The Wall Street Journal, April 2026.

The AI frenzy is upon us. The market is at record highs.

What’s it like on the frontier? Chaotic. We’re running 100 miles per hour. Everyone trying to prove the most efficient use case. The biggest gain. The fastest edge. The sky feels like the limit.

But those at the back of the marathon are being carted off the course. We feel it. We run harder to avoid that fate. It’s pretty cool for the front runners. Those who trained early. Those with the expensive shoes. They’re flying. And it’s thrilling. But sustain even a minor strain and the unforgiving bus in the rear will scoop us up too.

So yes—it’s exciting. But it’s also exhausting. Progress on the frontier is brutal. We are seeing, in real time, what the Wild West actually felt like. Fast. Unforgiving. No guarantees. Draining and exhilarating at once. And underneath it all sits the question: How long can we keep this pace? If we hand off the relay baton—do we get to rest? Or, like the shark, do we stop and die?

Better to keep rolling. Running through the pain. We don’t want to find out.

This is personal. The market is personal. Statistically we know how this ends for most: not well.  Some will score big.  Many will lose. We just don’t know which group we are in. So we ride the wave—for now—watching closely. Looking for signals. When to monetize. When to step off with the gains intact.

It’s an uneven game. Those with capital spread risk—enough shots on goal that one or two hits pay for the rest. We don’t all have that luxury. Our risk concentrates. So it feels like we’re betting the ranch just to stay in the race. And we know the math. Many will lose the ranch. That’s not fear—that’s reality. We just pray we are not among those who lose the ranch.

We didn’t volunteer to run this race. But here we are. Progress doesn’t ask. It just moves—fast, relentless. A blessing and a curse at the same time. And out here, it feels like the shark—keep moving or die. So we keep running. Through the strain. Through the doubt. Because if we hand off the baton, do we get to rest? Or do we get pulled off the course?

We don’t want to wait to find out. There’s a reason pacing exists. A reason lifespans exist. But the frontier doesn’t care. And neither does this race. We won’t read about the failures. Only the winners who thrived. Beware—there were many more losers than winners. They just evaporate into a faceless mass. We look past their worries. Their fears. Their reality. The irony is we know it—because we live it. So we run to avoid that fate. If not for us, then for our progeny. We hand them the baton—
and pray they fare better.

Enough of the rant. Back in the game. We’ve got a model. An angle. An edge that can win. There are many markets. Many races—like Olympic trials. We have to pick the right one and win. Failure is not an option.

Our kids—and yours—are depending on us.