Burnout

Over the course of the Martin Luther King Jr. holiday weekend, I burned out.

I no longer had any interest in penning my "Weekend Wrap," as it has come to be known. The stock market was no longer of any interest to me. I didn't write my usual column, and, I didn't write my daily market commentary on Tuesday either.

It's not as if this was a sudden, knee-jerk reaction to anything. This has been brewing inside me for a long time. Obviously, I don't even care anymore to write in the third person, as has been the usual mode of this blog. It's just not important, just as money and markets aren't important, to me, at least.

Maybe money is important to you. Maybe the ups and downs of Wall Street matter to you, to your feelings of well being, to your existence. Money and markets are not existential prerogatives to me. Never have been. And now, they really don't matter at all.

I took an interest in stocks, bonds, money, and business when I was very young. At the age of six, I was intrigued by the small type in the newspaper displaying the gains and losses of big companies. To me, at such a tender age, the world of business and finance was a fantastic place populated by titans of industry, upstanding men of character and wisdom who employed their thinking and inventiveness to build fabulous engines of wealth. Such a fascination with money and business served me well along my path through adolescence and into adulthood. I conceived any number of business ideas, launched most, failed at many, until finally, by age 30, I found success in the newspaper business.

Perhaps the rude awakening to how business actually operated was where my burnout began and it just took a long time for me to realize it. I don't like the way business is conducted anymore. When I was in business - in the 80s, before the internet - an office, a phone, and a car were just about all one needed to get oneself on the path to riches. Almost all of the deals and ad sales I did were in person. A few were done by phone, but a follow-up personal visit was always required. I did business with people, in person. Try that today and you'll be laughed out of most places. It's an email, a text, a slick website and an electronic funds transfer. Done.

Wall Street, for all it's glamor and glory, is different now as well. A quarter point or half point gain - which used to be a big deal - is now 0.25 or 0.50, and it's nothing. Hedge funds, fake news, the Federal Reserve, and a host of unseen forces - algorithms, HFTs, ETFs, the PPT - have destroyed whatever was left of free markets and the "old Wall Street after the ravages of 9/11/2001. There's no Louis Rukeyser's "Wall Street Week" on Friday nights. Today it's CNBC, wall-to-wall, all the time, blaring the trumpets for the honorable necessity of owning stocks all day long, all night long.

It's boring, and most of the time, it's meaningless, or downright wrong. Stocks all move in tandem today. There's no science; only emotion, and mine is spent.

My personal short literary demise - which this is - may have more to do with anxiety over the fate of our nation than my dislike for the current rigors of finance. Everything is in chaos and there doesn't seem to be any end to it. Nor is there any sense to it, anymore. Tucker Carlson's tirade from a few weeks back encapsulates much of what I'm feeling, but, for me, there's more.

There has to be more than stocks. When I figure out what that is, I'll be back.