After he was gone, Mom struggled with the mortgage, taxes, utilities, and general upkeep.

Vance moved into the basement to “help.”

That was seven years ago.

Vance’s version of helping mostly involved carrying groceries inside occasionally and announcing a new career every few months.

My brother had reinvented himself more times than a failing software program.

At twenty-seven, he was going to transform the personal-training industry.

That ended when he realized clients expected trainers to be awake before nine.

At twenty-eight, he launched a clothing company.

He closed it after deciding that keeping inventory interfered with creativity.

I pointed out that inventory in a clothing business was generally known as “having clothes available to sell.”

He called me negative.

At twenty-nine, he bought professional pressure-washing equipment.

He cleaned exactly half of Mom’s driveway, became bored, and sold the equipment to a neighbor for a huge loss.

Then came cryptocurrency.

A politics podcast.

A brief era as a “Life Architect.”

That one was my favorite.

A grown man living rent-free in his mother’s basement while eating cereal I indirectly paid for was charging strangers online to help them “manifest an intentional existence.”