Though truthfully, I never much bothered with thinking about the American Dream. Because for an immigrant like me, that dream was anyone’s dream and success was not promised here or elsewhere. Indeed, when I came to the States as a young adult, with a job but no money with me, I learned about falling flat very quickly. I got sick. I got better. I got married. I found work. I lost work. I found better work. I got divorced. I got sick again. I got better. I found an occasional traveling companion… and so on.
The savvy and the lucky can recover. For me, the American Dream is the possibility of recovery.
I’m keeping this in mind as I bounce through this housing madness that threatens to either put me out on the street (owing more for your condo than its assessed value - so the city told me yesterday - can do that to you) or, in the alternative, push me forward.
Now, what is it that I have to do today?
Let me start by looking at the market flowers now growing on my condo balcony.
