Sunday Big Think - The Economy We’d Build for Our Grandkids (But Refuse to Build for Ourselves) 🤔

All thinking (No Advice)

Happy Sunday team,

A big one today, but we promise you it is worth a second cuppa. Grab your mug, keep the coffee flowing, and put that thinking cap on.

Let’s dive into the world of family vs society and why we may be doing this investing thing all wrong.

Cold Open: The Paradox of Intergenerational Love ❤️

We say we’d do anything for our children. Lay down in traffic. Fight a bear. Sit through the school recital without checking our phones. We invest in their futures with aggressive fervor—college savings, Mandarin immersion programs, ergonomic strollers with more suspension than a Range Rover. And yet, when it comes to the one thing that will most shape their lives—the economy they inherit—we treat it like an afterthought. Or worse, a clearance item.

We love our kids, yes. But apparently not enough to give them clean air, stable institutions, or functioning public transport. Instead, we hand them a participation trophy and a trillion dollars in sovereign debt, then mumble something about resilience while checking our brokerage app for the latest tech stock pump.

It’s not just the dissonance that stings. It’s the institutionalization of it. We’ve built a world where loving your child means buying them organic snacks while lobbying against carbon pricing. Where you protect them from blue light but not from generational inflation. Where we tell them they can be anything they want to be—so long as it fits into a declining labor share of GDP and doesn’t disrupt shareholder value.

We’ve created an economic system where short-termism isn’t a flaw—it’s the product. A quarterly earnings culture, a two-year political memory, a fiscal policy strategy that resembles a TikTok trend: big energy for a minute, then forgotten. It’s a system where capital compounds faster than morality, and where a hedge fund can place a billion-dollar bet on the next market hiccup, but the government can’t place broadband in rural Arkansas.

So, what if—just go with me here—we stopped pretending that raising good kids and building a functional economy were separate projects? What if we imagined a society where being a good parent didn’t stop at the baby monitor and started at the Federal Register?

This is not a manifesto. It’s worse. It’s an uncomfortable audit of how our love for the next generation stops exactly where it becomes inconvenient. The policies we punt, the reforms we ignore, the climate reports we skim—these are the unpaid bills we leave on the kitchen counter of history, hoping our grandkids have Venmo.

So pour yourself that ethically sourced, carbon-offset, barista-artisan latte and settle in. Let’s design the economy we should have built for them. And then ask: why didn’t we?

What the ‘Grandkid Economy’ Would Actually Look Like 👶

Picture an economy built for your grandkids born in 2075, probably wearing VR diapers and learning Python before potty training. Not for next quarter’s earnings call, not for some politician’s re-election TikTok. No more duct-taping the roof while the foundation turns to mush. No more kicking fiscal cans so far down the road we need a private jet to catch up. What’s it look like if we design a system for resilience, not for whoever yells loudest on X? Buckle up for the Grandkid Economy, where we stop treating the future like a meme stock.

This economy doesn’t just survive volatility; it moonlights as a bunker. It’s built on long-term investment, not Red Bull-fueled stimulus binges. Policymakers wield spreadsheets, not sentiment polls. Central banks think in decades, not Twitter meltdowns. It’s a system that says, “Legacy > leverage,” and means it, unlike your cousin’s NFT project.

First, public goods are sacred, not the first thing you yeet when budgets get tight. Education, healthcare, public transit, clean water, broadband—these aren’t “nice-to-haves”; they’re the compound interest of civilization. Every kid gets STEM tools before they’re Googling “therapist near me” because their city’s underwater and the Wi-Fi’s down. School lunches? No more shrinkflated ketchup packets on mystery meat because some bureaucrat thought nutritional austerity was a personality trait. We fund schools like we fund aircraft carriers: generously, and with zero apologies.

Second, fiscal policy is as thrilling as a Scandinavian pensioner’s knitting circle. Responsible. Boring. Unshakeable. Debt isn’t a piñata for tax-cut parties; it’s for infrastructure, climate fixes, and teaching kids to code instead of, say, despair. The Grandkid Economy doesn’t clutch pearls over debt—it just demands returns that outlast a president’s hair dye. Think solar farms, not stock buybacks. Wall Street’s still invited, but they’re not running the show.

Third, taxes are progressive, predictable, and about as sexy as a municipal bond. They fund what markets won’t, because trickle-down economics has been dripping sideways since the Reagan administration. The Grandkid Economy doesn’t worship GDP; it asks: Are people healthy? Can they read? Can they buy a house without launching a Patreon? If not, maybe stop high-fiving billionaires for “innovation” and start taxing their third yacht.

Fourth, sustainability isn’t a buzzword; it’s the whole damn operating system. Carbon has a price, pollution has a bill, and doing nothing costs more than your crypto portfolio’s last dip. GDP growth that torches the planet is like selling your kidneys for rent money: technically profitable, catastrophically dumb. Infrastructure is climate-proofed, cities are for humans, not SUVs, and energy is clean, reliable, and duller than your uncle’s golf stories. Climate policy isn’t red or blue—it’s “don’t drown.”

Fifth, AI and tech are our servants, not our drunk uncles with a flamethrower. Innovation’s great, but it comes with adult supervision: retraining programs, ethical guardrails, and taxes that don’t let Zuck buy Mars. The Grandkid Economy sets rules—clear, boring ones—so progress doesn’t just pad the wallets of the algorithmically anointed. Humans decide the vibe; AI just crunches the numbers.

Finally, markets are markets, not slot machines on a yacht. Capital rewards patience, not whoever’s trending on FinTwit. Companies aren’t judged by how fast they unicorn but by how long they last without imploding in a scandal. Financial reports include metrics that matter—think carbon footprints, not just EBITDA fever dreams. Pensions are fortresses, not piggy banks. Retail investors aren’t chum for high-frequency sharks. And every trading algo comes with a warning: “May cause short-termism. Consult your conscience.”

Sounds dreamy, right? A world where we build for 2075, not just next Tuesday’s earnings call. But here’s the kicker: we’re not building it. Why? Because the future keeps getting outbid by the present’s screaming toddler tantrum. In Section 3, we’ll dive into the “Tyranny of Now”—where quarterly profits, viral tweets, and two-year election cycles make sure your grandkids inherit our bad decisions, not our best intentions.

Why We’ll Never Build It — The Tyranny of Now 🛠

The Grandkid Economy is a TED Talk from a parallel universe where people plan past their next latte order. But we’re not building it. Why? Because we’re raccoons in a Wall Street dumpster, pawing at shiny nickels and bolting before the lid slams shut. We’re hooked on instant gratification—likes, profits, viral X posts—and the future’s just a hashtag we’ll forget by dinner. The Grandkid Economy demands patience. We demand a dopamine hit before the market opens.

Politics is the first clown in this circus. Politicians aren’t leaders; they’re Instagram influencers chasing re-election clout in a world where voters think a decade’s a sci-fi flick. Pitch bridges or carbon taxes? Crickets. But slash gas taxes, and you’re a patriot with a viral ad—bald eagle soaring, font screaming FREEDOM, maybe a pickup truck for vibes. Fund schools or plant trees? Your prize is a ribbon-cutting in 2080, and nobody’s saving the date. Budget meetings treat infrastructure like a bad Hinge match: swipe left, keep scrolling.

Markets? They’re slot machines with MBAs and zero chill. Companies are trillion-dollar empires run by CEOs who’d rather cook the books than face a 2% stock dip. They’ll axe R&D, ditch green goals, and polish their LinkedIn before the earnings call, because nothing screams “visionary” like goosing the share price for a bonus. Even ESG funds, capitalism’s tree-hugging poster kids, bail on their morals faster than a crypto bro dumps Dogecoin when the benchmark flashes red. It’s a game rigged for next quarter, not next century.

Media’s no better—a funhouse where news cycles spin faster than a TikTok algorithm. Inflation’s the supervillain, Powell’s the grumpy uncle muttering about rates, and every basis point is a plot twist on X. Long-term stuff—education, climate, AI rules—gets less airtime than a fintech influencer’s TED Talk on “disrupting lunch.” Pitching the Grandkid Economy here is like selling annuities at a Coachella afterparty. You’re drowned out by the group chat before you start.

And us? We’re the worst. The app-swiping, chart-chasing, “what’s the next GME” public. We lose it over 5% dips like we’re dodging meteors. We hop from memecoins to gold to SPACs like we’re DJing a rave for chaos. Our “long-term plan”? A 12-month CD or a gym pass we’ll ghost by Valentine’s Day. We love the future, sure, but only if it’s instant, free, and doesn’t crash our Robinhood app. Progress? Cool, but make it quick and don’t touch my portfolio.

So the Grandkid Economy stays a pipe dream, a keynote slide buried in a think tank’s Google Drive. Not because we lack brains or bucks, but because we’re wired for now—loud, greedy, and high on viral hits. But wait—some folks are inching toward it, fumbling the Grandkid playbook like they skimmed the CliffsNotes. In the next section, we’ll peek at who’s almost doing it right, and why “almost” is the kindest word we’ve got.

Who’s Almost Doing It Right? 🇸🇬 🇳🇴 🇳🇿

Before we wallow in quarterly earnings and generational facepalms, let’s salute the weirdos who at least tried. Not with gold stars—nobody’s perfect—but with a grudging nod for treating governance like a chess match, not a Black Friday clearance rack. These countries are the group project nerds who actually read the syllabus while we’re memeing on X, chasing clout and chaos.

The Grandkid Economy’s a pipe dream, but some nations have sniffed its vibe. Call them fiscal unicorns—policy wonks who think “long-term” isn’t just a LinkedIn buzzword. They’re the annoying kids who show up with color-coded notes, and we hate how much we need them.

Exhibit A: Norway
Norway struck oil and didn’t blow it on tax-cut piñatas or gold-plated fjord yachts. They built a sovereign wealth fund worth over a trillion bucks, a Viking vault for a rainy century. Budget surpluses? Nailed it. Pensions that won’t implode? Done. Infrastructure that doesn’t look like a Fallout speedrun? Yup. Their fund’s managed with ethical screens sharper than a hipster’s coffee filter and a horizon longer than a Tolkien trilogy. A “spending rule” caps annual withdrawals like a teenager guarding their Uber Eats budget. But replicating this in a country where “fiscal policy” sounds like a TikTok dance and trust crashes harder than a crypto exchange? Good luck.

Exhibit B: Singapore
Singapore’s a sweaty rock running on spreadsheet sorcery and air-conditioned swagger. No resources, just technocratic mojo. Their government plans decades out, not for the next X poll. Education? World-class, churning out coders, not chaos. Infrastructure? So shiny it blinds. Urban planning? Like SimCity run by a caffeinated CPA with a vendetta. Fiscal policy tighter than a German banker’s tie knot. They turned land into a capitalist Hogwarts, leasing plots for billions without auctioning their soul. If a train’s late, they fix it, not tweet about “vibes.” Downside? It’s a control-freak’s fever dream. Try that where potholes are a lifestyle and “regulations” spark a libertarian podcast marathon.

Exhibit C: New Zealand
New Zealand ditched GDP worship for a well-being budget, like they’re auditioning for a TED Talk on feelings. They track happiness, mental health, and Māori cultural outcomes, not just bank balances. Climate? They’re kicking fossil fuels to the curb faster than you can say “Kiwi glow-up.” Progressive taxes and social glue keep the place from fracturing like a bad Reddit thread. Their leaders say “mental health budget” without giggling or combusting. Finland and Denmark tag along, with trust thicker than their winter coats, schools that churn out thinkers, and economies that don’t crater every election. But these are small, cozy clubs. Pitch a well-being budget where folks think “freedom” means yeeting ATVs into swamps, and you’re toast.

These unicorns flirt with the Grandkid Economy, sneaking foresight and sustainability behind the central bank’s back. They’ve got puzzle pieces—Norway’s savings, Singapore’s discipline, New Zealand’s heart—but nobody’s solved it. Still, their nerdy moves might teach your portfolio a thing or two. Moving on, we’ll dig into what a long-term investor can steal from these overachievers—and actually pull off without a PhD in Viking economics.

What a Long-Term Investor Can Learn (and Actually Do) 👨‍🎓👩‍🎓

You’re not running Norway’s oil fund or Singapore’s train-on-steroids empire. You probably don’t sort your recycling with the zeal you flex on first dates. But here’s the kicker: you don’t need a fjord or a PhD in Keynesian wizardry to invest like your grandkids might one day ask, “Yo, why’d you YOLO into that coal ETF that screams 1995?” The Grandkid Economy’s a national pipe dream, but a future-proof portfolio? That’s your wheelhouse, no Liechtenstein trust required. Stop chasing dopamine like a squirrel on a Red Bull bender and start playing the long game.

Rule one: buy what lasts. Skip the meme stocks with more rocket emojis than revenue. Go for companies with moats deeper than a medieval castle—think infrastructure, renewables, education tech, water systems, the unsexy stuff that keeps society from collapsing into a dystopian Yelp review. Sewage treatment over SPACs. Boring’s the new bold when you’re betting on 2075.

Next up: ditch what ages like milk. Fossil fuels might still mint cash, but so did Blockbuster VHS and MySpace. Climate regs, AI rules, and digital infrastructure will gut entire sectors. If your portfolio’s banking on the world staying stuck in 2025, you’re not investing—you’re writing fanfic. Sniff out what survives, not what’s trending on FinTwit.

Rule three: bet on resilience. The future’s not about bragging rights at the trading desk by Thursday. It’s about a portfolio that doesn’t implode like a SPAC every time Shanghai sneezes or Congress fumbles a budget. Diversify globally—think Swiss bonds, not just S&P 500. Hedge for policy curveballs. Mix safe bets like cash with big swings like green tech. Your grandkids don’t need a rollercoaster; they need a bunker.

Rule four: know your stuff. Don’t just own stocks—know why. Your portfolio’s not a museum for 2020’s TikTok trends. ESG isn’t a sticker you slap on to feel woke; it’s about dodging companies that treat the planet like a landfill or workers like bots. Back firms that act like they’ll outlast the next earnings call without a class-action lawsuit. If you can’t explain your holdings at a barbecue, you’re doing it wrong.

Rule five: chill with the trading. Stocks used to chill in portfolios for eight years. Now it’s eight seconds and a Reddit hype post. That’s not investing; it’s panic with a Robinhood login. Long-game players build slow, steady, and dull—like a 401(k) nobody brags about at parties. If your strategy bores your crypto bro cousin, you’re probably nailing it.

Finally: think legacy, not just loot. Compounding for 30 years isn’t about yachts or artisanal dog treats. It’s about options—education, land, maybe your grandkid’s weird tofu-based biotech startup. Money’s not just for flexing; it’s for building a world where “future” isn’t a four-letter word. Invest like someone’s inheriting your choices, not just your brokerage account.

Sure, you can’t build the Grandkid Economy solo, but your portfolio can flex like Norway’s oil fund without the fjords. You’ve got the playbook—buy smart, hold steady, care about 2075. But are we, like, existentially ready for this? Lastly, we’ll drop the mic on what it really takes to bet on a future that doesn’t look like a fintech influencer’s fever dream.

Closing: The Existential Mic Drop 🎤 🎙

So here we are. After a thousand sarcastic jabs, six sovereign wealth fund references, and more jokes about sewage treatment than any normal investment essay should contain, we’re left with one uncomfortable truth: we already know what the Grandkid Economy looks like. We even know how to build it.

We just… won’t.

Because it’s boring. Because it involves math. Because it doesn’t fit into a tweet or a campaign ad. And because nothing gets you uninvited from the boardroom faster than saying, “Actually, have we considered the year 2075?”

We should be taxing carbon like it insulted our mother. We should be building infrastructure like it’s the economic version of the moon landing. We should be treating education and climate resilience like compound interest instead of charity. But here we are, still letting our futures be dictated by vibes, viral videos, and the quarterly earnings whisper number.

This is the central irony: the more we avoid long-term thinking, the more our short-term problems multiply. The storms intensify. The markets panic. The headlines scream. And we reach for even shorter fixes—rate cuts, stimulus sugar highs, and financial engineering that makes Enron look quaint.

We’re not irrational because we lack options. We’re irrational because we’re addicted to the now. We’ve built an economic operating system that prioritizes speed over substance, profit over purpose, and shareholder guidance over human guidance. It’s a system where short-termism isn’t a bug—it’s the entire user interface.

And yet—brace yourself for the twist—there is no law, no commandment, no cosmic ETF mandate forcing us to live this way. We could flip the script tomorrow. Central banks could look past twelve-month inflation prints. Governments could write budgets that survive more than one election cycle. Investors could buy things meant to last longer than their parking meter.

But first, we’d have to admit something radical.

It’s not Wall Street. It’s not Big Tech. It’s not even that one senator who thinks EVs are a communist plot.

It’s us.

We are the problem. We click. We chase. We meme. We reward the companies that fire 10,000 people and gain 3% in after-hours. We praise the politician who promises tax cuts now and deficits later. We worship the CEO who talks about disruption, not the one quietly investing in clean water systems.

We are deeply committed to the idea of progress, provided someone else does the work.

We say we love our children. And I’m sure we do. But love is not a Pinterest board of Montessori snacks. Love is policy. Love is boring. Love is making sure they inherit functioning institutions and breathable air and a financial system that doesn’t explode every 18 months because someone felt left out of the last IPO.

The Grandkid Economy isn’t radical. It’s responsible. It’s less Elon Musk and more Jane Jacobs. It’s slow. Deliberate. Quietly compounding. It will never trend. It will never moon. But it might actually work.

And someday, long after we’re gone and our meticulously rebalanced portfolios are someone else’s inheritance headache, someone will look back at the mess we made and ask one question:

Did you build something that lasted?

Not "Did your Q4 beat expectations?" Not "How many followers did your FinTok have?" Not "Did your ESG fund beat the benchmark by 12 basis points?"

Just: Did it last?

Because the future is not an abstraction. It’s coming. With sea levels, and debt loads, and policy gaps, and tech shifts. And when it arrives, it will not care how clever your earnings call sounded.

So yes. This is your existential mic drop.

Build something that lasts. Or at the very least, stop pretending the future will figure itself out.

The latte is cold. The index is rebalancing. The grandkids are watching.

Invest accordingly.

Your Future Grandchild 👶