Every time I hear about jobs lost, jobs cut, firings, layoffs, downsizing, or economic acclimation, I freeze somewhere inside. I’ve lost faith in it-has-to-get-better and even in it-has-to-get-worse-before-it-gets-better. Although I hate the billboards praying that our state become less dependent on a single industry, I give a wry grimace. And I begin to panic about every personal decision that keeps me on this sinking ship—America, the sinking ship, or Michigan, or even Ann Arbor, the sinking ship. Everything I have is here, I tell my frozen, panicked self. It echoes hollowly inside. Everything I have is not much.