Let's Just Tank And See What We're Made Of

The theatrics on Capital Hill are getting more ridiculous by the minute, as beltway Democrats and Republicans bandy rhetorical nuance as to how to neatly package the enabling bailout and wrist slap of our sick gambler, Wall Street.

All we need now is a P.T. Barnum truck to cozy up to the Capital valet, so the balancing bear on the giant beach ball can roll on in and get this deal done.

Here's an idea for Washington lawmakers, albeit more philosophical than literal. Let's do nothing. Nothing at all.

Maybe what we need most is a cognitive bailout and a fresh paradigm. One that comes without monetary enabling, but rather a healthy and unified dose of tough love.

It's time for us, as a country, to supplicate at the highest level and acknowledge that this charade of shortcuts that we've delusionally referred to as prosperity was nothing more - or less - than smoke and mirrors.

Do nothing.

We'll brace ourselves as more banks collapse, credit markets dry up, trillions of dollars will vanish from pensions, and retirement accounts will plummet to a point of no return, while millions of Americans lose their jobs.

Then, we have a choice.

We can continue to point fingers and blame the banks, Republicans, Democrats, Wall Street, The Hollywood Elite, Hockey Mom's, Community Organizers, our parents, Michael Moore, Fox News, Talk Hate-io and anybody else except the person in the mirror.

Or, we can lift each other up, dust off and get to work reinventing ourselves.

We might just need an even greater depression.

Congress, do nothing (now that's an oxymoron for a future blog post). Let's do nothing not in a dismissive, bureaucratic manner of typical wheel spinning though.

Do nothing in a monumental and bold measure of inaction.

Let's do nothing. But let's do it well.

And when the carnage of nothing settles, we'll find the something that we seemingly misplaced a long time ago.

Humility.

The humility to realize that we've become a nation that has placed top priority on out-borrowing each other to live a lifestyle beyond our means, quietly crossing our fingers that the next paycheck will yield the funds to make the minimum monthly payment.

The humility to acknowledge that the technological revolution and economic boom of the 90's, while funded by US venture capital, was fueled by intellectual property and ingenuity from Indian, Chinese and other international scholastic wizards.

The humility in the fact that we have become a nation that imports the lead paint tainted toys our children play with, however export not much more than our own jobs and Hollywood entertainment.

The humility to look at our neighbors as not a Republican or Democrat, but with basic human dignity.

The humility to adhere towards an advanced level of realization that recognizes a higher power or calling beyond ourselves, our clothing labels and the SUV's we need to lease in order to navigate the speed bumps at Target.

The humility to gather in greater numbers as a community to worship again, whether it be at a Christian Church, Mosque, Temple or Our Lady of Starbucks.

The humility to admit failure and take accountability. In return, the humility to accept the fallibility of others without judgement, and welcome them into our homes for food, shelter, a hot shower and an impromtu Guitar Hero shredathon.

When ultimate humility is achieved, we'll call it rock bottom. That's when we really get to work.

With gratitude.

For gratitude and humility are not exclusive of each other.

Along the way, there will be copious complaining. Ironically though, my guess is there will be one demographic that won't complain a bit, and that's the children of my grandparents generation that still hold a haunting, however fleeting recollection of the Great Depression. The first wave of baby boomers that recall a time that when the potato wasn't big enough to feed the entire family, you simply mixed in the dirt on the potato to compensate and get you through to the hope and prayer for a next meal.

These are the people that won't have time to complain, for they know no other option than hard work and the duty of acting beyond ones own self.

They won't complain because they remember the depression and have been humbled once before.

A quiet humility they've carried for an entire life. And now, in the twilight of their years, the children of the great depression hold a legacy that must endure for us to come back stronger and more prosperous than ever. A legacy that is very simple.

Humility.