Over the past couple of months I’ve taken a bit of a hiatus. I wrote a post about it earlier in which I talked about my new garden and how I was going to get sheep. Since then I’ve planted melons, watermelons, pumpkins, corn, beans, squash (the three sisters), parsley, cilantro, tomatoes, different kinds of cucumbers, peppers, asparagus, artichoke, rhubarb, onion, potatoes, and sweet potatoes. I’ve been busy!

Our homestead also has a new flock of sheep, and I’ve spent most of my free time building them fences and rotationally grazing them before they succumb to the parasites in their poop. And yes, sheep will happily eat grass covered in their own feces if you don’t literally force them off it with fencing.

At some point the fencing infrastructure will be established and I’ll finally have more time for other things, but until then I’m still pretty short on time and so have had to drop the ball on posting here.

I did notice one disappointing thing though that I wanted to write about - if you don’t post every day, the Substack algorithm drops you. You disappear. Existing posts are never again shown to anybody, and your publication stalls.

When you first register for a Substack and they tell you “posting regularly is the key to growing your Substack” - they’re not kidding, that’s literally how they’ve built their algorithm. Recency trumps everything else.

Here’s my subscriber chart over the last 3 months. You’ll notice a big drop in early April, that’s when I deleted almost 100 subscribers who had never opened an email or engaged with any posts (I figure if people don’t want to see my emails, no need to spam them).

I quickly gained as many subscribers back over the following month of almost daily posts.

Then I stopped posting and my subscribers, views, and comments all plateaued and stopped.

Before Substack, many years ago, I had a Wordpress publication, and it worked very differently. Older posts would develop good SEO rankings, and Google and other search engines would bring in more traffic, not less, over time. Writing back then felt like an investment - anything I wrote would keep getting read for years to come.

Substack works differently. Like social media, it prioritizes recency. If you haven’t posted today, your publication basically doesn’t exist.

Substack makes writing throwaway.

All those articles I wrote in the Biology & Survival series about the imminent extinction of the human species? Invisible. Possibly the most important writing I’ve ever published is hidden, never to be found by anyone again, unless they specifically look through my publication’s archive. I get zero traffic from search engines because Substack apparently sucks at SEO.

I like Substack, mostly. There’s a lot of smart people on here and it feels like a corner of the internet that isn’t as toxic as some places like Reddit, for instance. But the fact that anything older than a few days old gets effectively memory-holed is awful, and I’m putting this post out there as a sort of PSA for folks to know how this works, in case you decide you want to start a new publication or move from somewhere else. Don’t do it unless you’re prepared to spend hours writing every day and being consistent. And be aware that all your existing posts will get zero views. Literally zero.

I moved my other publication, libertarianprepper.com to Substack from Wordpress about 3 years ago. With it came the entire archive of posts - some of which used to get thousands of clicks from Google every year. After the move? These older posts have had literally zero views over a three year period.

The financial planning industry has a dirty secret: every model, every projection, every “just put it in index funds and wait” piece of advice is backtested against a single dataset. American global hegemony, 1945 to present. The most anomalous period of wealth creation in human history. An era powered by the world’s reserve currency, cheap energy, expanding global trade, and military dominance that kept it all running.

That era is ending. And your retirement plan needs a contingency for it.

The Social Security Time Bomb

The CBO’s latest projection, released this month, moved the Social Security trust fund depletion date up to 2032. Last year it was 2033. The year before that, 2035. The date keeps getting closer.

After the trust fund runs dry, Social Security doesn’t vanish. It just shrinks. The system can only pay out what it collects in real time from current workers, which covers roughly 72-77% of promised benefits, depending on which projection you use. If you’re 55 and planning to retire at 67, you’ll start collecting right around the time benefits get cut by a fifth.

If you’re 35, you’ll collect from a system that’s been running on reduced payments for over 20 years by the time you reach retirement age. And that’s the optimistic scenario, the one where Congress does nothing (which, let’s be honest, is what Congress does best). The pessimistic scenario involves a government desperate for revenue during imperial decline restructuring the entire program.

The math driving this is demographic and irreversible. The US fertility rate has fallen to 1.6 births per woman, well below the 2.1 replacement rate, and has been declining since 2007. For the first time in at least half a century, more people are leaving the country than entering it. Every year there are fewer workers paying in per retiree collecting. No amount of political willpower fixes a fertility rate.

And since the system pays current retirees from this year’s taxes, rather than actually saving money in a retirement fund, the whole thing is basically a Ponzi scheme.

The Index Fund Illusion

“Just put it in the S&P 500 and wait 30 years.” This is the catechism of modern financial planning. And it works, as long as the empire keeps expanding.

The entire backtesting dataset for this strategy covers the period of American dominance: post-WWII industrial expansion, Bretton Woods, the tech boom, financialization, quantitative easing. It is the single most favorable environment for equity investment in human history. Using it to project forward into imperial decline is like using July weather data to plan a December wedding.

Japan offers the closest analog. The Nikkei 225 peaked at 38,957 on December 29, 1989, at the height of Japan’s economic bubble. It crashed, and did not return to that level for 34 years, finally surpassing it in February 2024. Thirty-four years of zero returns. An entire generation of Japanese investors who “bought and held” through what was supposed to be a temporary correction watched their retirement evaporate in slow motion.

Japan wasn’t even an empire in decline. It was a bubble popping in a country that still had a functioning export economy, strong social cohesion, and the backing of the American security umbrella. The US faces all of Japan’s problems (aging population, asset bubble, debt overhang) plus the ones Japan didn’t have: reserve currency erosion, military overextension, political fragmentation, and a $38.8 trillion debt load that requires $1 trillion per year just in interest.

The Dollar Problem

Your 401k is denominated in dollars. Your pension is denominated in dollars. Social Security pays in dollars. Your savings account holds dollars.

In 2001, the US dollar held 72% of global foreign exchange reserves. Today that figure is 56.3%.. The trend is accelerating as BRICS nations build alternative payment systems and countries burned by US sanctions seek currencies that can’t be weaponized against them.

The government has exactly three tools for managing $38.8 trillion in debt: cut spending (politically suicidal), raise taxes (economically destructive), or inflate the currency (invisible and deniable). They will choose inflation every time. They already are. The Federal Reserve has no choice but to keep printing because the alternative is default.

What this means for your retirement: the number in your account may grow, but what it buys will shrink. A million-dollar 401k in 2040 might have the purchasing power of $500,000 in today’s money. You won’t go broke on paper. You’ll go broke at the grocery store.

The Pension Fantasy

State and local pension funds are collectively trillions underfunded. The five largest US cities alone have a combined pension and benefits shortfall of $240 billion against just $144 billion in assets. Chicago’s four major pension funds have 25 cents set aside for every dollar promised. Twenty-five cents on the dollar.

The federal government can paper over its pension shortfalls by printing money (inflationary, but the checks keep coming). State and local governments cannot print money. When they run out, they either raise taxes, cut services, or restructure pension obligations. “Restructure” is the polite word for “break promises.”

Detroit showed us the playbook in 2013. When the city declared bankruptcy, general service retirees took a 4.5% benefit cut, cost-of-living adjustments were eliminated entirely, and healthcare benefits were slashed. These were people who worked 20-30 years for the city government under a contract that guaranteed them a specific retirement. The guarantee lasted right up until it didn’t.

Detroit was a single city. What happens when the dynamic is statewide? Nationwide? When the federal government that backstops everything is itself running trillion-dollar deficits and fighting a new war in the Middle East?

What Actually Works

The people who fared best during the Soviet collapse weren’t the ones with the biggest bank accounts. They were the ones with skills, relationships, and tangible assets. When the ruble cratered, a savings account meant nothing. A network of people who could share food, fix things, and trade favors meant everything.

The same principle applies here. The collapse of the dollar’s purchasing power doesn’t destroy all wealth. It destroys paper wealth. The distinction matters.

Own things that produce value, not paper claims on things that produce value. A rental property generates income regardless of what the stock market does. Farmland grows food whether the dollar is strong or weak. The difference between owning productive assets and owning shares in a fund that owns productive assets is the difference between eating and watching your portfolio tick down.

Diversify out of the dollar. Not as speculation, but as insurance. Bitcoin, precious metals, domestic or foreign real estate, productive land. The goal isn’t to “get rich on crypto.” The goal is to not have 100% of your life savings denominated in the currency of a declining empire. Even a 20% allocation to non-dollar assets dramatically changes your risk profile.

Reduce your fixed costs to the bone. The person who owns their home outright, grows some of their own food, and has low monthly overhead survives a currency crisis. The person with a mortgage, two car payments, and $200 in monthly subscriptions does not. Debt is a bet that the future will be more prosperous than the present. That bet is getting worse every year.

Build community. This sounds soft, but it’s the most practical advice on this list. During the Soviet collapse, the people who survived best weren’t the richest. They were the most connected. They had neighbors who shared, friends who traded skills, and communities that functioned as mutual aid networks. Atomized individuals with savings accounts got crushed. Communities with relationships adapted.

The Uncomfortable Truth

The cruelest irony of imperial decline is that the people most exposed are the ones who “did everything right.” They saved in their 401k. They bought bonds. They paid into Social Security for 40 years. They trusted the system because the system told them to trust it.

The system is what’s breaking.

The financial planning industry is selling 30-year products built on assumptions from a world that no longer exists. They’re using the rearview mirror to navigate a cliff. And they charge 1% annually for the privilege.

You are not powerless. But the window to reposition is not infinite. Every model we’ve examined, from Glubb’s 250-year cycle to the CBO’s own depletion projections, points to the same compressed timeline. The sand is running out of the top of the hourglass. What you do in the next five to ten years will determine whether you spend your retirement years in comfort or in a slow-motion financial crisis you were told would never happen.

The empire won’t save for your retirement. But you still can.

Sources: CBO Budget Outlook 2026, SSA Trustees Report 2024, IMF COFER Data, Nikkei 225 Historical Data, Detroit Pension Restructuring, Peter Peterson Foundation, Truth in Accounting: Five Largest Cities