Yesterday my son Ezekiel was walking around in his underwear, complaining about having to wear pants to school. Mommy was making him. I didn't lose anything. Weird that somehow I felt like I did. What does loss feel like? For me it's not simply sadness. It's my chest. Short of breath. Hands a little clammy, heart beating a little faster. Oh. Like that Doechii song. What have I actually lost? Mostly, I think it's the chance to make future memories with whoever or whatever's go

He taught me a lot about money. Most of it he never said out loud. I was small, and I had a good eye. In Little League that meant I could get on base laying off the bad pitches. It was a perfectly reasonable strategy for someone with a small strike zone. While my dad initially taught me this strategy, he ended up changing his mind. As I got older, from the stands, every time I got up: Be a hitter. Now. I didn’t fully understand what he meant then. I think I’m still figuring i

I've stretched and rationalized my spending more than you'd think. I once paid rents that would sound absurd to anyone outside San Francisco. Not because they made sense, but because I believed my income would grow. We're moving to Berkeley next month, where I grew up. We'll be paying more than twice our current mortgage. Hope is the variable most people leave out of the affordability equation. And when it collapses, affordability becomes fear. I feel it in my body. I recorde

Why Jose Canseco Makes Me More Optimistic About AI You likely don’t remember your first trade. But I bet you remember your first bad one. Mine was in 1986. I was seven years old and fully convinced Rickey Henderson was as close to perfection as a human being could reasonably get. He stole bases, hit home runs, and was from Oakland. I mean, have you seen his thighs? One afternoon at King’s Baseball Cards in Berkeley, I pulled a Donruss Rated Rookie card of a guy named Jose Can