Bear Market of the Soul

The cardiologist's words still echoed: 'You're not twenty-five anymore, Marcus. Stress will kill you.' Now, sitting by the pool at his sister's suburban home, Marcus watched his nephew cannonball into the chlorinated water, wondering when his own life had become so scripted that he needed a near-heart attack to feel anything.

At forty-two, Marcus had spent two decades riding the bull market of corporate law, billing hours he couldn't remember, accumulating things he didn't need. The vitamin bottles on his kitchen counter—D3, Omega-3, B-complex—had become his daily ritual of postponement, as if supplements could compensate for sleepless nights and marriages postponed for 'the right time.' That time never came.

His phone buzzed. Sarah. They'd been dancing around each other for three years—both partners at the firm, both married to their work, both afraid to acknowledge the bear market of loneliness in their lives. He'd almost asked her out the day before his medical scare. Now, lying on a lounge chair watching his sister's family, everything crystallized.

The pool's surface rippled, distorting his reflection. He thought about his apartment with its pristine cable organization, the perfect alignment of his possessions, how he'd curated his life like a portfolio optimized for maximum yield. What had it yielded?

Marcus stood up, the vitamin deficiency in his soul suddenly more apparent than the one in his blood. He dialed Sarah.

'I'm taking next week off,' he said when she answered. 'I want to go somewhere where my phone doesn't work. Come with me?'

Silence. Then, barely audible: 'Yes.'

He dropped his phone into the pool bag. Somewhere, a bear was rumbling. Somewhere, a bull was charging. Marcus just wanted to learn how to float.