal/resignation from office.

I'm not even saying Trump will die from natural causes. But I think natural causes will lead to his downfall.

MAGA is a coalition. And coalitions are weak, because they're made up of people with conflicting priorities who banded together to conquer a common enemy.

The problem comes when the coalition starts winning, making progress, changing things. That's when everyone disagrees about what the future should look like, and that's when the cracks starts to show.

MAGA appears to be fragmenting. Or, at least, it doesn't appear as strong as it once did. Whenever there's a power vacuum (or appearance of), people look to fill it. So I expect more conflict within MAGA.

Because MAGA is a coalition, they have no real shared values, aside from owning the Libs. (I'm a big believer that being against something isn't nearly as meaningful as being for something. Whatever you're against changes according to your opponent, but whatever you're for is consistent, regardless of the parties involved.) As soon as Trump is weak enough for others to pounce (to force him out of office for their own gain), someone's gonna pounce. Maybe someones. Maybe too many someones.

What's got you feeling frisky?

My bingo card is kinda boring: war, AI, Trump (the usual headlines in post-COVID America).

It's a big, bright, beautiful world out there, so I know I'm missing a lot.

So help me out: What's on your 2026 bingo card?

What do you know is gonna hit that everyone else is overlooking?

Drop me a line and let me know.

I can't tell you if I reached most of my goals in 2025, for one simple reason: I forgot what goals I even made at the beginning of the year. And, somewhere in our latest pass around the sun, I deleted the (digital) paper trail.

But what about that one goal I do remember? You know which one I'm talking about. The one I've talked about on this very newsletter, on LinkedIn, among my friends and colleagues, and even with unfortunate strangers who couldn't escape our conversations: finishing the first draft of my novel.

Back in October, I declared my first draft done, and I put the project on the back burner until 2026 rolls around. But, now that I've had some time to reflect, I'm not so sure I did in fact reach my goal.

Below are a few reasons I may have declared victory too soon.

The word count is far too low

Because my novel is literary, I'm flexible in regard to certain specifics, including word count.

Rather than make my own arbitrary goal, I stole NaNoWriMo's arbitrary goal of 50,000 words for my first draft. (I stayed clear of their 30-day deadline and instead spent most of the year working on my novel.)

The only problem is that my first pass at the novel consisted of only around 32,000 words.

I could argue I succeeded merely because I finished a draft—it just happens to be a really short draft. Regardless of how I told the goal to others, I knew I wanted about 18,000 words more than I got.

So, you can see one of my major focuses when I return to the novel next year.

A mess in three parts

Nothing about my alleged draft suggests orderliness, as it's divided into three parts:

1. Prose
2. Scenes yet to find their way into the novel
3. Notes for revisions

It's going to take a lot of work to make sense of these materials. I'll need to make some flowcharts and outlines to keep track of my story threads and see any structural problems.

While I want to jump straight into prose in 2026, I know I must slow down and tackle other issues first. Great writing is iterative, after all.

The voice likely ain't there yet

When I jump back into my draft (or my 32,000-word outline, whatever you wanna call it), I'll be paying special attention to the voice because I drifted in and out of styles and methods. That's okay, because I started this novel without a plan or outline. Instead, I found a weird premise and ran with it.

Now, I got a mess on my hands. But this mess is a big step in the right direction.

Reaching milestones while missing goals

While you can easily make the case I failed my goal of writing the first draft of my novel by the end of 2025, you can't deny I reached a personal milestone.

32,000 words.

That's a lot of work. That many words don't come easy.

But there's a lot more work needed yet.

So did I reach my goal or not? Who cares.

Because, either way, this story ain't ready for the public yet.

Now that you know my focus for 2026, let's turn it back to you:

What project are you excited to take on in 2026?

Also, what are some milestones you're proud to have reached while failing to reach your goals?

Feel free to let me know by replying to this newsletter.

Oh, and one last thing:

Happy holidays and happy new year and all that jazz,

Jake

My favorite part of my most recent business trip came when I walked out of the Uber and into the arms of my loving (and lovely) wife.

Breathe, Jake. You're home.

I don't much like traveling. I like being in new places. But I dread going to new places. After a night or two of travel, I miss the comforts of home:

My bed.

My possessions.

My family.

And, yes, even my dogs who tried to kill me in their Crooked Canine Conspiracy (great name for a noise rock band, don't you think?) nearly six months ago. (The truth is I tripped over my dog and sprained my shoulder when I fell in an awkward position. My shoulder is still healing from the betrayal, as is my heart.)

Transitioning to middle age has at times been tough for me.

Age is far more than just a number. It's also a gateway to shifts in perspective and priority, both of which I accepted 34,000 feet in the air on yesterday's flight home, somewhere between Omaha and Dallas-Fort Worth, when I had the following epiphany:

My individual legacy is mostly done. My legacy now goes through my family.

For nearly 40 years, I tried my damnedest to be self-sufficient whenever, wherever, and however possible.

Why?

Because anything earned or given to you can be taken away. Also, the people closest to you are often the first in line to let you down. (This constant theme is one reason there will always be demand for mental health professionals.)

So what's the easy solution?

Keep it all at arm's length, of course.

Ask the waiter for a seat with a view of the nearest exit.

Keep one foot out the door.

That strategy worked great.

Until it didn't.

I've reached a stage of life in which I'm undeniably nothing on my own. I suppose it's always been this way, but I've only just now noticed and accepted it, thanks to the wisdom that accompanies life experience and appropriate reflection.

Life would be so much simpler without a family. I could work a simpler job that doesn't challenge me yet still pays enough for a studio apartment. And all my free time would be truly mine.

I don't judge or fault anyone who lives this way. But, as I age, I find it easier to see through bullshit, including my own. Especially my own.

While the solo life is ideal for some, it's not for me. I'm too needy in too many ways I've denied for too long. And, though it drives me crazy at times, there's a part of me that needs to feel needed. And, if nothing else, I need the kinds of hugs you get only from the people you can't imagine living without.

What a fitting revelation as we find ourselves on the downward slope to American Thanksgiving.

It's good to be home.

Songspiration:

For much of my adult life, I’ve been focused on self improvement, a noble cause as I’ve had plenty to work on: awkwardness in social settings, emotional intelligence, communication of needs, and so on.

Self improvement implies you’re working on yourself, which sounds like a worthwhile endeavor. But I now realize that there comes a certain point in which self improvement is no longer the grandiose master strategy it once was. Because, if you’re always focusing on self improvement, then you’re always focusing on what’s wrong with you, while overlooking on the positive aspects that make you who you are.

At some point, if you put in the proper work, self improvement must lead to self acceptance.

We’re all imperfect. We’re all works in progress. And we'll never reach many of the ideals we strive for. We’ll never reach that state of perfectly consistent enlightenment.

Life is a journey, and the roadmap that worked yesterday may not work tomorrow.

If you’re on your own self improvement journey, please be sure not to focus on the goal of perfection or idealism. Instead, make sure to work toward the goal of self acceptance. Make sure you’re improving yourself to a point in which you have no problem being in the same room as yourself. (What other alternative is there?)

At some point, when you see certain faults and shortcomings within yourself, you must accept that you’ve reached the Pareto Principle of self improvement: You’ve fixed 80% of what’s wrong with you, and you’ll tweak the remaining 20% later, because you know you’ve reached the point of diminishing returns. And now, you’re at a point where the better strategy is to focus on improving or highlighting your strengths, because therein lies the greater return for your time and efforts.

The last step of any self improvement journey should include accepting and--maybe, just maybe--also loving yourself. Otherwise, what was it all for?

Are we living in a Multiverse? And, if so, how would we know?

Those are some of the questions I asked myself on a recent morning commute. (You can blame my work-in-progress novel for such thoughts.)

Shortly after asking these questions, I realized we definitely are living in a Multiverse—just not in the way most of us imagine.

For much of the 21st Century, each of us has been living in our own reality. Because there's now no shared reality, no shared truth. No shared narrative.

In the 21st Century, truth is irrelevant for many of us. Unless it supports our biases and viewpoints. The validity of a claim is less important than its source, which determines whether we accept or reject the claim.

As monoculture has withered away around us, we've thrown away collective ideals and have instead chosen to focus on the small differences that separate us. We find a group or two to attach ourselves to, and we build our worldview around the groups' ideals. Instead of finding groups that match our evolving beliefs, we halt our own growth by staying true to the group rather than staying true to ourselves.

In a world full of constantly changing variables, we treat our views like constants, static and unmoving. We stay trapped within our own realities, never considering how we might merge certain parts of our realities to create something more functional for more people.

Our realities stay fragemented, just like in a Multiverse.

When the Simulation reveals itself to you, believe what you see.

Where the hell have I been?

Sorry I went silent on y'all for a while.

My intent has been to release at least one newsletter every couple weeks. But I've obviously slipped.

But for good reason:

As the seasons of the hemispheres are changing, so too is the season of my existential crisis. (I once thought my life was a series of existential crises, but I've recently realized it's just one extended crisis. It's like when that street you're on changes names. Sure, you can call them two different streets, but they both follow the same paths and lead to the same places.)

Any good existential crisis leads to the question: What's the point?

And that's the question I've been asking about this newsletter. I don't mean it in the tone of 'What's the point? Should I keep going?' I have no plans to stop. Instead, I'm asking what the hell is worth writing and sharing. Sure, to some degree I write for myself. But let's be honest: I put my writings online in the hope they'll be read.

My writings tend to be all over the place, so I feel as if different readers enjoy and expect different things.

Is my voice enough to carry this newsletter? Or do I need a particular focus?

Drop me a line if you have any insights to share!

I used to watch a YouTube artist who was a fan of using oversized paint brushes on his canvases. He argued that being precise with imprecise tools led to interesting errors.

In the world of painting, I agree 100%.

But in the business world?

Give me the right tool for the job. Give me the easiest path to precision. When it comes to business, there's little I hate more than being expected to hit the bullseye with one hand tied behind my back.

But, in art, working with imprecise tools can be a useful limitation.

Look no further than the fact that we often rely on our memory, perhaps the best example of an imprecise tool, to replicate scenes we've previously experienced to bring them back to life as art. Faulty memory can be an asset in literary fiction, which often focuses on the feeling of the events rather than getting every event right.

Sometimes our imprecise tools may even be digital or technical.

Generative AI has had no hand in the writing of my novel, but it's had a small hand in the ideation—or discovery of the angle of my story—as I've had a few chats with Anthropic's Claude LLM related to some themes of my novel.

I didn't ask Claude which themes I should put in my story, and I didn't ask it how I'd fit those themes into my story. I didn't ask Claude if my protagonist should take the blue pill or the red pill.

I instead asked Claude questions related to some scientific interests (related to time and the concept of living in a simulation). I asked, if X is true, is it reasonable to assume Y?—and Claude would tell me if I was on the right track or not.

I'm sure Claude got some things wrong. But, for once, that's fine. In fact, these errors might be features rather than bugs.

That's because my novel, too, is an exercise in being precise with imprecise tools—such as memory, perception, time, and maybe even reality itself.

Maybe, sometimes, the imprecise tools are just what we need for the job.

Not every job.

Just a select few.

In case you ain't heard, I'm writing a novel. What kinda novel, you ask? A grief novel.

Oh, so it's a complete downer, right?

Not exactly.

Actually, the fact it ain't a complete downer is what excites me most about the project. I mean, it ain't just a grief novel. It's a deep-fried Southern grief novel.

You'd expect a grief novel to deal with a death or two. And you'd be spot on, as my novel includes the obvious losses that spark grief. But you can grieve situations as much as people, and you can grieve in advance. And you can grieve for your past, for the way things once were.

Grief can get complicated.

When we talk about grief, we don't talk enough about the loss of self. A deep loss forever changes you. You transform.

You're no longer the same person you were before the loss. Experience has seen to that. And, so, while you're missing the obvious person you've lost, you're also missing someone else: The person you were before the experience, the person you were with the one person you now miss. But, now, with that person gone—whether by death, breakup, or gradual drifting apart due to the slow burn of time—you have no choice but to become someone new. A version of yourself without the one you miss.

How great it would be if you could just turn back to that old version of yourself. To flip a switch and somehow pretend loss hasn't claimed you and etched its wicked scar upon you. But you can't. The loss has put you on a one-way street. And the road's blocked off behind you, keeping you from going back. No matter how you try, the Simulation forbids you to return from whence you came. As far as the Simulation is concerned, your desire does not compute. So, you stay on the one-way street, headed in the same direction: Forward.

This situation adds another layer to grief. Now you must wrestle with the anxiety of your new flavor of existentialism. Accepting you're stuck on this one-way street makes navigation easier on one hand, because you know you have only one option in terms of the direction you may move in. But the lack of choice can't calm fears accompanying the admission you have no idea where you're headed. Where are you going? Who are you to become? Change is inevitable, but that doesn't mean said change will be good. This scenario makes you powerless, as you have no choice but to accept something you never wanted or asked for. You have no choice but to lean into change while never knowing where said change is taking you.

This form of grief requires a certain type of blind faith you're not yet prepared for. But how can you be expected to trust so freely now, after you've suffered at least one devastating loss? How can you hope everything will work out when you're dealing with the aftermath of something gone terribly wrong?

But, at the same time, what's the cost of not getting fully on board? What's the cost of your arrested development? How much time will you lose because you've chosen to deny your destiny and fight your fate?

Is this everyone's experience with grief? Probably not. But it's been mine. And, if all these years of interacting online have taught me one thing, it's that my uncommon experiences ain't all that uncommon. And sharing those experiences creates connection.

And that's what I want for all my work—both personal and professional—I want it to connect me to others in some way. I want to exercise empathy and vulnerability in the hope of helping others solve whatever's gnawing at them. Sometimes you have to help by sharing things you've never heard anyone else share. But maybe no one else shared their own experience, not because they're afraid to do so, but because they couldn't find the right words to make sense of it all. (I hope my novel can help some people with that problem.)

This is why you must share. And why I must share as well. And, so, that's why I'm writing a grief novel called A Perception of Time. I've given myself a deadline of December 31, 2025, for my first draft.

The biggest question is: What do I do when it's ready for release? I'm pretty sure I don't want to try traditional publishing. I don't need them to pick me, which is good, because they likely wouldn't anyway. So, I figure I have three options:

1. Self-publish via Kindle, Gumroad, etc.

2. Give it away as a free EPUB.

3. Serialize on my newsletter.

Or, maybe there's something else I haven't thought of. That's where you come in. Let me know what you think by responding to this email.

What if what frightened you could instead motivate you?

What if you could not only accept your biggest weakness but also somehow turn it into a strength?

These are some of the questions I've been asking since I heard a certain point on Mark Manson's podcast. (This point was made before Manson changed his podcast format and also before I quit podcasts cold turkey like a madman so that I could have more time to listen to music again.)

I forget the exact episode and the context for the point, but, if I remember correctly, Manson shared an anecdote related to a listener's question about changing your nature. (What bits and bytes that make up your personality within the Simulation are constants and which are variables you can improve?)

When he was a dating coach, Manson said, clients would often confide their desires to change a core part of themselves. Many said they wished they could stop being anxious messes.

Me too, man. Me too.

So I was interested to hear Manson's thoughts on the matter.

Then he said it—

I got bad news for you, bro: If you're overly anxious, then you're probably gonna be overly anxious 'til the day you die. You just gotta find a way to accept and deal.

In the case of anxiety, pharmaceuticals and cognitive behavior therapy can be great treatments, but they're not cures, meaning you're likely stuck with anxiety for however long you're lucky to live.

Bummer.

But what if you could do something awesome with your curse?

The exploration of this question has led to a radical shift in how I approach my own anxiety.

If you follow me on LinkedIn (Linky Dink), then over the last few weeks, you've seen wave after wave of shenanigans from me and some of my digital friends, who have been helping me pervert the sanctity of the world's largest professional network, which is now truly just a social media platform like so many others.

While it may appear to be all fun and games (and maybe it is for everyone else—I can't speak for them), let me pull back the curtain and let you in on a personal secret: My recent and current activity (on Linky Dink and elsewhere) is driven by anxiety. And a moderate dose of neuroticism.

Because, these days, I'm living by a very specific timer. Since my 40th birthday earlier this year, I've been living as if I have only 12 years left to live.

Though we can all go at any moment, I have no logical reason to think I have only 12 years left to live. The reason is purely emotional.

Back when my site was a blog and before it became a newsletter, I wrote about the simple math that guides my life. And in that post, I shared that I'm 40 years old, while my father and stepfather were each 51 at the times of their deaths, and my mother was 52 at the time of hers.

So, if I live only as long as the oldest of my parental figures, then I have only 12-ish years to live. (Technically, I have something closer to 11 and a half years. But remember, kids: Don't let facts get in the way of a good story.)

These bits of personal math are nothing new, as I've been running the numbers since 2011, when my parents died. There was also a time when I lived with the burden of the self-created prophecy that I'm destined to die from cancer, just as they did.

What is new is the framing of the math, which is no longer an exercise in dread, but instead an exercise in daring to dream what's possible.

While I have good reason to think I'll live more than 12 years, I want to live the next 12 years as if they're all I have left. While terminally ill people often get prognoses much shorter than 12 years, it's really not a lot of time when we're talking about the balance of one's mortality.

What can I accomplish in such a short amount of time? That's the question that guides the anxieties I've shared in this post.

Why would anyone do such a thing?

Well, for one, I'm an artist at my core. And, nearly 20 years ago, at my first real grownup job, a colleague shared a certain insight I didn't appreciate at the time but now see as wise, and I've adopted it as part of my own personal philosophy. This colleague, a musician at heart, told me that imposing limitations on your art gives structure and value to said art. (For example, Western music has only seven notes. Requiring certain rhythm and maybe even rhyming for a song or poem is a limitation, but it's a limitation that adds value to the art.) At first I scoffed. Why would anyone make an already-difficult process more difficult? But, now I see that, when you've set up the right limitations in certain areas, then you're free to explore creativity in other areas.

These days, I see myself as a bit of a performance artist. I'm not in the same league as Andy Kaufman or Pee-wee Herman, but I do have my own spin on it. Because my performance art is all about leaning into my anxiety. Instead of letting anxiety hold me back, I'm learning how to use it as fuel to propel me into the great unknown that awaits us in the unraveling of the 21st Century.

The good news is that, when anxiety and neuroticism are the fuels for your performance art, it's so easy to find inspiration all around you.

Someone once accused me of using dark humor as a coping mechanism. Like, duh. But there's no reason to make such an accusation these days, because I openly admit that's exactly what I've done before, what I'm doing now, and what I'll likely do always. I'm anxious af about the current moment--and I don't think I need to elaborate. If you're reading this newsletter, then you surely have enough imagination to fill in those blanks.

As I've already shared, I often think about the ages of my parental figures at the times of their deaths. I've tried to push those thoughts into some forgotten corner of my mind, but I can't—they keep popping up. Rather than feel bad about it, I've accepted it's not my fault, because certain things happened to me to form me into the person I am.

So, I'm taking that personal math and creating an artistic limitation for myself: Live as if you have only 12 years left. What can you accomplish in that time? What awesome thing or things can you do in that time to honor your parents—and the limited and uncertain nature of human existence? Can you turn your anxiety into a form of catharsis?

My anxiety is also the fuel for the novel I'm writing, because, if the world's going to hell in a handbasket, then I don't want it all to end with my novel unfinished. But Jake, you may say, surely you don't really think the world's going to end. Humanity has survived so many scary times, and though you may have concerns about what's going on in your homeland, America still has the great advantage of having a diversity of resources and some of the world's best borders. Logically, I agree. Emotionally, I'm not so mature.

My anxiety ain't going away. I have 40 years of data and anecdotes to back up that statement. So I'm stuck with that artistic limitation in that I can't get rid of it. It's part of the formula of my performance art. But I'm lucky that I can turn that limitation into an asset.

This edition of the newsletter has focused a lot on me. I'm sorry for that. But, as is often the case with my art, I share parts of myself in the hope you'll see reflections of yourself.

So, let's bring this back to you: What artistic limitations are you stuck living with that you can work to turn into crucial elements of your own performance art? What particular anxieties can you lean into and find inspiration in? Or, what limitation beside anxiety can you use as a framework for your life?

I genuinely would love to know. So, if you're willing to share, please let me know by responding to this email.

<3,

Jake

Hey there,

Jake here.

Welcome to the second edition of the newsletter. (That's right, this site's no longer a blog. Alert the presses we've taken our own advice and moved into the 21st Century!)

We're still finding our way, so expect more tweaks in the editions ahead.

Welcome to chaos with a smile!

My good think of the week

The future doesn't just happen.

The future is shaped.

And it's shaped by those who take action.

Take action yourself. And teach your children how to take action as well.

Teach them that they do have influence, they do matter, and they do have the power to affect the world around them.

By doing so, you'll teach them how to lead.

They may not become the biggest influencer that everyone listens to. But they are a part of this big machine we call the World, the rotating World, the functioning World. And our world functions only as well as the people functioning within it.

Too many of our modern problems come back to lack of leadership—a lack of people functioning. A lack of people teaching others how to function.

To butcher a common saying: The best time to have planted a leader was 20 years ago. The second best time is today.

Good thinks from other peeps

Adam Tinworth, the man behind One Man & His Blog, digs into the pressure to get on board with AI before we get left behind. I believe most of us can afford to wait and see how AI fills out before we adopt it for our workflows and lifestyles, but Tinworth reminded me why the hype is so pervasive:

The deep and abiding fear of the current generation of managers — that they’ll repeat the failure of their predecessors and not adapt to digital quick enough — is bringing them to a deeper danger.

Many people pushing us to adopt AI ASAP saw their predecessors drop the ball when it came to adopting the internet and social networks/social media. But these same people doing what they can to stay relevant and not be left behind are risking connection and trust with their audiences. Is it worth it?

Read more here: Walking the tightrope between AI and audiences

Broetry

The easiest thing for businesses to scale?

Mediocrity

At the hands of bad systems taped together

Under the guise of supporting growth

That's all for this week.

<3,

Jake

This edition's songspiration is 'Vanishing Point' by Primal Scream.

Hey there,

Jake here.

Today's edition is about how the vibes can be bad when the numbers are good.

You know how you hear the economy is doing well yet consumer confidence is in the toilet? (At least this is the case in America at the time I'm writing this.)

If GDP is solid and the stock market's back on the uptick, how can everyday people be so down?

The answer is simple: We're talking about two different measures for two different classes of people. What's good for the highest rungs of society isn't always good for those at the bottom.

The same is true for companies.

How can morale of the workers be in the dumps when profits are at record highs?

It's quite simple: The workers aren't motivated by the profit margin because they don't see the benefits of the profit margin. All the workers know is how hard they must work to maintain or increase that profit margin, their reward for doing so being little more than keeping their jobs, and maybe a cost-of-living raise if they're lucky.

The elites of society and the executive class can't understand why anyone else would feel differently for the same reason—they're disconnected. They have the option of talking to those 'under' them while everyday people rarely have the luxury of initiating a meaningful conversation with those 'above' them.

Yet here we are. And as long as we stay here, one thing will be obvious: We're here because those with the power to improve the system can't be bothered to do so.

<3

Jake

Maybe, just maybe, supersizing wasn't such a great idea.

The meteor that wiped out the dinosaurs didn't end all life on Earth.

Small, agile creatures survived.

And they evolved while the supersized were wiped out of existence.

Not every small, agile creature made it.

Some of them perished too.

But their odds of survival were better.

There are no guarantees in life.

Only possibilities and probabilities.

(Okay, death and taxes are guaranteed—there's always something.)

The problem isn't you.

The problem is the game you've been made to play.

So maybe you should play a different game.

A little small ball.

Just a thought.

<3,

Jake

Hey there,

Jake here

In this edition of the newsletter, we talk about when hoarding data goes wrong.

Your business should take in only inputs that will lead to outputs.

Instead of hoarding whatever data they can, businesses should focus on only data they can actually use. And the usefulness of the data is limited by the capabilities of the business. Some businesses can use more data than others.

But hoarding data only for the sake of creating or maintaining an 'asset' becomes a liability. More specifically, the hoarded data may become a security liability because, in the case of a security breach, the consequences become greater as you hoard greater amounts of crucial data.

Why hold more data than you need? Why hold data if you're not using it?

Holding onto every piece of data possible can only hurt you in the long run.

Creatives should hold themselves to the same standard. Our inputs should lead to outputs.

As a creative, when I read something, I do so in the hope it'll influence and inspire me in making something.

And so, what good is doomscrolling in that regard?

For me, there's no output for all that input. And hoarding all that data becomes a liability in the form of anxiety.

Anxiety may be a mental or psychological function, but it takes up physical space. Anxiety lives inside your body. And you can contain only so much before you're bursting at the seams.

Why hoard more data than you need?

What to expect...

Tone: outside voice

Snark level: it's surely there somewhere

Other special provisions: another post criticizing ai. surprise.

ai has so much potential, but no one knows what the future holds for the technology. this truth will excite some, but anyone would be right to be wary. maybe even a touch cynical.

because potential is a word that often gets people in big trouble. for an idea of what i mean, look at the first overall picks of the previous nfl drafts.

potential in the nfl

the first overall pick in the nfl draft is the epitome of potential. not only will this player be one of 256 (or more) players selected in the draft, but this player is drafted by a team who believes he is key to turning the organization around. the team that takes this player has earned this pick either by having the worst record the previous season, or by trading to move into the top spot. so it's safe to say the first overall pick is loaded with potential. without that potential, he wouldn't be the first overall pick.

how often does potential pay off?

sometimes you get big wins from that potential. maybe you draft a hall of fame player like PEYTON MANNING, JOHN ELWAY, or TERRY BRADSHAW. but sometimes you get a bust—a guy who doesn't pan out as expected—like JAMARCUS RUSSELL, TIM COUCH, or DAVID CARR. some of these players are cut loose from their original teams after three or four seasons. their potential might get them other chances to play for other teams. it's hard to pass on the allure of salvaging a former first-round pick, partly because of ego—coaches want to be the one who turned the diamond in the rough into a bonafide stud—but also, all that potential means they might help the team win big, thereby keeping everybody's jobs for another season or few.

but the player himself isn't the only one who loses when he doesn't reach his potential. coaches and general managers who were banking on the kid are often looking for new jobs and new homes whenever the team parts ways with the player.

other dangers of potential outside football

football isn't the only area we see the dangers of putting too much stock into potential.

cryptocurrency was once the technology that had the potential to change the world. until it didn't. to be fair, i suppose you could say it changed the world in that it created new avenues for massive fraud.

that guy your daughter or friend is crazy about may have potential. until he breaks her heart.

all of GOOGLE's attempts at social networking had great potential, even if only briefly.

the hard truth about potential

potential is intoxicating. it's like a dream. the possibilities are endless. as long as you focus on potential and ignore reality, you can paint as pretty a picture as you can imagine.

but that potential is worthless until it's realized.

bringing it back to ai

anytime ai is criticized, the zealots are quick to counter with reminders of its potential.

wait until the next update—it's going to change everything.

kinda sounds like crypto.

potential is tempting to sell. because potential is limited only by the imaginations of the seller and the buyer. potential is a synonym for possibility. but possibility is different from likely. the unfortunate truth is we don't know what is likely in the future.

we can't completely ignore potential. it's something to keep an eye on, because we're being irresponsible if we don't see how the world around us might change. but we can't go all in on potential alone.

What to expect...

Tone: outside voice

Snark level: low but sprinkled throughout

Other special provisions: while i'll discuss some depressing material in this post, please know that i mean it to be helpful and inspiring, not a complete downer. but, to rob from an applicable cliche, it's within the darkness we find the brightest light.

in school, i was always a c math student. a c grade is kinda mediocre, which is average, so it ain't all that bad.

just as i often view my life through the lens of economics even though i made a d in my first collegiate econ class (but it ain't my fault the prof was boring af), i often view my life through the lens of simple math.

it wasn't always this way. but it started in 2011.

so let's hop in the wayback machine and see how it all began.

the simple math of grief

in 2011, at the ripe age of 26, i lost my parents just six weeks apart.

that summer my mother was pronounced dead, only to somehow defy the odds and resume breathing, staying on hospice for four months before she was pronounced dead for a second and (so far) final time. (for the record, she was cremated, so the odds of another revival aren't in her favor, though, if previous experience has taught me only one thing, it's that anything is possible at least once. maybe even twice.)

early that same year, a cousin, just a year older than me and who i was once close to but had drifted from as age sometimes makes us do, passed away due to complications with diabetes. then my mom got sick. a few months later, my dad got sick. just short of a month of his diagnosis, he passed away. six weeks later, my mom followed suit.

you may have already picked up on some of the numbers i can't help fixating on:

• 2011
• 26
• six weeks
• four months

but there are a couple other numbers i can't help fixating on too:

• 50
• 51

that's because my dad was 50 when he passed away. my mom was 51. so was my stepdad when he passed away two and a half years later (there's another number to fixate on).

now that the foundation has been set, let's bring the spotlight back to me (where it always belongs amirite).

the simple math that pushes me forward

as i mentioned above, i was 26 when my parents died.

now i'm 40.

if i live as long as my parents, i have 10—maybe 11—years left.

that's not a lot of time.

while i'm not a betting man, i'd say chances are good i'll outlive my parents. the odds are in my favor in that:

• i go to the doctor regularly and i'm unafraid to medicate when necessary.
• i've never smoked a cigarette, so i most certainly don't smoke multiple packs a day like all parental figures mentioned in this post (at least one smoked as many as four packs a day—another damn number to fixate on).
• i'm learning to take life less seriously, thereby lowering my stress levels.

let's say i make it to 85 years of age. that means i have 45 years to go. not too bad.

but how much time do i have left to do great work?

15? maybe 20 if i'm lucky?

as you get further along in your career, you're more likely to move into a mentor role. but i'm worried if that'll be an option for me, for at least a couple reasons

• will there be a new generation of oil and gas land professionals to mentor, considering each generation seems to care less and less about oil and gas than the previous generation? (for the record, i don't blame them. while i think energy is singlehandedly the most important industry in the world, that doesn't mean that it excites me on a regular basis.)
• will there be a new generation to mentor in any field if the c-suites replace all entry-level workers with ai? today's entry-level workers are tomorrow's experts, but where do the experts come from if we've destroyed their pipelines?

maybe i'll be able to mentor younger people in life in general, but, while that work may feed the soul, it doesn't exactly put food on the table.

perhaps you've heard it said that people on their deathbeds tend not to regret what they did but instead what they left undone. i saw that play out with my mother, who confided some regrets to me one day when i went home one weekend. one of those regrets involved me, and i try to remember that as i limp around this imperfect journey we call parenthood.

no matter how pretty a bow we try to put on this topic, i'll be dead one day. so will you. and so will everyone else know or know of or know nothing about or of.

spoiler alert.

i'm sure we'll die with regrets. a life with no regrets is most likely a life not lived at all—or the life of a psychopath. both options kinda suck, if you ask me.

but these days, i try to think of the regrets that would really gnaw at me if left unresolved.

on a purely selfish level, i wanna put my novel out into the world. maybe it's the only novel i got, and that's fine. but as the world seems to be going to hell in a handbasket, i can't help wanting to get it out before it's too late. and maybe 'too late' is synonymous with my death, because, best case scenario, that's coming at some point. and no matter when it happens, it's guaranteed to be too soon.

then there's the professional regret. the truth is, i don't really like work—i see it as a necessary evil. and so, if i must give my time to someone else's dream and put my own ambitions to the side, then i want to do something awesome with that sacrificed time. i don't want to push paper on a daily basis, and i've proven i'm capable of far more. i want to do awesome work, not for the sake of work itself, but to poke my chest out and inflate my ego. if that sounds shallow, then so be it—maybe it is, but at least i'm honest. i may be a c math student, but i'm pretty good at sniffing out bs (bad systems), and i love nothing more than simplifying workflows to make everyone else's workday easier and genuinely more productive with less friction. sometimes the benefits of that kinda work are hard to math, but they're real and valuable.

don't forget to carry the zero

i often think of a youtube video in which kurt vonnegut quoted shakespeare:

There is nothing good or bad, but thinking makes it so.

this post was not written with the intent of depressing readers. it's meant to be a call to arms. don't think of this post as sad and depressing. think of it as strangely inspiring and hopeful.

time is running out. do the math. this can't last forever.

but here's the messy math of life—

some people will say to postpone today's gratification for tomorrow's security. but what if tomorrow never comes? at some point it won't.

also, we don't know what math awaits us as we watch the unraveling of the global order. we can see what we're losing, but we have no idea what will replace it. there's a giant X for which we can't solve. (not the x formerly known as twitter. that one's easy to solve—just shut the damn thing down.)

my parents have been gone for nearly 14 years. in that time, i've been back to my childhood home to visit my mother's final resting place at least twice.

but i haven't seen my dad since the day he was buried, so i've never seen his tombstone. it may sound silly, but that's eaten at me over the years. and i have a feeling it'll continue to eat at me for however long i shall live. it's time to put some demons to rest.

so today, i'm taking a solo roadtrip across the bayou state to close out some business i've left unsettled for far too long. and i'm hoping to get some inspiration for my absurdist grief novel that flirts with the concepts of time and living in a simulation.

i'm 40 years old and i never got to buy my dad a beer. so i'm gonna buy him a miller lite and pop the top for him and catch up a bit. (people in north louisiana will frown at the idea; people in south louisiana will consider it good manners.)

when i get back home, i'm gonna refocus on my novel, because i gave myself a deadline for the end of 2025. i have six months to meet that goal. (damn, there's another number to fixate on. this one's actually making me anxious.)

there was a time when i'd say i'd never wish my experience on anyone. while i'd still never wish it on anyone else, i'm at a point where i can't imagine my life if certain things hadn't happened to me. the possibility simple does not compute. it does not add up.

There is nothing good or bad, but thinking makes it so.

to pull in another math analogy, such events aren't always so binary. finding lessons in the pain makes the experience valuable. otherwise, it's easy to just keep painting yourself as the victim.

math might not help you make sense of life—as albert camus would say, there's no sense to be made, but we can't help trying to make it so. that said, math can give you plenty to think about.

what's the simple math that guides your life? please feel free to share, if not in the comments, then via email.

goodbye. adios. adieu.

What to expect...

Tone: outdoor voice

Snark level: existent

Other special provisions: you may want ice cream after reading this post

people don't want an abundance of choices; they want to know they've made the right choice
— Scott Galloway (I'm too lazy to find the source. just trust me on this one.)

the 21st century is supposedly about choice.

linkedin and job boards promise your choice of job, with ever listing aggregated for you in one or a few convenient places.

dating apps promise your choice of partner or one-time hookup.

and Baskin Robbins still promises 31 flavors. if not more.

this abundance of choice is what most of us would call 'having options'. the finance bros call it 'optionality'. (finance bros like words with a little syllables. don't ask me why. I don't make the rules—I just report them when I see them.)

optionality promises the power of to choose-your-own adventure your way through your problems.

need a new job? you'll find plenty options on linkedin! but if you know yourself and what you really need in a job, you'll see you have fewer viable options than the aggregate numbers would make you think.

the same goes with dating. what good is having all these options just one right-swipe away if you're incompatible with most of them?

and in the examples of job hunting and dating, you must also be chosen by another party. these options are options only as long as the other party sees you as an option.

but what about Baskin Robbins? surely you have the options of 31 flavors when the ice cream needn't choose you.

but do you really want 31 flavors? you probably spend your time balancing only two: chocolate and vanilla.

when you know what you want and need, you see you have only a few options, because only a few of the options can meet your wants and needs.

but if you're willing to take whatever you can get—then, yeah, I guess you've got some optionality. if you want it.

What to expect...

Tone: outdoor voice

Snark level: surprisingly low

Other special provisions: art can make your soul soar

the title of this post seems to ask a simple question: what's the value of your art?

for most of us, the answer is simple from a purely monetary view, because our art is worthless. something is worth only as much as someone will pay for it, after all.

so the productivity hustle mindset says you should abandon art.

but what if the calculus isn't so simple.

for some, art is a coping mechanism, a way of dealing with trauma and healing. my counselor costs $80 a visit, so if art helps me go less often, I'll take that deal.

art can help you better know yourself, by giving you the freedom to explore certain thoughts and possibilities. this exploration may lead to more confidence, which in turn may lead to better performance in your professional and personal live.

art can also help you connect to others, especially those closest to you. maybe they'll say thnk you for showing me how you see the world. and maybe they'll show their art to you and give you the chance to return the favor.

the value of your art may not always show up on a ledger or a balance sheet. but that doesn't mean your art is worthless.

for me, the potential of art is worth the few dollars costs of cheap notebooks and pens.

your art may be cheap. but it may also be priceless.

<3

What to expect...

Tone: outdoor voice

Snark level: low af, bordering on pure sincerity

Other special provisions: I'm embracing my inner artist. deal with it.

the prophets of ai continue to promise their favored tech will make our lives easier. thanks to ai, more of the things we want are only a click or a prompt away. you can now inject ai wherever you want, as ai can help you with writing, music creation, and image editing, as just a few examples.

I don't fault anyone for using these offerings, especially because I've used them in my own way in the past, and very well may continue to do so at different points in my life. but I have my concerns in regard to mass adoption. at what point does technology rob us of originality—and when is that scenario, okay, and when is it not?

should we be concerned about the loss of originality in terms of cold hard facts? we likely don't care about originality when it comes to complex math—think balance sheets and revenue forecasting. in those cases, the work to get those numbers isn't the point—deciding what to do with the information is the point.

but what about fields we've traditionally considered more artistic? fields like writing, music, and graphic design. in such fields, there's not so much separation between the process and the end result. in art, there may not be an explicit end result. so, the process is more largely the point. what you choose to include or exclude may be subjective. these decisions are part of your style, one of the crucial aspects of art. does anyone care about style in regard to number crunching? if so, they may wanna get that checked out.

as we remove ourselves from the creative process and forfeit agency to ai and algorithms, at what point are we enabling the erosion of style?

the prophets of ai will say that ai tools can unlock creativity previously unrealized. maybe that's true for a small segment of people. call me cynical, but I imagine few will put in the time to learn how to improve their prompts to improve their results. most will put in minimum effort and take whatever ai gives them, leading an ever-more homogenous internet. the future is more likely to be less original. the tools meant to empower us will instead make us all the same.

people probably don't expect numbers to have personality and quirks. but we expect these personal touches from artistic projects.

art goes beyond having the right answer. art is also about the habits of the artist—aka style. style is the artist's most-cherished asset. style is what makes the audience relate to the art and the artist—the very thing that makes anyone care.

as we further integrate ai into art, are we at risk of losing those stamps of authenticity we unknowingly put in our work? those little hints that remind our audiences that we're the authors of our works? and if style is the most valuable thing we have, are we smart to risk losing it?

What to expect...

Tone: outdoor voice

Snark level: low

Other special provisions: this post is about one of my core writerly beliefs.

my name is jake lacaze and I'm a writer with an ego.

damn, it feels good to admit that.

no one reading this should be surprised. if I had no ego, I'd keep all my writing to myself. instead, I put my writing on the internet for all the world to see, giving every piece a chance to speak to someone somewhere. that's ego at work.

knowing not every piece will connect with someone is a healthy dose of humility. and without that humility, ego becomes hubris. ego is healthy while hubris is deadly.

ego is not a dirty word

we often hear the advice to put aside our ego. but we should instead keep our ego in check.

somehow ego became a dirty word, synonymous with the braggart. so some set out to smother their egos to keep it from flourishing.

big mistake.

this quelling of ego comes down to a misunderstand of what ego is.

ego is not cockiness or arrogance.

ego is instead knowing your worth.

ego in use

imagine you're in a job interview, which you've nailed. you're the perfect candidate for this role. you know it. they know it. and best yet, you know they know it. the employer could hire a different candidate, but that would be a big mistake. because the other candidates are far less qualified and far less capable. you're expactly what this employer needs. you have all the leverage, putting you in an enviable position.

now imagine that employer offers you the job. but they want to pay you only half the rate you know you can command.

I hope your ego would make you poke out your chest and say, nah, fam, eff that. without ego, you might take that low offer because you think you should be happy to get what you can.

bring ego into your writing

don't be too humble. but don't be an insufferable twat either.

speak with authority where you know you can. know your worth as a writer, and beyond.

let your ego fly.

just keep it in check.

but listen to scream daddy frank black

and hang on to your ego.

What to expect...

Tone: outdoor voice

Snark level: low

Other special provisions: I love notebooks and pens and think other people should too

trying to get my notebooks just perfect has kept me from writing more. this notebook for this. this notebook for that. is it okay to keep these two topics in one notebook?

what a way to give yourself so much anxiety. you spend so much time obsessing over the detail of your writing process that you neglect the most important part of writing: actually writing.

some people see notebooks as a sort of archive. but not me. i like the idea of being the type of person who thumbs through old notebooks, pleasantly surprised by what he finds on a trip down memory lane. but the truth is I'm much more likely to revisit a digital archive, where I can find what I'm looking for via categories and tags and search.

these simple features make digital archiving more appealing than physical archiving. throw in other features such as syncing and ease of backing up, and digital archiving is a no-brainer for me.

but digital creation is another story.

why not create purely digitally?

if you can store your creations digitally, why not simplify the total process by creating digitally as well?

for one, digital tools such as computers, smart phones, and tablets are often great sources of distraction. how many times have you sat down with one of these devices with the intent to create something or knock out some work, only to look up three hours later to climb out of the rabbit hole you fell into on YouTube, reddit, or Twitter? resisting the temptation that comes with such easy access requires discipline, because the simple truth is we're addicted to distraction.

sure, with a little discipline you can remove this access.

put your devices in do not disturb mode. block certain websites with apps and browser extensions. these are legit options.

but sometimes you get tired of being disciplined.

so you give in.

OR—

...you can avoid temptation whenever possible.

notebooks as creative sparks

notebooks are great tools for thinking. in the context of this post, notebooks are an example of addiction by subtraction. the removal of certain features adds value to what's left behind.

this is a great example of less is more.

less distraction = more creativity

so put down your devices and pick up a notebook and a pen

and kill more trees in the name of recapturing your creativity.

What to expect...

Tone: outside voice

Snark level: low

Other special provisions: i'd call this an opinion piece, but i know i'm right about it.

too many of us think we're opposed to failure. but the truth is that each of us is participating in the largest failure of all time, just be being. because at some point, we will all fail to be.

that's right—at some point, each and every one of us will die. we know how the story ends, yet every second we're here on this earth, we're writing that story.

it's better to focus not on the end, but on that bulk in the middle. that second act in literary terms—ya know, the real meat of the story.

don't focus on the results—focus instead on how hard you tried. that's basically the advice I gave my son as he worried about an upcoming soccer tryout: you can't control whether you make the team; you can control only your effort and attitude. that's true in soccer, outside soccer, and everywhere in between.

such is life.

failure itself can't be avoided. venture capitalists don't run from failure. they don't expect every investment to be a winner. they know the vast majority will end up turds. but they hope to hit one or two homeruns to stay in the lead.

and that's how we should live too: by accepting that failure will happen but hope we win enough times to make up for our losses.

does that mean we should run toward every failure with arms wide open?

not quite.

one of the keys to success in everyday life is learning how to take calculated risks. we can't eliminate risk, but we can hedge our bets by finding low-risk, high-reward situations. and we can find more of these situations by coming to terms with the worst-case scenario.

what's the worst that can happen?

getting comfortable with failure can be easier if you can get comfortable with the worst-case scenario.

instead of hoping a public speaking engagement will cause you to go viral and lead to more professional opportunities than you can comprehend, maybe you should instead seek the failures that will make you better. maybe you'll learn something that will make you a better speaker in the long run. the sooner you get your first failure out of the way, the sooner you can start improving.

and maybe, just maybe, if you change your mindset and your attitude about failure, you can start looking for opportunities to fail rather than running from failure. the easiest way to reduce failure is to keep playing the same old games you always win. but are these immediate wins serving you in the long term? might they be stopping you from winning bigger further down the road?

just something to think about

(also, don't just take it from me.)

There’s no failure. There only redirection! | Phyllis Tulaszewski

There’s no failure. There only redirection!

LinkedInPhyllis Tulaszewski

Are humans more than math? That’s the question we’re all asking in the age of generative AI hype, even though we may never string together those exact words in that exact order.

Weight and height are obvious numbers. Hair color can be easily converted to a number:

• Blonde: 1
• Brown: 2
• Dirty blonde: 1.5

Symmetry is an ideal pairing. A pair is two, a simple number.

That wonderful shade in that painting is no accident. It’s a hex code (#002F8B) or an RGB color code (rgb(0, 47, 139).

Complexion can be a scale. The same with opinions, many of which are binary.

Movie reviews may judge Good or Bad (another example of binary). Or two thumbs WAY UP. Or 4.7 stars out of 5.

That guy or gal you just swiped right on is a New York 6. But they’re an 8 in Dallas. And a 9 in the ‘burbs.

Laughter is measured in decibels. Success, in dollar signs and commas.

Your schedule—your deadlines and priorities and the rush to pick up your kids from school on time—it’s all math.

That flutter you feel when you see that certain someone—it can’t be quantified, right? But what about beats per minute? A hug: Pounds per square inch.

Is anxiety anything more than the number of times you bite your nail in a day? Every choice a binary: Yes or no, a one or zero.

The Prophets of AI argue that people can be reduced to simple math. It’s a viewpoint they want to be true because artificial intelligence is math. Quick and complicated math. But math nonetheless. And anything that can be quantified can be AI-ified.

Are we nothing more than math? I don’t know. But I’m certainly holding out hope that we’re so much more.

What does the future hold for those who see themselves as landmen and little more? That’s the question a friend and I often ponder during our regular coffee chats. It’s a question I often ponder alone as well.

If there’s only one constant in life, that constant is change. And the landman field has seen a number of changes since I first started searching courthouse records in North Texas’ Barnett Shale play in 2008.

Landmen over the years

Early in my tenure, the old-timers weren’t exactly fans of the new technology encroaching on their profession. ‘Your computer’s in the way,’ one might say when they opened a tract book and bumped your laptop. Why would you create your reports in Microsoft Excel and Word when pen and paper works just fine?

Digitization of deed records eventually meant no one needed to go to the courthouse anymore. If you couldn’t find a document online, chances were good you could call someone else on the team to take a trip to the courthouse to track down the needed document. Or maybe you could sweet-talk one of the ladies at the courthouse to search for you. ‘You’ll always need a landman at the courthouse!’ some in the field cried. But the last few years have shown that’s simply untrue.

‘When I got into the business,’ an old-timer might say, ‘a landman did it all! Run title, get leases, negotiate surface agreements—we did it all.’ By the time I broke in, it was common for landmen to have adjectives in front of their jobs: title landman, leasing landman, curative landman, and so on.

But these days, hardly anyone’s hiring title landmen as there’s no new exploration happening, so there’s little need for full title work. Leasing landmen aren’t faring much better. There are few new blocks of land needing to be leased up. And all the land trades and mergers and acquisitions are negotiated by the executives of the E&P companies. (Does anyone bother digging into the weeds before they acquire anything these days? Is there any work for due diligence landmen?)

But in recent years, ‘landman’ seems to have become synonymous with ‘mineral buyer,’ as mineral acquisition companies have been among the few hiring for the profession.

The mineral buying space has been overcrowded for a while. Financing for most new ventures is hard to come by. Some outfits will need to close shop or consolidate. So the days of relying on the mineral buying industry as the sure thing for holding onto to that coveted ‘landman’ title are likely long gone.

Landmen in the years ahead

So where do you go now if you want to keep calling yourself a landman? The good news is that some new opportunities are out there. Landmen are needed to negotiate surface agreements for wind and solar farms. Some may hem and haw at the idea, but the American Association of Professional Landmen (AAPL) has given its blessing, as it recently rolled out related education certificates.

Maybe staying a landman requires focusing on energy rather than petroleum. ‘You’ll always need oil and gas,’ some might say, ‘so you’ll always need landmen.’ I agree on both fronts. I’m not suggesting that landmen as a whole will disappear, but merely that either their numbers will fall or the profile of what constitutes a landman will likely change. One—or all—of these factors must change, just as the world is changing.

The landman field has changed so much in the sixteen years since I got into the game. Who knows what the next sixteen years hold.

Stay flexible, my friends.

The 21st century has seen America losing faith in institutions.

The government after September 11th, the medical establishment after COVID, universities and the mainstream media through it all—trust has eroded at every level of American society. Most citizens would never admit they’re dying for somewhere to place their trust again. They’d tell you they’re getting by just fine. But, for those people, I have some great news: Waffle House is ready to welcome you with arms wide open.

Come as you are

Give us your tired,
Your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free

Sure, you can find the original version of that poem on the Statue of Liberty, but tell me it wouldn’t belong on a plaque outside every Waffle House in America.

Waffle House is the definition of come as you are. Come after you get off work from the construction site. Come after you see your probation officer. Come after you get out of the hospital even though you haven’t had time to change out of your hospital gown, and yeah, you probably shouldn’t have taken that IV pole with you, but who cares. No matter how you show up, the only judgment you’ll know is the judgment you give yourself.

Waffle House is also the definition of come whenever you are, because they’re open 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year. They are truly open every second of every day. And if they’re not, then you know there’s reason to worry.

The Waffle House Index

The American government judges the severity of natural disasters by how much they disrupt the local Waffle House location’s operations. The government refers to this measurement as The Waffle House Index¹.

The government reports the severity via a color scale:

Table copied from the article on Wikipedia; link included in footnotes below.

Waffle House has its finger on the pulse of the everyman/everywoman/everyperson. When egg prices hurt the masses, they hit Waffle House too. When Waffle House shuts down, then the masses should expect hard times ahead. As the masses go, so goes Waffle House.

They don’t call it the IHOP Index or the Denny’s Index. The government puts its trust in Waffle House, so why shouldn’t you?

Waffle House ain’t just for the blue collars

Waffle House has a reputation of being a low-brow kind of establishment. And, really, it is. But that doesn’t mean high-brow folks can’t enjoy the restaurant as well. For proof, look no further than Anthony Bourdain, who spent much of his life traveling the globe to explore the cultural significance of a region’s food, yet was still able to grasp and appreciate the wonder that is Waffle House.

Bourdain was the living embodiment of my artistic ideal: Sophistication without pretentiousness. You can appreciate the finer things in life while also enjoying the simple pleasures around you, one of those simple pleasures being your local Waffle House.

If Waffle House is good enough for Bourdain, then it’s good enough for you and me. And it’s good enough for the elites who look down on such places. Waffle House deserves to be a staple of Middle America, not in that it should be enjoyed only by the dwindling middle class, but instead as a place that averages (middles) out the high and low of society, a meeting place of the working class and the elites alike.

Tell me why multi-million-dollar deals can’t be done at the local Waffle House or the mini-golf course. Deals can be done anywhere you can shake hands as long as your word means something. If you can’t be trusted with that basic responsibility, then Waffle House ain’t the problem—YOU ARE! Instead of asking Waffle House to raise its standards, first raise your own within yourself.

The typical patrons of Waffle House may not be wealthy, but they are wise, because they know a great value when they see it. They don’t go to Waffle House for Instagram-worthy eats. Sure, the waffles and the grits and the hashbrowns are of the same quality you could make at home, but that feature only makes Waffle House feel more like home.

How much do you really need?

Some people may complain about the service at Waffle House. I myself have never gotten bad service at any location. Sure, I’ve never had anyone pull out my chair or offer to crack some pepper over my eggs, but I’m perfectly capable of handling these tasks to save a few bucks. Just bring me a fresh All-Star Special and keep my mug filled, and I’ll handle the rest. Sometimes I want to be pampered and made to feel special, but Waffle House ain’t the place for that. Waffle House is where you go to assimilate, to belong. You don’t go to Waffle House to stand out.

Jake, why are you praising Waffle House so much? Can’t you afford better?

I can afford more expensive eateries than Waffle House. But what’s the point if I don’t want the pricier option? Just because it’s pricier doesn’t mean it’s better, because Waffle House is obviously about as good as it gets. I’m that same guy who was raised on Totino’s pizza and who has relied on Chef Boyardee to get him through the work day countless times. You can take the boy out of the trailer house . . .

Some people fear running into a drunkard—or worse—at Waffle House. But smart patrons know this is part of the value—you have the chance for entertainment like no other. You’ll be the most interesting person in the office break room for AT LEAST the next two work days with your crazy Waffle House story, and that temporary bump in social capital ain’t nothin’. But if a rowdy scene at mealtime ain’t your idea of a good time, then you can hedge your bets by going to Waffle House during daylight hours. It’s a universal truth that you get a different crowd at 2am—nothing good happens after midnight, after all. But the risk isn’t unique to Waffle House, as these experiences may be awaiting us at every turn. Nowhere is safe. Rather than let this fact scare us, we should instead use it as fuel to do our part to make the world a better place, both within the walls of our beloved Waffle Houses, and beyond.

1. The Waffle House Index on Wikipedia ↩︎

I’ll never understand how a ninety-nine cent pack of low-quality noodles became a gourmet experience in America. That’s the power of marketing, I guess.

Recently my wife and kids wanted to try this local ramen place. I was too lazy to make dinner (totally on brand for me), so I responded to their request the only way I knew how:

Bet.

So we went to the ramen place, because that’s where you go to get the thing when the thing is ramen, and we browsed through the Great Wall of Ramen. I settled on some spicy beef option. I can’t remember what my wife and daughter chose, but my son felt the 2x spicy ramen was calling his name.

Yet again, this wasn’t a choice I’d have made, but I responded the only way I knew how:

lfg.

So we put our bowls of ramen on the appropriate machines, which then doled out the appropriate amount of water and turned the heat to the appropriate level to boil.

My ramen was pretty straight-forward: Empty the flavor packet and the flakes, and stir while it cooks. (Maybe I wasn’t too lazy to cook after all—I just needed to be motivated with the gimmick of an experience like no other. Man, marketers really do run the world!)

My son’s ramen was slightly more complicated in that it required one more crucial step: Adding the sauce packet when there were around two minutes left to cook. Once the sauce packet is inserted, we’ve reached the point of no return, because the sauce packet is where the spice lies. If you want the spice, then you need the sauce. (That last line can get you in trouble if someone misses the context.)

My wife pleaded I have mercy on my son. ‘Spare the poor child!’ she called out. ‘He knows not what he do!’ She then suggested I put in only half the packet. But then it wouldn’t be 2x spicy ramen, would it? If that’s the case, he should have just chosen 1x spicy. If you’re gonna go, go all the way.

The idea of reducing the ramen to average spicy reminded me of a bit of wisdom I once heard from a college professor:

Education is the one thing people don’t want to get their money’s worth on.

They want to know only what’s on the test. They don’t want to learn anything extra to get the full value.

That professor was onto something. This was a learning moment, and my son deserved to get his money’s worth. How wrong I would be to rob him of this moment. If I protect him now, I’ve taught him nothing about personal agency and his power to influence consequences within his own life. I risk having him always look to someone else to protect him and guide him to safety.

I wasn’t having none of that, so I poured in the whole sauce packet, 100% of that 2x spicy goodness. Where else can I expect to find such cheap entertainment on a Sunday evening, especially when football’s out of season?

My son barely survived the first bite. The inside of his mouth burned with the fire of a thousand suns. He saw a light and he heard a tribal drumbeat and some unfamiliar chanting. He tapped out after the third bite. Fortunately, his sister didn’t eat all of her ramen, so he didn’t go hungry.

You may have already predicted, dear reader, that most of the other parties in this story have labeled me the villain. But they’ve misunderstood the conflict, in which I was a mere guide. The conflict at the root of the story was not man-vs-man, nor was it man-vs-nature or man-vs-noodle. No, the conflict was man-vs-himself. And this type of conflict is the most challenging we fight every day. If we can master that conflict, then the rest is easy in comparison.

And if you think I am in fact the villain in this story, then ask yourself if you’d feel the same if I were Yoda or Obi-Wan Kenobi. Feel the same you’d probably not. Mmmm

Goodbye. Adios. Adieu.