Take a hit, pop a pill, go to yoga - the world is churning.

At least three times a day I hear someone say they are purposefully averting the news and worldly conversations. It’s too bad because they can afford them. I am in a community where many now self-describe as living in a bubble - an “I got mine” mindset.

I was drawn to the magic of this town and its beauty where seemingly nothing bad happens and every day smells like bacon. A kind of magical existence where nature blooms on cue. Things here are how life is supposed to be, for the most part - neighborly, clean safe and quiet with a cultural quotient disproportionately larger than its population. But increasingly the bubble shape has shifted from a perfect round to a distorted oblong. The outside world’s menace pressing against its malleable sphere, morphing its jagged tree lined Main Street into a facsimile of its former self. The trees are still there and there is charm, it’s just the manufactured kind that comes top down, where sales people lurk in store doorways pushing skincare samples, and lavender forward lattes cost $9 - where locals retell their stories about their first world inconveniences traveling abroad with their private tour guides and 5-star hotels, having to leave their holiday too soon because of some country’s pesky unrest. Their all-access apps get them home safely. Their ability to sidestep danger comes as easily as knowing where to have their suits made. And when or if they see their America really crumble, they will leave without lament. We are a care less country. I doubt Fitzgerald could conceive there would be so many Daisy and Tom Buchanans. As for the magic it’s still possible. It’s like everything else in America you just have to be able to afford it.