There's a poignant story in the New York Times today, How A Financial Pro Lost His House.
ONE night a few years ago, when the value of our home had collapsed, our debt was out of control and my financial planning business was shaky, I went to take out the trash.
There was this enormous window that looked right in on the kitchen table, and through it I could see my wife, Cori, and our four children eating dinner. It was dark outside, so they couldn’t see me, and I just stood there looking at them.
After a while, I pulled up a bucket and I sat on it, just watching my children eat. I found myself wishing that I could get back there, connected to the simple ordinary stuff of my family’s life. And as I sat and watched, filled with longing and guilt, two questions kept arising:
How did I get here?
It's one story out of millions, but it's a more honest look at the mess than most of the garbage coming out of DC politicians. It's hard to avoid following the crowd, believing what you want to hear when everyone around doesn't seem to be having a problem with what's going on.
It's just one story, but it's worth a read because few victims of our MOTUs get that many column inches. It has a semi-happy ending, compared to what's happened to many but it's still a cautionary tale. And damn few of our so-called elites seem to have noticed what this guy had his face rubbed in. You won't hear it from Bloomberg or the rest of his crowd.