What’s next? I’ve been pondering the question for a while now, trying to find the big picture in a sea of political crisis-mode machinations. Usually, this type of thinking comes relatively naturally. I’m predisposed to gazing at the horizon and anticipating, rather than reacting to immediate concerns. This is either a blessing, a curse, or an exceedingly frustrating personality trait, depending whom you ask (though I’d guess the majority would come down in column C). So, “what’s next?” is sort of a standard exercise. And yet, right now, it’s one of the most difficult questions I can imagine.

We want certainty. We crave it. We watch the stock market’s epileptic fits of fury and want off the ride. We watch hyperbolic media and political ideologues flap their arms and stomp around, bearing striking resemblance to a giant flock of apoplectic penguins. We think, “This is America, why can’t we fix it?” and we lose sight of the forest for the trees. I know I did.

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There’s no message. At least that’s the message I got from a recent budget breakfast on Capitol Hill. Which isn’t to say there isn’t a message, just that nobody has managed to succinctly articulate one. Which, I think, is what the messenger meant. Maybe.

Sometimes in Washington, it’s hard to figure out what anybody means. Some people like it that way. Political communication is, after all, an art. And as I recall learning at some point in my life, great art is rarely appreciated while the artist is still alive. The corollary is that horrible art isn’t appreciated after the artist’s gone either.

In any case, the message of this budget breakfast was (depending on who was speaking):

a. This is a great day for America (and we’re screwed)
b. This is a terrible day for America (and we’re screwed)
c. This is an incredibly perilous time for our economy, requiring the greatest minds to do their best work (and we’re still screwed)
d. Let’s slow down, do exactly what we know will stabilize us immediately, and figure out as best we can what will get us out of this hole in the long run.

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I’m an optimist by nature. Pragmatic, but an optimist. Which is what’s making this particular column so difficult to write. I want to see the horizon, the sun ascending on the future of our nation, not the rocky canyons toward which we’re currently careening. I want the promise of our future to be better than the achievements of our past. I want tomorrow to be better than today. And the only way to do that is to innovate.

But we’re losing the race for innovation. We’re falling behind. This nation, which has brought to the world its most enduring experiment in democracy, modernity’s first recording of inalienable human rights, capitalism, electricity, the telephone, radio, television, the mechanized assembly line, lunar landings, the personal computer, the internet, and global interdependency, is losing the race for its own history. And it’s not why you think.

This isn’t about education. It’s not about engineers, outsourcing, or over-regulation. It’s not about business taxes, evil corporate empires, monopolies, or greed. Though it’s a little bit about greed. It’s about the hidden costs of our economic crisis. It’s about the often tenuous link between pocket books, bank accounts, and innovation. It’s about saving jobs and growing the economy. It’s about startups. And it’s about us.

Back in the heyday of the tech boom (let’s say the mid 1990’s), there was hardly anything better to be in business than an entrepreneur. My California friends tell me that all one needed for success in Silicon Valley was an idea, a pitch, a rumpled t-shirt, and a pair of jeans. Everyone was ready to invest in the future, because their present was so bright. Whether resulting from rational economic analysis, greed, or an abiding belief in the American Dream, Angel Investors (those high-net-worth individuals who form the backbone of startup financing) were willing to put money into the hint of an idea. An idea that might (might) change some small segment of a segment that didn’t yet exist.

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by Mark Newberg

I’m not old enough to remember Reagan’s “Morning in America” campaign ad, but I’m not immune to its romanticized American-bred optimism. I am old enough to remember the man from “a place called Hope” restoring that optimism to the Nation for as long as bipartisanship lasted. Granted, that wasn’t much past transition time, but it was a rosy time for our American ideals. Now, with President-Elect Obama, we’ve launched, once again (and 75%-heartedly) into an era of national unity, cheer, and good tidings.

I like this stuff. I like it a lot. In fact, I’m of the belief that the best Democratic Presidents tend to tap into the same vein of our collective consciousness: the desire for hope. Don’t believe me? Ok. Name the best Democratic Presidents of the television age (and yes, FDR counts). FDR. Kennedy. Clinton. “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.” “Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country.” ”Eight years of peace and prosperity.“ Seeing a theme yet? Even Reagan, in his search for the Center, harnessed our desire to feel good about the future, especially in times of great national pain. Remember, “They slipped the surly bonds of earth to touch the face of God?” How about, “Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!”

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