Every year about this time I send out an unofficial end of year investor's letter -- "unofficial" because 1) it does not get sent to my investors and 2) it usually has little to do with investing.
I’ll get to the funds’ performance in a bit. First, let’s pick up where we left off last year.
You’ll recall that Priya, Nikhil and I survived Tarana’s trip to the bridal gown store in the mall in Dartmouth, Massachusetts to buy a prom dress. More about that later.
Years ago a friend sent me a copy of a book with a “read this chapter” note. The important part was a story about an old man who liked to dance. If I remember right he used to go to a community center or some place like that and, no matter what kind of music was playing, he would go out on the dance floor and close his eyes and spin around and do whatever the music made him feel like doing. The way the old guy danced was nothing like the move-as-little-as-possible, keep your hands at your sides and, heaven forbid, don’t let anyone think you are enjoying yourself style that I had perfected years ago. His way was better.
I read the story, put the book on the shelf and figured I’d come back to it another time.
My father gave me a piece of advice: sometimes it’s best not to let everyone know what you’re thinking. I took that advice to heart. Maybe I learned it too well. I missed the part where if sometimes its best to keep things to yourself, then ― at other times― letting the world in is okay, and sometimes it’s a lot better than ok. Nikhil always understood that. A good example: we stopped at a town square during a festival in the Netherlands on our way to Kröller-Müller and Van Gogh a few years back. Nik and I wandered to the bandstand as the music started. His dancing involves a lot of jumping and pretty soon he had a bunch of bikers in leather jackets over black t-shirts, with long beards and dark sunglasses, leaping up and down with him to the beat of what was actually a pretty good band playing old Motown. A few songs, lots of spilled beer (theirs, not his) and many high fives and fist bumps with his new Dutch friends later, we were off. He was about fifteen the time.
I still have my friend’s book, which I have read through many times, and it’s easy to bring back the image of the old guy out on the dance floor. I thought about him again a few weeks after the David’s Bridal Shop episode.
The after-prom party for the Chapin class of 2018 was held in someone’s parents’ second or third house’s huge backyard, somewhere up in horse country. I think the story included shuttle buses and an enormous sloping lawn and a big tent and paper lanterns. Not burdened with the awkwardness of boyfriends and girlfriends and the before the after prom issues of is this a date date or a prom only thing (I am making this part up and it may have no relation to reality), the girls were free to be happy and to be loud.
Only not too loud. There was a neighbor and a phone call and maybe a police car, and the sound system, probably louder than Woodstock, had to be turned off. But the story ends well: a Bluetooth system switched on, dozens of headphones handed out, and the class of ‘18 and their guests spread out over the lawn dancing with abandon, neon glow sticks around their wrists and in their hair. To those of us watching from afar, a silent dance party on a starry starry night, a marvelous night for a moondance.
Oh yeah, before I forget, both funds did just fine this year.
Jumping the gun to wish you a great end of 2019 and happy, prosperous, and a choreographed with abandon 2020.
David Sable MD
writer, teacher, fund manager and retired reproductive endocrinologist