How a Cranky Old Glassblower Outsmarted the Greatest Economic Panic in 50 Years: (And Why His Secret Could Save Your Sanity in 2025)

The Jack Hopkins Now Newsletter #298

Good evening, my friend.

There’s a lot of noise out there right now. Headlines shouting, markets slipping, and everyone asking, “What’s going to happen next?” It's easy to let anxiety take the wheel when uncertainty grips the world. (or simply scream “What in the FUCK?!”)

But in times like these…what we don’t do matters as much…as what we do.

I’ve been a change agent for almost 30 years. I studied the impact of words, statements, questions, stories, metaphors…and countless other tools for conveying information…thoughts…ideas…and more.

Stories (and everything you can embed inside them) are perfect for those times when someone’s thinking mind is kind of uptight.

So…I thought you might enjoy a Friday evening Story Time with Jack version of The Jack Hopkins Now Newsletter.

This story isn’t about stock charts or stimulus packages. (Besides, I don’t know that much about either one.)

It’s about calm leadership… deliberate effort…and the quiet strength of staying grounded when everything feels upended. It’s a reminder (told through fiction, as I sometimes like to do) that your mindset is your strategy.

Take a breath. Slow down. Let this one sink in.

“The Lighthouse and the Furnace”

They called it the Winter of Glass…not because snow fell like crystal…but because everything seemed so fragile.

The markets had cracked. The headlines screamed like gulls in a storm. Banks whispered rumors behind velvet curtains. Small towns braced. Big cities clenched. Some people withdrew their savings; others…withdrew from hope.

And yet, in the coastal village of Rocky Road Run…an old man named Coren quietly opened his workshop every morning at six.

He was a glassblower, and the irony wasn’t lost on him.

While the world panicked over things breaking…he was still shaping delicate things in fire…not in spite of the chaos, but because of it.

Coren's workshop sat beside the cliffs…not far from the lighthouse. People said the sea below had swallowed ships in calmer times than these. But every morning…he lit the furnace. And every evening…he extinguished it with the same quiet grace.

People visited less these days. Not many had coin to spare for ornaments…vases…or paperweights. But Coren still worked…because he believed in what his father once told him:

“When the world shakes, shape something with your hands. When money fails, make something no one can steal.”

His neighbors didn’t understand.

“Why are you still working?” they asked.

“Because the fire’s already here,” Coren would smile. “Might as well use it for something beautiful.”

The town began to divide.

Some fled, chasing rumors of jobs in other cities. Some hoarded food…and argued in alleyways. Others simply curled in on themselves…treating hope like it was something reckless. A few shouted through open windows: “This is the end of things!”

Coren didn’t argue. He just kept blowing glass. Kept shaping and turning and watching.

And when he had a moment…he walked to the lighthouse.

The lighthouse was old and unmanned…but Coren had once apprenticed under its keeper before the automation came. He knew how to climb it. He knew the gears...the lights…the rotation of the beam. And he knew something the rest of the town seemed to forget:

Lighthouses don’t stop storms. They just make sure you don’t crash during them.

So once a week…he checked the machinery. He cleaned the lens. He wound the wheels. He made sure the beam kept circling, even when it seemed no one was looking.

One night, a boy from the village named Eli knocked on Coren’s door, soaked and trembling. His parents had left for work in the city. The school had closed. There was no food in the house.

“I don’t know what to do,” he said.

Coren opened the door…gave him dry clothes…and said, “Then help me keep the fire going.”

They didn’t talk much. But Eli swept the floor and sorted the broken shards. He learned the rhythm…of the furnace. He watched as Coren shaped molten breath into impossible curves.

At first, he thought Coren was just making glass.

But one day…after weeks of watching…he realized something strange:

Coren was building a model of the village. Piece by piece. House by house. Street by street. In glass.

“Why are you making this?” Eli asked.

Coren didn’t stop working. “So people remember what it looked like before they panicked.”

Eli frowned. “You think things will go back to normal?”

Coren smiled softly. “No. Things never go back. But they go forward—and the shape we carry in our minds decides what we build next.”

As the weeks turned into months, others returned. They were tired. Thin. But wiser in the way storms make you. They came to Coren not for glass, but for work…or food…or just the comfort of the furnace’s glow.

He gave them something to do. Let them make small things: marbles, figurines, dishes. He taught them how to use the flame without being burned. He taught them how to stay calm in the heat.

“Glass doesn’t respond well to panic,” he said. “Neither do people.”

By spring, the economy still hadn’t recovered. But the people had. At least in Aelwyn’s Reach.

And one day, a traveler from the city arrived. He’d heard about the village that hadn’t fallen apart. About the people who stayed. About the boy who learned to blow glass and the man who kept the lighthouse turning.

He asked Coren how they’d done it.

Coren didn’t say much. He simply pointed to the furnace and then to the sea.

“One burns. One drowns. You decide which one to work with.”

The Lesson:

This moment in history may feel like the storm has won. The numbers are diving. The voices are loud. The future feels brittle.

But now is not the time to worry.

Now is the time to work carefully…breathe slowly…and build deliberately.
Not because the fire isn’t real…but because it is.

And if you choose to stay calm, to shape something meaningful in the heat of it…you become what the lighthouse is to the ocean:

A quiet, turning beam in the dark…reminding others where the rocks are, and how not to crash.

If you’re feeling uncertain right now…you’re not alone. But let this story be a gentle tap on the shoulder:

You are not powerless…not if you choose calm over chaos…action over anxiety…clarity over noise.

Keep tending the furnace. Keep the beam turning. Your work…your steadiness…your presence…they matter more than ever right now.

And if you can, be someone else's lighthouse.

They may not say it out loud, but they’re watching…and following.

Until next time….