I am an addict, or perhaps I am an extremist. But then again no, I am a man who cannot accept defeat. I only know that when you are down, you must get back up, and fight more fiercely than you did before. I have positions tonight. I am long low beta beaten up names and short crazy highflying, high beta names. I believe we failed to beak through technical resistance. As earnings season approaches I look forward to a string of disappointing revenues. It is too quiet on the news front. Libya is still a mess and will only get worse. Everyone seems to be bullish. Beware headline risk has been forgotten and everyone is leveraged.
Now back to my ongoing self-analysis. I suffer from a number of personality disorders such as extreme narcissism, anxiety disorder, but most important I am an existentialist who lives in a world of his own creation and I am alone. Though Marc Schwartz, say I am not alone, I simply alienate all those around me.
As you have seen if you have followed my recent blogs, I have found the best way to for me to understand myself, is an exploration of my family history.
I ended my last blog with a question, “When is it enough”. I was referring to my grandfather who after saving some of his family form Nazi Germany, struggling to build a new life in America, buried his oldest son only a few years later. When was his suffering enough?
A friend of mine recently suggested to me, after we had been going head to head about a theological issue that has been gnawing at me for the better part of my adult life, that I simply try to shut off that part of my brain, which is constantly seeking the answers. A ʻintellectual lobotomyʼ, as it were. “There are no answers”, he assured me. Much like the time when, upon hearing that a close family friend was diagnosed with incurable disease. I sought out our Rabbis guidance, hoping he would have some answers. “How can it be that this righteous person, a pillar of the community in which I grown up, had been handed down this sudden death sentence at a relatively young age?”, I questioned him.
A wonderful and righteous man, he looked up at me with his big doe eyes. There was a sparkle there, despite the morbidity of the conversation. It was the sparkle of blind faith. He took my hand in his and responded with such certainty, “Some things are just not for us to question.”
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