Wednesday, February 18, 2026

Middle Class Traction #7: Time → Security

 How “Security” Is Used in This Series

Plain-language definition: In real terms, Security is your “compounding floor.” It is the expectation that the time you spend working and living should naturally build a rising level of protection against the future. It is the shift from running as fast as you can just to stay in place to finally standing on something you have built with your own hands.

  • Accumulated Resilience: This is not about whether you can survive one bad month. It is the durability of your stability over decades. It means that as you get older, a single mistake or a dip in the market should have less power to ruin your life than it did when you were twenty.

  • The Upward Floor: This is the structural guarantee that your exposure to risk should decrease as you age. You are trading your youth and your energy for a permanent reduction in your vulnerability.

  • Time-Reciprocity: This is the belief that time is an ally. In a functional middle-class life, time is the engine that converts your daily effort into equity, savings, and a social standing that people recognize.

  • Certainty of Arrival: This is the psychological sense that you have finally made it. It is the point where basic survival is no longer the primary lens through which you have to make every single life decision.

  • Multi-Generational Margin: This is the ability to provide a starting point for your children that is higher than the one you had. It ensures that time works in favor of the family line, not just the individual.

Examples:

  • Financial: High security is a retirement account that grows faster than the cost of bread and medicine. Low security is “aging into precarity,” where a lifetime of work ends with a smaller safety net than you had in your thirties.

  • Life Stages: Security looks like hitting milestones on a predictable clock. It is the ability to buy a home or start a family when it makes sense biologically and socially, rather than postponing adulthood indefinitely because the numbers don’t add up.

  • Psychological: It is the difference between always catching up on past-due pressures and actually being able to plan ahead for future opportunities.

  • Economic: When a local economy is diverse, time builds a career you can take anywhere. When a local economy is concentrated in one shrinking industry, time just makes a worker more specialized in a world that is disappearing.



Does Time Still Work in Your Favor?

For most of the twentieth century, time functioned as a quiet partner for the middle class. A person did not need to be an expert in finance or a master of strategy to find their way to a stable life. The requirements were straightforward: you needed to stay employed, you needed to stay in your home, and you needed to avoid a total catastrophe. If you could manage those three things, time would eventually take care of the rest of the math. Steady work over twenty years turned into seniority and a pension. A thirty-year mortgage gradually turned a monthly expense into an asset you owned outright. In that world, time was a tailwind that pushed a household toward a finish line where the heavy lifting was finally done.

That relationship has weakened.

Today, time no longer reliably progresses into stability for a significant portion of the population. Years of hard work and consistent employment do not automatically reduce a household's financial exposure to the world. Staying in a house for a decade does not guarantee that you are closer to owning your life if the costs of maintaining that existence rise faster than your ability to earn. Instead of smoothing out the risks of life, time often acts to stretch those risks out over a longer horizon. Families are doing the work and they are making the plans, but they find themselves in a state of permanent financial triage. The goalposts for retirement and stability seem to move further away for every year they spend running toward them.

This final installment of the Middle Class Traction series examines what happens when time stops working as a stabilizing force. The issue we are looking at is not a sudden collapse or a dramatic crisis. It is the growing, quiet experience that no matter how long a person works, participates, or stays in place, the ground beneath them never quite settles into a foundation. We are looking at the moment when the mechanism of conversion breaks down, and the middle class stops being a destination and starts being a holding pattern.



How the Earlier Buckets Lead Here

You have to look at how we got to this point, because this isn’t just a list of separate problems. These buckets are the specific tests we used to see if the basic mechanisms of a middle-class life still do what they were designed to do. We weren't just looking for whether people were surviving; we were looking for whether their effort was actually converting into a solid footing.

  • Income → Stability was the starting point. We asked a simple question: does the work you do actually cover the basics and still leave you with enough room to build a savings cushion? The goal here was to see if you had enough cushion to absorb the shocks that life is eventually going to throw at you. If you don't have that margin, you're just one bad break away from being right back at the beginning.

  • Housing → Continuity looked at whether staying in one place actually reduces your risk over time. The logic of the middle class used to be that the longer you stayed in your home and your neighborhood, the safer you were supposed to be. We wanted to see if that anchor was still holding or if it had started to drag.

  • Work → Advancement examined the engine of your career. We asked if your years of experience still open up new doors and lead to real growth, or if they just lead you to a plateau where you find yourself working harder and harder for the same result. It’s the difference between a career that builds and a job that just repeats.

  • Affordability → Optionality tested whether you still have room to move. In a healthy life, you need the ability to say "no" to a bad situation or "yes" to a better one without the whole car flipping over. We looked at whether your choices today are building your leverage for tomorrow, or if they are just becoming permanent tradeoffs that you can never escape.

  • Place → Belonging was about your stake in the game. We looked at whether the community you live in still makes room for the middle class to actually participate in its future. It’s the difference between being a shareholder in your town’s direction or just being a tenant who is watching the future happen to someone else.

When you look at these buckets together, you see a pattern. Each one of them might show a little bit of function—people are still working, they are still paying their bills, and they are still making their plans—but none of them are producing long-term growth. They are keeping people afloat, but they aren't letting them build anything.

And that points us to a single, unavoidable outcome: time itself has stopped delivering security. You are doing all the maintenance, but you aren't getting any closer to the finish line. You have been doing the thinking and you have been doing the work, but the machine is no longer paying out the way it was promised.



Aging Into Precarity

The clearest sign that time has stopped rewarding the middle class is the loss of the "finish line." In a healthy community, a lifetime of work is supposed to result in a settled state. The deal used to be that if you gave the system your best years, the system would eventually let you rest. You expect that by the time you reach your sixties, the heavy lifting is done. You should be standing on a foundation that you spent forty years pouring, and that foundation should be solid enough to hold you up without you having to constantly patch the cracks.

However, many residents in the Shrinking Center find that their later years are marked by a new kind of fragility. Costs for healthcare, property taxes, and basic utilities are moving faster than the protections these people spent a lifetime building. This is not a failure of character or a lack of personal planning. These are not people who spent their way into a hole or gambled on the market. They did exactly what they were told to do. The problem is that the environment simply stopped rewarding their longevity.

When economic concentration favors new capital and new development over long-term residency, the “incumbent” middle class finds that their accumulated security is being eaten away by a system that no longer values their time in place. They remain present and they remain active, but they are aging into a more dangerous form of uncertainty. They find themselves in a position where they are one surprise—one medical bill or one tax hike—away from total loss. In this condition, time is no longer building a wall of protection; it is slowly eroding the ground they are standing on.




Delayed Adulthood

In a world that works the way it is supposed to, adulthood arrives in stages that actually build on one another. It is a sequence where a full-time job leads to real independence, and stable housing allows your daily routines to finally settle in. As your income grows, you are supposed to gain the ability to make plans for the long term. The idea is that as you take on more responsibility, you are rewarded with more authority over your own life, rather than just having to deal with more obstacles.

But for a lot of people today, that sequence has stagnated or broken entirely. This is not a situation where people are avoiding responsibility or trying to stay young forever. The reality is that the conditions that used to allow adulthood to develop do not arrive on a schedule anymore. People are taking on all the heavy adult obligations—they are working the hours, they are caregiving for family, and they are carrying the debt—but they are not gaining the stability that traditionally accompanied those burdens. You end up with a version of independence that exists on a piece of paper, but it does not exist in your daily practice.

You see this most clearly when people are forced to postpone the major milestones of their lives by necessity rather than by choice. Homeownership stays out of reach until they are well into midlife. Families delay having children, not because they are uncertain about the future, but because the basic costs of raising a child cannot be absorbed by the life they currently have. Every financial decision they make is framed around surviving the short term instead of positioning themselves for the long term.

The clock keeps ticking, but that sense of “arrival” never happens. Instead of reaching a phase where life feels settled enough to start planning for the future, many people remain in a prolonged holding pattern. They are working, they are paying their bills, and they are managing their lives, but they are never actually consolidating their gains. Their responsibilities are accumulating much faster than their security. Each passing year adds more weight to their shoulders without adding any margin to their lives.

You have to understand that this delayed adulthood is a structural outcome, not a personal failure. It is the natural result of a system where effort no longer reliably produces independence, and where time does not deliver the stability it once promised. When adulthood is not allowed to fully form, security cannot follow it.



Midlife Exposure

For most of the last century, the logic of a middle-class life was that aging reduced your risk. Each decade you put behind you was supposed to bring more stability, not less. Experience mattered to the people paying you, and seniority actually counted for something on the floor or in the office. Your housing costs either stayed flat or disappeared entirely as you paid off the mortgage, and your savings finally grew into a cushion that could save you for a while when something bad happened. By the time you reached midlife, you expected to have fewer surprises waiting for you and a lot more control over your own days.

That expectation no longer holds.

Today, many people are finding they are aging into precarity instead of out of it. The passing years are adding more responsibility to their lives without doing anything to reduce their exposure to a bad break. Healthcare costs start to climb before any real financial cushion is in place. Housing remains unstable well past the point when it should have been settled and forgotten. Careers start to plateau or get reset entirely right at the moment when time should be doing the heavy lifting for you. You are working just as hard, but the risk remains fully exposed.

You can see this in the quiet ways people in their forties and fifties look at their jobs. They worry about layoffs because they know that re-entering the workforce at that age is risky and can have negative consequences to their quality of life. Layoffs, at this point, are no longer just a temporary disruption in a long career; it is a threat to the long-term survival of the household. When you lose a job in midlife, your skills are questioned, your wages and benefits are reset downward. It is a derailment, not a detour.

At the same time, the idea of retirement has stopped being the goal line of a stable path. Now, it looms in the distance as an unresolved problem. Many households are approaching the later stages of life without a clear timeline, without enough in the bank, and without any confidence that they can stop working without doing themselves harm. The sense of finally “being set” never arrives.

This is the clearest sign that the mechanism is broken—when time stops converting your effort into security. The years are passing, but the risk is not fading. When getting older doesn't make your life any easier, the fundamental promise of time building security has been broken.



Retirement Without Rest

In a functioning middle-class system, retirement is the point where time finally pays out for all that work you put in. It’s the stage where work is supposed to taper off because you have finally built a wall of security around your life. Your income might drop some, but the risk you are exposed to is supposed to drop right along with it. Your housing is stable, your healthcare is predictable, and while your future might look a little narrower than it used to, it feels a whole lot safer.

That outcome is no longer something you can count on.

For a lot of households today, retirement arrives without any real rest. People are approaching the later years of their lives still trying to manage their exposure to disaster rather than enjoying any kind of stability. Their savings are thin because they spent the last three decades absorbing financial shocks that the system used to handle for them. Pensions have mostly disappeared, and investment balances move up and down in ways that feel more like gambling than saving. On top of that, healthcare costs remain the great unknown—an expense that is often large enough to be the deciding factor in whether a household stays afloat.

As a result of all that uncertainty, you see people staying in the workforce much longer than they intended. They aren't doing it as a lifestyle choice; they are doing it as a safeguard. They stay employed just to protect their insurance, to keep a little more income moving through the house, or to delay the moment they have to start drawing down what little savings they have left. Even the people who do manage to retire are doing it with a sense of caution. They are managing their lives and their withdrawals month by month, looking at the numbers every morning instead of relying on a floor that was supposed to be secure.

This means that retirement planning has shifted from a process of preparation to a process of risk avoidance. You are in a position where one medical event, one downturn in the market, or even one obligation to help a family member can undo forty years of effort in a crisis event. The years that were supposed to be about reducing your uncertainty now require a level of constant, exhausting vigilance.

This is not a failure of discipline or a lack of character on the part of the worker. It is the direct outcome of a system where time is failing to accumulate protection. When retirement no longer represents an arrival at a safe destination, your security remains provisional right up until the very end of your life.



Always Catching Up

When time is working properly, your effort is supposed to compound. Every year you put in should build on top of the last one. You might slow your pace eventually, but the progress you’ve made is meant to be real and it's meant to be durable. You’re supposed to feel like you’re actually moving toward a destination, even if it takes you a long time to get there.

But when time stops working, that feeling just disappears.

A lot of middle-class households now describe their lives as a constant effort to catch up. They aren’t running to get ahead anymore; they’re running just to try and regain the ground they already lost. When a raise shows up, it gets absorbed by higher costs before the ink is even dry. When they manage to build a little savings, it gets drained by an ordinary disruption that shouldn't have been a disaster. Their progress keeps resetting instead of accumulating.

This puts you in a permanent state of management. Life becomes an ongoing exercise in maintaining your balance rather than actually building any security. Your planning starts to focus on the next big expense, the next contract renewal, or the next adjustment you have to make just to keep the car on the road. You never get that sense of arrival because your stability never actually locks in.

And the thing is, the feeling here isn’t panic. It’s fatigue.

People don’t feel like they’re being irresponsible or reckless. They just feel worn down by the realization that time is passing by without delivering any relief. The longer they stay in this system, the more exposed they feel to the next disruption. All those years of effort aren’t reducing their uncertainty; they’re simply stretching that uncertainty out across a much longer timeline.

Being “always catching up” is one of the loudest signals that time has lost its stabilizing role. When your effort fails to accumulate into something you can stand on, security is going to stay perpetually out of reach.



No Sense of Arrival

In a system where time is doing its job, people eventually recognize when they have reached a safer phase of life. It’s a moment—sometimes it happens gradually and sometimes it is as clear as a bell—when your basic stability is finally established. Your expenses start to feel manageable, your daily decisions don't feel quite so fragile, and your planning finally shifts from playing defense in the short term to having real intent for the long term. You finally feel like you have a solid floor under your feet.

For a lot of households today, that moment never actually shows up.

People are moving through their education, their work, their family formation, and right into midlife without ever crossing into a phase that feels truly settled. Every new stage of life seems to bring a whole new set of obligations, but none of them seem to deliver the security that was supposed to come with the territory. Your housing stays provisional, your work stays conditional, and any savings you manage to put together feel temporary rather than growing. You are doing the work of an adult, but you aren't getting the peace of mind that used to be the reward for it.

What this produces is a life lived without any real milestones. It isn’t because people are rejecting those milestones; it is because the system itself no longer supports them. There is no point on the timeline where your risk meaningfully declines, and there is no stage where your effort clearly converts into safety. You’re just moving forward through the years without ever gaining any actual ground.

This absence of arrival eventually reshapes how people behave. They start to hesitate before they commit to anything because the stakes feel too high and the floor feels too thin. Their long-term plans stay flexible because they have to, not because they want them to be. Every decision they make is framed around avoiding harm rather than building something durable that will last.

When time fails to produce that sense of arrival, security stops being a condition you actually experience and starts being an abstract idea you just hope for. Life continues to move forward, but you are missing that grounding sense that something—anything—has been permanently secured along the way.



Why Time → Security Comes Last

You have to understand why we saved this one for the end. Time → Security is the final test in this series because it represents the total, cumulative outcome of every other failure we’ve talked about. Time does not operate in a vacuum. It doesn’t just happen to you independently of everything else. It acts as a multiplier—it takes whatever conditions are existing underneath it and it amplifies them over the long haul.

If your income is not stabilizing your household, if your housing is not letting you stay rooted, if your work is not moving you forward, if your affordability is not preserving your choices, and if the place you live is not reinforcing your sense of belonging—well, then time simply cannot perform its traditional role in your life. It loses the ability to convert your effort into safety. Instead of compounding your security, time starts compounding your exposure to risk.

This is exactly why this kind of breakdown shows up so late in the game and feels so difficult to put a name to. You don't see people suddenly falling out of the middle class in a single night. They remain active, they stay employed, they keep their houses, and they stay engaged with their neighbors. On the surface, everything looks like it’s still functioning. But the trajectory of their lives has fundamentally shifted. The expected payoff for their patience and their hard work has disappeared, and they are left running a race with no finish line in sight.

Instead of easing your strain as the years go by, time just stretches that strain out. Your years of effort do not close the gaps in your life; they just barely manage to keep them open. Your planning becomes entirely defensive, and your progress starts to feel like something temporary that could be taken away at any moment. Your stability remains conditional on nothing going wrong.

This bucket comes last because this is the point where the erosion of the middle class becomes undeniable. When time itself no longer works in your favor, you have reached the point where the system is no longer delivering what it promised—even to the people who are doing everything right.



When Time Stops Paying Out

You have to understand that the middle class was never actually defined by how much wealth you had piled up. It was defined by a specific expectation—the expectation that time was going to do some of the heavy lifting for you. The deal was simple: if you stayed employed, stayed in your house, and avoided any major disruptions, your life would gradually and predictably become safer. Your effort accumulated into something real. Your risk declined as you got older. Security wasn’t something you had to chase every day; it was something that emerged naturally from the way you lived.

That expectation no longer holds for a lot of households.

People are still doing exactly what they were told to do. They are going to work, they are making their plans, and they are delaying their own gratification to try and build a future. They are managing their risks as carefully as they can. But what has changed isn’t the way people are behaving; it’s the outcome the system is producing. Time passes by, yet security remains something that is perpetually postponed. The years keep adding more responsibility to your life without delivering any of the relief you were promised.

This is how a middle class erodes without a sudden collapse. It doesn't happen through one single, loud failure. It happens through the quiet realization that nothing in your life is ever truly settling. There is no point on the timeline where your effort clearly converts into permanent safety. There is no phase where your vigilance can finally relax. You never reach that moment where the future feels like something you’ve earned, rather than something you just have to manage.

When time stops paying out, the middle class doesn’t just disappear overnight. It becomes provisional. Life turns into a long holding pattern, where your stability has to be defended indefinitely instead of being secured once and for all. That is the condition this whole series has traced. It isn’t about an absence of work, or a lack of growth, or people refusing to participate. It is about the loss of conversion. When time no longer works in your favor, the system is simply no longer delivering what it promised.

Naming that failure isn't an act of pessimism. It is a diagnosis. And you have to realize that without an honest diagnosis of the machinery, there is no path back to real security.



What This Series Has Shown

Across these seven installments, the Middle Class Traction series has examined one fundamental question: not whether people are working, but whether the work they do still actually converts into a life. The conclusion we’ve reached is not that effort has disappeared from the American scene. It is that the conversion mechanisms—the gears that once turned your daily effort into long-term security—have either weakened or broken entirely.

When time stops working in your favor, the middle class doesn't vanish in a cloud of smoke. It becomes something else. It becomes provisional. It becomes conditional. It becomes exhausted by the sheer weight of constant maintenance. That is the condition we set out to name. You have to be able to see the breakdown clearly before you can even start to talk about what would have to change for time to work for the middle class again.



Final Closing Thought: The Cost of Perpetual Maintenance

If there is one thing to take away from this entire mosaic, it’s this: when the conversion breaks, life becomes an endless job of maintenance. In a healthy system, you build a house so you have a place to live. In a broken system, you spend all your time just trying to keep the roof from caving in. You aren't living in the house; you’re serving it.

That is what has happened to the traction of the middle class. The "traction" isn't just about moving forward; it's about the ground holding firm when you step on it. Right now, for too many people, the ground is moving as fast as they are. And until we find a way to let people stand on a floor that doesn't require constant, life-consuming repair, we aren't building a community—we're just managing a decline.

--------------------------------------------------------- Middle Class Traction #7: Time → Security Middle Class Traction #6: Place → Belonging Middle Class Traction #5: Affordability → Optionality Middle Class Traction #4: Work → Advancement Middle Class Traction #3: Housing → Continuity Middle Class Traction #2 : Income → Stability Middle Class Traction #1: Working Without Stability

Monday, February 16, 2026

Hickory 102: 8th Verse - When Systems Reward Endurance Over Improvement

 When Holding On Starts to Count as Winning

In Hickory, and in places much like it, there comes a point where stoically not falling apart starts to look like success. You show up for work day after day, and you don’t miss a payment. You keep the lights on, the car insured, the roof over your head and not leaking. On the surface, that feels like stability — and from the outside it looks like you are a responsible human being: you’re doing what needs to be done, meeting obligations, carrying your weight.

That’s when something subtle shifts. Improving your situation stops mattering as much as keeping your head above water. You used to think in terms of growth, progress, building toward something better. Now you think in terms of endurance: get through this week, this month, this billing cycle. Endurance feels practical. It feels necessary. It even feels like the only thing worth celebrating.

But here’s the thing: when endurance becomes the thing that gets rewarded — by employers, institutions, policy makers, and everyday norms — it doesn’t just change how people act. It changes what success means. People get praised for holding on, for absorbing pressure, for coping. Improvement in position, pay, capacity, margin — that stops being the thing that gets noticed. What gets noticed is who keeps going despite struggling.

Over time, this quietly teaches people not to ask what would actually make things better, but what will allow them to endure a little longer without breaking.

You don’t need a spreadsheet to see it. Walk into a workplace where overtime is framed as commitment instead of a signal that base pay isn’t enough. Sit in a city budget meeting where the applause goes to departments that delivered another year without catastrophe, not to the ones that built something better. Look at announcements that celebrate programs that keep people functioning instead of those that strengthen the foundation. These are not signs of progress. They are signs of a system that has learned to prize survival because improvement carries cost, uncertainty, and disruption.

In this environment, endurance becomes the default benchmark for praise. Not because advancement has died, but because systems under unrelenting pressure stop rewarding it. That’s where this verse begins: noticing what the system has stopped valuing, and what it now uses to measure “doing well.”



How Endurance Becomes the Currency

Once holding on starts to look like winning, systems begin to organize around that assumption. Not out of malice, and not because anyone sat down and planned it that way, but because endurance is easier to measure and cheaper to reward than improvement. Improvement requires change. Endurance only requires tolerance.

You can see it at work. A job doesn’t have to offer a clear path forward as long as people keep showing up. A wage doesn’t have to grow as long as employees absorb the pressure through overtime, side hustles, or tighter personal budgets. Benefits can thin out. Schedules can stay unstable. Expectations can drift. As long as the operation keeps running, endurance gets mistaken for success.

Over time, the signals become clearer. The worker who lasts is valued more than the worker who advances. The department that survives another year without incident is praised more than the one that asks for structural change. The household that keeps paying despite struggling is held up as responsible, while the conditions creating the strain remain untouched. The system learns what it can get away with because people prove, again and again, that they will soldier on.

This is where the reward structure flips. Instead of progress being the thing that earns security, security rests on how much pressure workers are willing to tolerate. The longer the workers endure, the ones that stay are now labeled as “reliable.” Not because their skill level improved, but because they didn’t break. That label carries weight in struggling environments because predictability matters more than potential.

None of this requires cruelty. It only requires sustained pressure and the absence of relief. When people adapt instead of exiting, the system adjusts to their adaptation. Endurance becomes the input it depends on. And once that happens, improvement is no longer necessary and deep down some people in the organization will resent those that improve, so it evolves into inconvenience.



How Behavior Quietly Adjusts to the Reward Structure

When endurance is what gets rewarded, people don’t suddenly lower their standards. They adjust them gradually, in ways that feel reasonable at the time. You stop pushing for improvement because improvement keeps asking for things the system no longer provides—hours, cushion, trust, patience. Endurance, on the other hand, gets acknowledged right away. You show up. You absorb the hit. You keep things moving. That gets noticed.

So behavior shifts. You stop asking what would make things better and start asking what would keep things from getting worse. You take on extra responsibility without extra authority because saying no feels riskier than carrying the load. You hold off on pushing for change because you don’t want to be seen as difficult or unrealistic in an environment that’s already tight. You make yourself smaller so the pressure doesn’t push back as hard.

This doesn’t look like stagnation from the inside. It looks like being practical and mature. You tell yourself now isn’t the right time to rock the boat. You’ll wait until things settle down. But things don’t settle. They’re just maintained. And holding on becomes the job.

Over time, people start internalizing the system’s expectations. Advancement begins to feel optional, even suspect. Improvement starts sounding risky. The person who keeps their head down and survives another cycle looks safer than the one who still reaches for something better. That lesson gets reinforced quietly, year after year, until it stops feeling imposed and starts feeling natural.

This is how endurance reshapes identity. People don’t see themselves as stuck. They see themselves as responsible for keeping things stable. They take pride in managing pressure well. And that pride is real. But it’s also the mechanism that keeps progress from happening. The system doesn’t have to block improvement outright. It only has to reward endurance consistently enough that people stop asking for more.



What Gets Lost When Endurance Becomes the Standard

The cost of a system that rewards endurance instead of improvement isn’t dramatic. Nothing crashes or proclaims failure. What gets lost is momentum—and lost momentum is hard to notice once it’s gone.

When survival is the only metric, the wheels just spin. You lose the grip that lets one day’s work grab onto the next. Effort doesn't build momentum; it just burns away. This year wastes away like last year and you realize you haven't moved an inch. You're still wrestling the same issues that are always lingering in the shadows, but you’ve grown more weary.

Taking the time to build skills starts to feel risky. Training, education, or retooling asks for patience the system doesn’t support anymore. The payoff is too far out, and the penalties for stepping away—even briefly—are costly. So people delay improvement not because they don’t see its value, but because they can’t afford the financial exposure required to pursue it.

This is how long-term growth gets quietly crowded out. Maintenance takes priority over development. Fixing what’s broken today consumes the time and energy that might have gone toward building something stronger tomorrow. Over time, the bottom line shifts. Stability gets defined as “nothing fell apart this cycle,” not “we’re better positioned than we were before.”

From the outside, it can look like nothing’s wrong. People are working. Bills are getting paid. Institutions are functioning. But beneath that surface, the system is eating its own future. It’s converting potential into persistence, and calling that success.

The loss shows up later, when there’s no capital or intellectual depth left to draw from. When the next shock hits and there’s no innovation or ingenuity to lean on—no expanded skill base, no accumulated advantage, no structural improvement—only more endurance is left to ask for. And endurance, by definition, eventually runs out.





Learning to Read an Endurance-Based System

The point of this verse isn’t to criticize people for adapting. Endurance is how people survive when conditions don’t leave room for improvement. The point is to help readers recognize when endurance has quietly replaced progress as the thing the system rewards.

A simple test helps. Look at what gets acknowledged, praised, or protected. Is it growth that makes tomorrow easier, or persistence that keeps today from getting worse? Are people rewarded for building capacity, or for absorbing strain without complaint? When the safest path is to endure rather than to improve, the system has already made its preference clear.

Another signal is how risk is handled. In an improvement-oriented system, taking a smart risk is supported because it strengthens the future. In an endurance-based system, risk is pushed downward. Individuals carry it alone. Failure is punished, even when the effort was reasonable. Over time, people learn to avoid anything that might disrupt their ability to keep going, even if it could have made them stronger.

This is why the system can feel demanding without being developmental. It asks for effort, flexibility, and sacrifice, but offers little that accumulates. You’re expected to show up, stay available, and hold the line. What you’re not encouraged to do is change your position in a lasting way.

Seeing this clearly matters because it restores accuracy. It separates personal discipline from structural reward. It explains why hard work can coexist with stagnation, and why capable people can spend years doing everything right without moving ahead.

Once you can tell the difference between a system that builds people up and one that simply uses their endurance, a harder question starts to form: if persistence is being treated as success, what happens when there’s nothing left to persist with?

That question is where the final verse begins.



When Holding On Gets Mistaken for Winning

When endurance becomes the thing that gets rewarded, the definition of success quietly changes. Progress stops meaning improvement. It starts meaning survival. If nothing broke this month, if you made it through the quarter, if you kept your head down and absorbed the pressure, that counts as a win.

The problem is that endurance can look like strength for a long time. People keep showing up. Systems keep functioning. From the outside, it appears stable. But underneath, nothing is getting better. Capacity isn’t growing. Options aren’t widening. The same strain just gets carried forward, cycle after cycle, by the same people.

This is where a dangerous confusion sets in. Systems begin to treat persistence as proof that conditions are acceptable. If people are still standing, the thinking goes, then the structure must be working. The cost of endurance disappears from view because it’s spread out, internalized, and rarely counted.

Over time, even the language shifts. Improvement sounds unrealistic. Change feels risky. Asking for more starts to look unreasonable when the unspoken expectation is simply to last. People don’t stop wanting better outcomes. They stop believing those outcomes are available to them.

That’s the quiet endpoint of an endurance-based system. Not collapse. Not rebellion. Just a slow narrowing of what people believe is possible, until holding on is treated as the highest form of achievement.

And once success gets redefined that way, interpretation itself starts to lag behind reality. People keep using old explanations for conditions that have already changed.

That is where the final verse begins.



Learning to Tell Endurance From Progress

Endurance isn’t the problem. Endurance is how people survive when systems stop responding. It’s showing up anyway, carrying the load and doing what needs doing even when nothing improves. In places like Hickory, endurance is often mistaken for strength because it looks steady from the outside. People keep working. Bills get paid. Nothing collapses. That steadiness gets praised.

But endurance and progress are not the same thing.

The difference shows up over time. Endurance keeps things from falling apart. Progress makes the next stretch easier than the last one. If the same effort is required every cycle just to hold position, nothing is growing and improving. If staying functional requires constant strain, the system isn’t rewarding improvement — it’s rewarding tolerance.

Verse 8 teaches a simple reading skill: watch what gets rewarded. If the system praises people for “hanging in there,” “being flexible,” and “powering through,” but offers no path that reduces future load, you’re not in a growth environment. You’re in an endurance environment – a survival environment. The system isn’t asking for better ideas or better work. It’s asking who can last the longest without breaking.

That matters because endurance has a ceiling. People can absorb pressure for a long time, but not forever. When improvement stops being possible, exhaustion becomes the hidden cost. People don’t quit because they’re weak. They quit because endurance was substituted for progress long enough that there was nowhere left to go.

Once you can tell whether a system rewards improvement or merely tolerates survival, the next question becomes unavoidable: if endurance is what’s being selected, what kind of future does that system actually produce?

That’s where the next verse begins.

Saturday, February 14, 2026

Hickory, NC News & Views | February 15, 2026 | Hickory Hound


 If this matters…

Comment. Send a letter you'd like me to post. Like the Hickory Hound on my various platforms. Subscribe. Share it on your personal platforms. Share your ideas with me. Tell me where you think I am wrong. If you'd like to comment, but don't want your comments publicized, then they won't be. I am here to engage you.

Get in touch: hickoryhoundfeedback@gmail.com

 

HKYNC News & Views February 15, 2026 – Executive Summary  

Hickory Hound News and Views Archive


-----------------------------------


📤This Week: 


(Tuesday) - Hickory 102: 7th Verse - When Time Horizons Collapse -  It explains present-day behavior: why people tolerate conditions they once would have rejected.

 

(Thursday) - Middle Class Traction #6: Place → Belonging - Time in place no longer guarantees influence or inclusion.


------------------------------------

 

 📤Next Week: 


(Tuesday) - Hickory 102: 8th Verse  - When Systems Reward Endurance Over Improvement -   When Holding On Starts to Count as Winning. How Endurance Becomes the Currency. How Behavior Quietly Adjusts to the Reward Structure.

 

(Thursday) - Middle Class Traction #7: Time → Security -Does Time Still Work in Your Favor? Aging Into Precarity. Delayed Adulthood.


 

🧠Opening Reflection: 

The phone chirps before the coffee's even brewed at 6am: a text from Duke Energy asks you to turn down the heat, not to do laundry, or run the dishwasher until after 9am  because demand is spiking again. Mid-morning, you're on hold or clicking through a portal because the doctor you've trusted for years is suddenly "out of network" under your Medicare “advantage”plan. Driving home, you pass the shuttered pharmacy that used to know your name and your prescriptions without asking—another quiet exit in a string of them. Then the utility bill arrives in the mail or the app, and there's a new line item staring back: "Resiliency Fee." Just a few dollars more, they say, for the system to stay functional.

None of these hit like they’re emergencies. No sirens, no headlines screaming “there’s a crisis.” They arrive as routine notifications, under the radar, polite requests, administrative nudges—small enough that you can shrug one off, maybe two. But they accumulate. Each one takes a piece of your time, a sliver of attention, a bit of mental bandwidth you didn't plan to spend. The laundry waits. The portal login fails twice before it works. The drive to the next pharmacy adds twenty minutes you didn't have. The extra few bucks on the bill means something else gets deferred—maybe the oil change, maybe the kid's activity fee.

It's not dramatic. It's steady. It's the feeling of systems that used to carry more of the load now handing pieces of it back to you. The grid runs leaner for you so the tech giant’s data centers can hum uninterrupted; the insurance math shifts so small landlords are forced to sell out; the healthcare networks redraw lines to protect profit margins; the pharmacy chains consolidate; the city budgets for shiny new districts while surcharging basics to keep pipes from bursting. You're not being asked to solve any of it outright. You're just being asked to adjust, again and again, so the bigger machinery of life doesn't have to slow down.

If it feels like you're working a little harder just to hold your place—if the day starts with one more small concession and rolls through with three more that are now part of the routine—that's not imagination. That's the air we're breathing this week in Hickory. The machinery is efficient, the dashboards look sharp, but the friction it sheds lands on kitchen tables, in car seats, in late-night scrolls through portals. Before we map the specific places where that weight is shifting this week, let's just sit with it for a moment: this is what the terrain looks like when progress is measured in throughput, and stability is measured in how much you can absorb.

Rise and shine. The day's already underway.



⭐ Feature Story ⭐

Hickory’s surface is currently defined by major bond projects and visible transformation, but this polished exterior masks a steady erosion of the community’s underlying resilience. Large institutions are solving their own structural pressures by moving the financial weight and administrative labor directly onto your kitchen table, effectively turning you into an unpaid manager for the systems you pay to serve you. This shift liquidates the human buffers—the local stakeholders and professionals—that once absorbed systemic friction. The following five collisions map exactly where that weight is being transferred, revealing a landscape where the institutions are protected while the individual is left exposed. 1. The Peaker Plant Paradox - Duke Energy

Issue: Duke Energy is currently receiving permission to build new natural gas peaker turbines right here in Catawba County to handle "surging electricity demand". At the same time, the utility is asking household customers to conserve energy to manage the load from high-intensity data centers. This is a collision between the city’s goal of "industrial readiness" and the individual’s expectation of a stable, low-cost grid. It explores the mechanism where local residents are essentially asked to subsidize the "fixed system costs" of a high-tech infrastructure that doesn’t necessarily provide them with a corresponding wage "grip".

***Anchoring the Load

Without a baseline, "surging demand" is just a buzzword. Here's the scale of the industrial intake compared to the residential "ask."

  • The Marshall Infrastructure: Duke Energy isn't just "proposing" a change; they have applied to build two hydrogen-capable natural gas units at the Marshall Steam Station in Catawba County. This adds 900 Megawatts of capacity to the local grid, with construction targeted to start in 2026.

  • The Energy Intensity Gap: The Department of Energy has found that data centers—the primary reason for this buildout—consume 10 to 50 times more energy per square foot than typical office buildings. To put that in a local context, a single data center can require the equivalent load growth of three Duke University campuses.

  • The Bill Anchor: While residents are asked to conserve energy via text alerts, they are also being asked to finance the expansion. If approved, the current plan will increase typical monthly residential bills in North Carolina by roughly $17.22 starting January 1, 2027, followed by another increase in 2028.

The Prompt: “Energy demand is at a record high. Please delay using large appliances until after 8:00 PM to ensure grid stability.” The Reality: This is the externalization of maintenance. The institution has prioritized industrial readiness and data centers, but when the machinery hits its limit, the "prompt" is sent to you to manage the load. You are being asked to subsidize the grid's growth by narrowing your own life.

The Short-Term Effect: Residents receive automated text alerts to cut electricity usage during peak hours to prevent grid instability. Daily habits—running the dishwasher or cooling the house—become secondary to the technical needs of a strained power grid.

The Long-Term Effect: The community moves toward a "tiered" grid. High-intensity industrial and data center clients receive priority access to power, while the resident’s access becomes increasingly conditional. The fixed costs of building new gas turbines are baked into everyone’s rates, but the reliability benefits flow primarily toward the industrial tier.

What This Means for You: You are being recruited as an unpaid, on-call grid manager. Your home life is no longer a private sanctuary; it is now a variable that the utility adjusts to protect its corporate delivery metrics.

----------

2. The 68% Insurance Squeeze - North Carolina Housing Insurance

Issue: The North Carolina Rate Bureau has requested a 68.3% average rate increase for dwelling insurance policies, with the first wave set to take effect in July 2026. Unlike homeowners' insurance, this specifically hits non-owner-occupied properties—the small-scale rentals owned by local families. This is a mechanical "Insurance Squeeze." When the cost to maintain a rental property jumps by two-thirds in two years, the small landlord doesn't just raise rent; they sell to a corporate entity with the scale to absorb the loss. This is the liquidation of the local stakeholder layer.


***The Insurance Request: The 68.3% average request is high, but historical context shows it is a "haggling" baseline. In 2023, the Bureau asked for 50.6% and settled for 8%. The story isn't the number; it’s the annual cycle of "rate-shocks" that creates permanent uncertainty for the local landlord.

The Prompt: “Your policy will not be renewed due to a change in regional risk assessment. Please seek alternative coverage.” The Reality: This is the sound of the middle layer being liquidated. It isn't a bill; it's an eviction from the local economy. For a small landlord in Hickory, this prompt is a forced-sale signal. The leverage moves from the neighbor who owns the house to the private equity firm that can afford to self-insure or bundle the risk.

The Short-Term Effect: Small-scale local landlords see a massive spike in operating costs. Rents are raised immediately to cover the gap, or properties are deferred on maintenance to keep the numbers black.

The Long-Term Effect: The liquidation of the local stakeholder. When a family in Hickory can no longer afford the insurance on their three rental units, they sell to a private equity firm with enough scale to self-insure. The "Middle Layer" of community ownership disappears, replaced by distant property management software that has no human connection to the Foothills.

What This Means for You: Your "neighbor" is becoming a corporate algorithm. Whether you are the tenant or the person living next door, you lose the human buffer. There is no one to have a conversation with when a pipe bursts or a yard goes to seed; there is only a portal and a ticket number.

-----------

3. The Pharmacy Desert - Pharmacies and Healthcare

Issue: Since early 2024, 142 local pharmacies have closed across North Carolina. This isn't just a "business trend"; it is the removal of a human buffer in the healthcare system. As primary care access shrinks and local pharmacists disappear, the resident is forced into a "Technical Gauntlet" of mail-order scripts and automated health portals. It is a pressure anomaly where "access" is being redefined from a local human relationship to a distant logistics problem that the resident has to manage themselves.


***Pharmacy Closures: The 142 closures represent roughly 6% of North Carolina’s ~2,352 community pharmacies. While 75% of people in the state visit a pharmacy more than a doctor, the "Independent" tier is seeing closure rates that could hit 30-35% without PBM reform.


The Prompt: “We are sorry, your local branch is closed. To refill your prescription, please log in to our portal or call our automated pharmacy line.” The Reality: This is the Technical Gauntlet. The "Good Friction" of a five-minute talk with a pharmacist who knows your name is replaced by "Bad Friction"—a login screen and a shipping delay. The labor of ensuring you have your medicine has been transferred from a professional in Hickory to your own kitchen table.

The Short-Term Effect: The closure of local branches leads to longer drive times and "bottleneck" wait lines at the few remaining big-box pharmacies. Seniors and those without reliable transportation face immediate gaps in medication access.

The Long-Term Effect: The total de-skilling of local healthcare. As independent pharmacists are forced out, the "Civic Intelligence" they provided—checking for drug interactions and offering local health advice—is lost. Healthcare is redefined as a logistics problem rather than a human service.

What This Means for You: The administrative labor of your health has been transferred to your kitchen table. You are now the clerk responsible for tracking your own shipments, navigating "Out of Stock" notices, and troubleshooting automated phone trees that have no record of your history.


4. The Medicare Network Eviction - UNC Healthcare

Issue: Starting January 1, 2026, UNC Health has moved to leave several major Medicare Advantage networks, affecting thousands of residents. This is "structural displacement." It forces the most vulnerable residents—retirees who rely on stability—to navigate a complex "Annual Election Period" just to keep their existing doctors. It is a perfect example of a system optimizing its "network value" by liquidating the continuity of care for the individual.

The Medicare section needs to show that this isn't a "glitch," but a systemic rejection of a specific insurance model that has become the dominant "Grip" on NC seniors.


  • The Scale of the Displacement: UNC Health is dropping Humana, WellCare, and HCSC (Cigna) Medicare Advantage plans effective January 1, 2026. This isn't a small niche; in North Carolina, 55% of Medicare-eligible residents—about 1.2 million seniors—are now enrolled in Medicare Advantage, up from just 30% in 2016.

  • The "Why" of the Friction: The health system isn't leaving because of a lack of patients. They are leaving because of "excessive prior authorization denial rates" and "slow payments" from insurers. Hospitals across the state are effectively firing their biggest customers because the "Institutional Machinery" of the insurance companies has made the administrative burden too heavy to carry.

  • The Cost of Inaction: For the thousands of residents who don't switch during the narrow 45-day Annual Election Period, hospital stays and prescriptions will shift to "out-of-network" status, meaning costs will be significantly higher or care may not be covered at all.

The Prompt: “The doctor you requested is no longer in-network. Would you like to view a list of alternative providers 30 miles away?” The Reality: This is structural displacement. It happens when high-level negotiations between massive health systems and insurers fail. The system protects its profit margin by liquidating your continuity of care. The prompt forces you to choose between your health and your mobility.

The Short-Term Effect: Thousands of Hickory residents receive "Network Change" letters, forcing them into a high-stress race to find new doctors or change insurance plans during a narrow election period.

The Long-Term Effect: The "Hardening" of the healthcare system. Stability and continuity of care—the things that actually keep people healthy over decades—are treated as liquid assets that can be traded away during corporate negotiations. The system optimizes its profit margin by breaking the trust between the patient and the provider.

What This Means for You: Your long-term health relationship is a hostage in a boardroom. You are being reminded that your loyalty to a local doctor means nothing to the "Institutional Machinery" that manages the network. You are an asset to be moved, not a neighbor to be cared for.

------------

5. The Resiliency Tax - City of Hickory

Issue: Hickory’s 2025-2026 budget includes a property tax increase specifically designated for "water and sewer resiliency project needs". This is an innovative look at the cost of maintenance versus growth. While the city celebrates $115 million in "transformation," the residents are being asked to pay a separate, dedicated tax just to ensure the basic system doesn't fail. It explores the mechanical reality that the "Mirage" of new trails and districts is being built on a foundation that requires a 6.6% increase in operating funds just to remain functional.

***Hickory Budget: The 6.6% operating increase is part of a 9.9% total budget jump to $159 million. The 0.5-cent tax increase is specifically a resiliency surcharge to create redundancy in a system that Hurricane Helene proved was fragile.


The Prompt: “A new 'Resiliency Fee' has been added to your monthly utility statement to fund critical infrastructure upgrades.” The Reality: This is the price of the Mirage. While the public narrative focuses on the $115 million in "transformation" and new trails, the actual foundation is so thin that you have to pay a surcharge just to keep it from failing. It is the cost of growth that doesn't include the cost of staying alive.

The Short-Term Effect: Monthly utility bills increase with a new "Base Rate" line item. On the surface, it’s just a few extra dollars, but it represents a direct increase in the "Cost of Living" without an increase in "Quality of Life."

The Long-Term Effect: The Mirage becomes permanent. The city continues to fund high-profile "monuments" (trails and innovation districts) while the residents pay a separate, dedicated premium just to keep the aging pipes from failing. We are effectively paying twice: once for the appearance of progress, and once for the reality of basic survival.

What This Means for You: You are subsidizing the optics of "Transformation." You are being asked to pay more for the exact same service you had ten years ago, simply because the system prioritized shiny new projects over the boring, essential work of maintenance. You are paying for the paint while the foundation crumbles.


Summary Conclusion: The common thread here is Grip. In every one of these cases, the institution is gaining efficiency by letting go of its responsibility to you. The result is a community that looks modern on a dashboard but feels increasingly unforgiving to live in. Once you see the "Technical Gauntlet" for what it is—a transfer of risk and labor from the center to the edge—the Mirage begins to fade.

--------------------------

What holds these five scenarios together is the Institutional Externalization of Risk.

In every one of these cases, a large system—whether it is a utility, a state bureau, a healthcare network, or a municipal government—is facing a structural pressure. Instead of solving that pressure internally through innovation or efficiency, the system is simply moving the cost, the labor, or the consequence down the line to the individual.

It is a mechanical transfer of "weight" from the center to the edge.

The Three Mechanics of the Theme

1. The Liquidation of the Human Buffer In the past, Hickory’s economy was supported by "middle layers"—local landlords, independent pharmacists, and human staff at the city and utility offices. These people acted as buffers. They could absorb a shock or solve a problem with a human conversation. The theme running through the insurance hikes and pharmacy closures is the removal of that layer. When the local buffer is liquidated, the resident is forced to deal directly with a high-scale algorithm or a distant logistics chain that doesn't offer "grip" or flexibility.

2. The Transfer of Administrative Labor The "Technical Gauntlet" found in the utility and healthcare examples isn't just a software change; it is a labor shift. When a human department is replaced by an automated portal, the administrative work required to keep the system running is offloaded onto the citizen’s time. You are being forced to become an unpaid clerk for the institutions you pay to serve you. This is a "Time Tax" that drains the very "slack" a person needs to build stability.

3. Maintenance vs. Monument The common thread in the grid conservation and the resiliency tax is the conflict between Performance and Function. The "Institutional Machinery" is focused on monuments—the metrics of growth and transformation that look good on a dashboard. Meanwhile, the cost of just keeping the lights on and the water running is being recategorized as an extra burden for the resident. The system is prioritizing the "Mirage" of progress while asking the people to pay a premium just to prevent a basic collapse of service.

The Summary Logic

The institutions examined above are becoming more "efficient" by stripping out the human middle layers and the operational slack that once provided community stability. This creates a system that looks upright and stable in an annual report, but feels increasingly unforgiving to a person living without a safety net.

What holds these articles together is the realization that the city isn't strugging because of a lack of activity; it is strugging because the activity is no longer being converted into broad-based traction. The machinery is humming, but it is now consuming its own foundation to keep the motor running.

Once you see this transfer of risk, you stop seeing these as five separate news items. You see them as a single, coordinated structural outcome.

Looking at these five articles as a single map, the picture is clear: Hickory is a High-Efficiency, Low-Resilience community. By stripping out the human middle layers—the landlords, the pharmacists, and the operational slack—the institutions have created a system that works perfectly right up until it breaks. You are currently paying a premium to live in a city that has optimized away its own ability to catch you.


File:Greek lc alpha.svgMy Own Time Ω

There comes a point when a man stops arguing with the weather and starts studying the atmospheric patterns instead. 

I've spent most of my life working inside systems that were supposed to function smoothly—kitchens, clubs, organizations, and cities—and in every one of them, the pattern remains the same. Things look polished on the surface right up until the moment they don't. The plates still go out to the dining room, the lights still come on with a flick of a switch, and the quarterly reports still read positive, but the actual strain shifts quietly onto the people who are standing closest to the heat.

That’s the part most folks miss when they look at a place like Hickory. Efficiency feels good when you are building it on a spreadsheet because it reduces and removes waste and clutter. It trims what looks unnecessary to a distant observer. But if you trim a system long enough without replacing what you cut, you don't create strength. You create exposure. And that exposure doesn't show up as a headline in the morning paper; it shows up as a sudden, nagging problem in your ordinary life.

You see it when the stores that were part of your routine close their doors. There are a lot of stores that have closed here over the past 25 years. Too many stores to count. Sometimes you can go to Charlotte. Usually you just order it off the internet. 

You see it when the doctor you’ve trusted for years suddenly is outside your insurance network because of a boardroom negotiation that had nothing to do with your health. You see it when a new fee appears on your utility bill and you’re told it’s for "resiliency," even though your own footing feels less stable than it used to. That’s not nostalgia for some golden era; that’s a structural reality.

I've worked in kitchens where ownership wanted the cut costs and cut costs until they were cutting into the bone and your job became impossible. It was all the time and the constant blame game and second guessing. It becomes so uncomfortable. It’s a hostile work environment and a horrible culture. Theoretically it’s discipline. In practice, it meant fewer hands on the line, thinner prep work, and less of a buffer for when something inevitably went wrong. The night still started the same way, but they never reduced the size of the menu or the expectations of what a reduction in staff could perform. Everyone working the line knew the truth: there was no room left for error. When things went downhill, they went down fast. The Schlitz hit the fan because there was no slack left in the machinery to cushion the blows.

Communities aren't any different from those kitchens. When institutions optimize for appearance and cost at the same time, they often reduce the very buffers that protect ordinary people from disruption. The grid works until it is strained by a data center, and the hospital works until it shrinks its network. Nothing collapses all at once; the risk simply moves downstream until it hits the household.

In my own time,  I learned that the most dangerous condition isn't a visible crisis that everyone can see. The real danger is normalizing struggles. It’s the moment when people begin to accept that more paperwork, more monitoring, more financial juggling, and more administrative manipulations are simply the price of the modern world. That’s when a culture quietly lowers its expectations without realizing the implications of what they have done. You are being recruited as an unpaid, on-call manager for a system that doesn't know your name and doesn't care about your grip on the terrain.

I’m not interested in outrage, because outrage is just noise that hides the signal. I’m interested in clarity. If the weight you are carrying feels slightly heavier this year than it did five years ago, that fact matters. If it takes more of your personal attention to maintain the same level of stability, that matters. If institutions look polished while the individuals feel more exposed, that matters most of all.

The direction of the pressure tells you where the system is actually being reinforced and where it’s more vulnerable. Efficiency isn't evil and progress isn't the enemy, but resilience is never free. When it disappears from the institutional level, someone has to pay for it at the individual level. The only thing you truly own is your time, and right now, the machinery is using your hours to grease its own gears. The only question that remains is how much of yourself you’re willing to give up to keep their mirage rolling. If you feel the same tightening that I do, you aren't imagining it. You are simply paying attention to their machinery and observing what is actually going on.