It was a restless night.
I tossed and turned repeatedly, failing to summon slumber.
I was away from home, lying atop a mattress that was too thin and too firm. And I was struggling to get comfortable.
Still, that only explained half of the issue.
For it was a sultry summer night. The air conditioner was going at full blast to combat the muggy conditions outside. But it had turned the guest bedroom into an icebox.
I’d covered myself with a blanket. But it was only so wide. And with each toss and turn, the blanket folded in on itself like a piece of origami.
As the night went on, I felt more and more of me freeze. First, my foot was exposed to the chilled air, then my lower leg, my arm, and my shoulder.
When it became unbearable, I’d shake the blanket free and toss it over my body. But a few tosses and turns later, it would be back to where it was. And I’d be cold again.
It was sometime around 2 AM when I realized the futility of my situation. The blanket was simply not built for my sleep patterns.
I wouldn’t be able to feel fully comfortable in this bed. Each movement I made would come with visceral tradeoffs.
These were the facts. I’d just have to live with them.
Not too long ago, I was watching a hockey game on television.
At a break in the action, a QR code appeared on the screen, promising a chance at a $10,000 grocery giveaway. The winner would get the reward in monthly sums over the course of the year.
I scanned the code and entered the contest. But my name was not picked.
Disappointment washed over me when I learned this news. But it quickly faded.
For I realized that I typically spend far less a month on groceries than the contest promised. And I could still pay for my smaller grocery haul with the plastic card in my pocket.
That card was tied to my bank account, whose balance swelled each time I got a paycheck from my employer.
So, even though this streaming service wasn’t subsidizing my food, I was covered. My employer was footing the bill.
Or not.
My employer, you see, wasn’t simply doling out money from a bottomless vault to keep me fed. It acquired those funds by selling its goods and services to others. Those others were businesses in the insurance industry, who used those goods and services to help provide coverage to consumers.
Many of those consumers were individuals, who covered the value of their homes and vehicles with monthly insurance premiums. The money paid toward these monthly premiums came from their own paychecks – which their employers provided after selling their own set of goods and services.
The dizzying chain I just described is work of the economy. It’s an illustration of the patterns of supply and demand that keep our capitalist society running.
The economy is what keeps us fed, housed, clothed, employed. It’s the engine that keeps us going.
That engine is fueled by two things – finite resources and market participation.
Finite resources mean there’s not enough of everything to go around. There are only so many loaves of bread, pairs of pants, or shiny new vehicles we can produce, for instance. And there’s only so much money we have to offer in exchange for them.
It’s as if we all have a blanket that’s too narrow. We can’t have it all, but we can make tradeoffs to improve our situation. We can participate in the marketplace – as buyers and sellers – to better fulfill our needs.
But if we get too close to the edge of the blanket, market participation breaks down. It becomes too difficult for companies to offer up enough goods, or too expensive for individuals to procure them.
Everything shuts down. And everyone suffers.
It’s an uncomfortable prospect. But one that’s all too real.
Follow the money.
Those three words are perhaps the most memorable of the 1976 film All The President’s Men.
Washington Post journalists Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein have seen their investigation run aground. What started as a story about a burglary has unfurled a broader government conspiracy. But Woodward and Bernstein can’t seem to connect the dots in a manner that is safe for print.
Eventually, Woodward and Bernstein contact a shadowy informant, who urges them to follow the money. This turns out to be the missing link in the investigation.
A trail of payments would ultimately tie the break-in to the administration of United States President Richard Nixon – who seemingly authorized the heist to get intel on his political rivals.
The Washington Post would soon publish its report on what came to be known as The Watergate Scandal. And it would ultimately cost Nixon the presidency.
Following the money is now a central tenet of investigative journalism. It has a way of exposing even the most covert activities.
But following the money can be illustrative outside the newsroom as well.
Indeed, in a world of finite resources and market participation, money speaks loudly. It telegraphs how everything is meant to play out. It provides a map through the chaos.
That is, if we’re willing to pay attention.
That hockey game I was watching – the one with the $10,000 grocery giveaway –was being aired on a new streaming service.
This new service promised to air nearly every game for my local team. All for free.
I was flabbergasted to see this claim.
You see, I’d hardly watched any of my local teams for free before. I’d either paid for a ticket to go to the game or paid for a subscription to watch game telecasts on a cable or streaming channel.
Football offered an exception to this rule. Networks like CBS, FOX, and NBC carried free game telecasts year after year, thanks to decades-old broadcast agreements.
But that was an anomaly.
Indeed, pro hockey seasons included nearly five times as many games as pro football seasons. And to remain solvent, hockey clubs have traditionally relied heavily on fans to pony up for viewing access.
I couldn’t imagine that financial model changing overnight. So, what would be filling that revenue hole for my local team now? If I wasn’t paying for my viewing access, who was?
As I write this, I’ve yet to figure those details out. Just as I’ve yet to determine who’s subsidizing the restrooms at shopping center I recently visited.
Those facilities were too clean and well-furnished for public access. Someone was paying to keep them pristine.
Yet, I continue to dig. On both counts.
Why? Because I know the score.
There are no free rides in the realm of finite resources. Even if someone else is footing the bill, I’m still paying for those game telecasts and fancy public restrooms somehow.
The more I understand this arrangement, the more sustainably I can avail myself of it. Without being abruptly left out in the cold when the blanket folds in on itself.
I’m not alone in this regard. We can all enjoy these benefits. That is, if we
Dylan Brooks
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