I am as nervous as a Blockbuster manager during the rise of Netflix. I'm not sure what will happen. And you know what? I'm proud of that.
I used to have a very obvious anxiety disorder that I couldn't manage properly at the time. There was someone I looked up to, who was a bit of a shock jock sort of person. He held Libertarian views like Tracy Torme, and he would offer a lot of political views boldly and a lot of hypercritical perspectives of anything and everything (art, science, housing, parking spaces) with total certainty. I never talked to anyone else who expressed so little doubt, and because I was severely overstocked with doubt, I admired and envied him.
He said that Clinton was certain to win in 2016. He said, upon Trump's win, that Trump had lived in a blue state for most of his life and would tone down the insanity. He said that the presidency was not a very powerful position or office and that whoever was president didn't fundamentally change anything. He said that Biden was doomed to lose the 2020 election and that Trump was a master showman who would run rings around Biden.
He was wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, and wrong.
He never conceded his errors. He never even acknowledged his errors and that his prognostications were not correct, that the world didn't work the way he thought it would, that the outcomes weren't the ones he expected. He never reviewed his errors and why his predictions were off. He had no self-doubt. He kept making them with the same level of certainty even when that absolute confidence had proven absolutely wrong.
And because I loved him and admired him and valued him, I got upset with him and I... didn't handle my frustration well; I became increasingly incensed by what I perceived as ego and vanity... which is pretty absurd because I have plenty of ego and vanity myself. Nobody writes nine SLIDERS scripts unpaid and ropes podcasters in to talk about it without some arrogance.
But regardless, my friend did not acknowledge that he was often wrong, that he didn't really know what was going to happen, that the world didn't always work the way he thought it did our should, and that he wasn't sure.
I won't make that mistake. Simon Rosenberg paints a pretty picture balanced by realism; it could still be unbalanced. He could still be wrong and he'd be the first person to tell you that. He's not a god. More specifically, Rosenberg is not Quinn Mallory or Professor Arturo; he is not a mathematician.
He is an analyst, a pundit, and he is biased to say Kamala is doing well because he wants her to be doing well. He was right in 2022 that the red wave was an illusion; he is right to say that 2024 isn't 2022 -- but there's always more to the picture than anyone can see, and it's entirely possible that he's overlooked a key item that would change his assessment if he knew to factor it in. It's also possible that he's overlooked things that, in the end, won't matter.
I share his words because they sound good to me, but let us never forget that I am posting what I want to hear, and sometimes, what I want to hear is not accurate.
I have made predictions before and they were wrong. It shook me. It rattled me. It terrified me. I'm not absolutely confident. I have doubts. But I don't doubt reality, which is that The New York Times is looking at one poll and Simon Rosenberg is looking at 12. But what is going to happen?
I'm not too proud to say I don't know and I'm not sure.