• Trump said on Saturday that American oil companies are making a "fortune" on the Iran war.
• Americans, however, are paying record prices at the pump, according to AAA.
• Trump made the comments less than two weeks from the midterm elections.

Though regular Americans are paying more at the pump, US oil companies are striking it rich, President Donald Trump said on Saturday.

Speaking at a rally in Georgia, Trump said that oil prices are "temporarily high," but added that the throttling of the Strait of Hormuz has pushed oil buyers to American companies with operations in Texas, Oklahoma, and Louisiana.

"The United States oil and gas business is making hundreds of billions of dollars," Trump said. "I don't give a damn, I'm going to say it — we're making a freaking fortune."

Indeed, a Q2 report this year from the Oil & Gas Journal, a trade publication, noted that "surging crude prices tied to ongoing Strait of Hormuz disruptions" fueled massive windfalls for North American oil companies.

Year over year, a sample of 38 US producers and refiners collectively grew revenues by about $140 billion, the Oil & Gas Journal reported.

Those profits, however, are not exactly shared by the American public.

AAA reported that the average price of regular gas in the United States is now at $4.29 a gallon. In February, one day before the US and Israel launched surprise attacks on Iran, gas prices were at $2.98.

Diesel prices have also increased precipitously since the American war on Iran began. On Sunday, AAA reported that they sat at $6.35, up from $3.75 a day before the conflict began. Shipping companies rely on diesel to power their boats and trucks. Higher diesel costs are often passed onto consumers in the form of higher prices.

Trump's comments are unlikely to curry goodwill among an American electorate reckoning with an affordability crisis less than two weeks out from midterm elections. The White House did not immediately respond to a request for comment sent on Sunday.

As the midterms approach, Trump has taken steps to lower gas prices.

On October 9, Trump said he reached a deal with Russian President Vladimir Putin to import Russian diesel, which had been heavily sanctioned since the start of Russia's invasion of Ukraine. Analysts warned the move could provide a lifeline to the Russian economy as the country seeks to bombard Ukraine into submission this winter.

"I can see just the fake headlines — 'President Trump is talking about all the money they're making while people are suffering at the pump,'" Trump said at the Georgia rally. "That'll be the headline."

• Leslie Hodgin and her husband had dreamed of moving abroad.
• They finally took the leap in January, deciding not to waste time in their 50s.
• Hodgin said the move was expensive and time-consuming, but she's been happy with their relocation.

This story is based on an interview with Leslie Hodgin, a 55-year-old marketing consultant who moved from the US to the Netherlands with her husband, John Lyman, 52. It has been edited for length and clarity.

Until 2026, I was living in Richmond, Virginia, with my husband and our cat.

My dad was in the Army, so I grew up all over the world, but Richmond is my adopted home. I lived there for about 10 years.

During that time, I got an offer to move to Seoul, South Korea, for my marketing job. My husband, John, and I were dating at the time. We got married one week before moving to Seoul for two years.

After the contract ended, we returned to the States. I love Richmond, but it did feel small after I had been in Korea.

Some events happened in both of our families that made us want to move abroad again sooner rather than later. My dad died. My husband's mom died. We had a couple of dear friends pass away. It was all very quick. And it made me think, "What are we waiting for? We don't have promises for tomorrow. Now is the time."

We don't have kids, so that wasn't holding us back. We had some money in the bank to move, which I know is a privilege. It was like, "Let's just go and live our lives. We shouldn't just keep hoping for someday because there may not be someday."

Moving to the Netherlands

John had gone to graduate school in the Netherlands, so we'd visited before. Through my work in advertising, I also had a fairly large network of people living there.

There's a visa for Americans called the Dutch-American Friendship Treaty (DAFT) that allows freelancers and entrepreneurs to live in the Netherlands. It made the country seem like a great choice for us.

My husband works for himself, so it was easier for him to pick up and go anywhere. I started my own consulting business and left my agency. I knew there was an advertising community in the Netherlands, and I planned to freelance if my consulting business wasn't doing well.

My husband's dad is in his 90s, and my mom just turned 80. Moving far from them was probably the hardest part of the decision. I have a little guilt for that, but they're excited for us. I've promised my mom that I'll be home for any big family and important events.

That's a hard thing to do, but we felt it was right for us not to put our lives on hold.

Downsizing our lives

We moved in January. We did it in six months. We'd sold our house about a year before moving and were living in an apartment.

We decided to sell almost everything we owned to keep costs as low as possible. We shipped a half-crate over, which is quite small, so we had to get rid of a lot of stuff. We made close to $12,000 selling everything and used it to pay for the visas and help with some of the moving costs.

When we moved, we had nine suitcases, including a large piece of art. It was the largest oversize item that would fit on an airplane, and we had a special museum-packing company pack it. And our cat, of course, came on the plane with us.

We live in a two-bedroom apartment. It's an old, old building, but the apartment is newly renovated and has a patio.

We do feel lucky that we found a place because there is a housing shortage, and it's quite hard to find housing, particularly if you're American or from another country and you don't have Dutch income. We had to pay six months' rent upfront to secure our rental.

Life in Europe

It still feels surreal that we live here. My husband and I will frequently look at each other and say, "Oh my God, I can't believe that we're here." I never want to lose that feeling.

Business seems to be going really well. I also already knew some friends, but I've met so many amazing people through social media and made some great friends with our neighbors.

We love the sense of community. I appreciate the social contract that people afford each other in the Netherlands, from the opportunities the government provides to the respect and trust they show each other in general.

Recently, there was Open Monumentendag, or Open Monuments Day, with over a thousand monuments, churches, houses, farms, and historic places across the Netherlands open to the public for free. They do that every year, and it feels so special. It seems like every other weekend there's a festival.

There are always challenges. I'm very slow to pick up the language. Most people speak English, but I feel like I need to be better.

Moving also costs a lot more than you plan for. Even if you've tried to pad all the numbers, it still costs more than anticipated. Because our work was quite slow earlier in the year, we were like, "Gosh, what have we done?"

Our cost of living is fairly similar to what it was in the US. We don't have a car, so we don't have that expense. We would be paying double the rent in New York City for this same apartment.

A fresh start

I feel alive again. I felt a little stagnant in Richmond after living overseas, and moving has opened a lot of doors for my creativity.

On social media, I've documented trying one new thing a week. It's gotten us out to meet people and have some interesting experiences.

There's a risk in moving abroad. You have to get yourself over the hump, and you have to be brave.

Believe in yourself. If there's something you want to try, like moving overseas, going on a solo trip, or taking a cooking class, take a chance on yourself. You're never going to regret trying it if it doesn't work out. If you don't ever put yourself out there, you're going to look back in 20 years and be like, "That would have been great. Why didn't I give that a shot?"

• Only tech companies are seeing growth from the AI boom, Apollo Global Management says.
• Apollo says that though some big companies are spending big on AI, they may soon pull back.
• Corporate America is starting to see AI spending not as a source of growth, but as a cost center.

One of the world's largest investment firms says that only tech companies are getting a share of the AI pie.

In an economic analysis published on Saturday, Apollo Global Management said that while the Magnificent Seven — a group of established tech companies that includes Nvidia and Meta — are seeing revenue growth during the AI boom, this growth isn't being shared by other industries.

"Mainstream corporate America is pulling back and starting to view token spending not as a source of growth but as a cost center that weighs on margins," Torsten Slok, a partner and chief economist at Apollo, said in the report. "The technology has delivered zero financial payoff to corporate America outside of tech."

In a series of graphs, Slok measured three main metrics that have boomed for tech companies but not for regular companies: revenue per worker, profit margins, and productivity growth.

Since 2022, revenue per employee figures have skyrocketed for tech companies — rising from $550,000 to nearly $800,000 today. Meanwhile, that figure hasn't changed much for everyone else in the S&P 500, lingering around $550,000 for the last seven years.

Similarly, while profit margins soared among tech companies since 2022, they've stagnated at about 10% for everyone else.

And across the economy, AI hasn't yet dramatically increased productivity growth as some AI optimists have predicted.

Apollo's research portends a dark shadow over a US economy throwing massive amounts of dough toward AI tools and companies, whose leaders have promised that an "age of abundance," where people won't have to work as much, will soon be upon us.

"The question looking ahead is whether, even as models become commoditized, mainstream corporate America can turn increasingly cheap intelligence into higher revenue growth and higher profit margins," Slok said.

"That may be harder than it sounds," he added.

In the 1940s and '50s, Route 66 was one of America's most popular highways, driving business to small towns from Chicago to Santa Monica. But today, the road and its people have been largely forgotten. Ghost towns, empty motels, and abandoned gas stations line its path. Chief correspondent Abby Narishkin grew up along the road. In celebration of its 100th anniversary, she drove down the old route herself to visit the people and businesses still keeping this Americana legacy alive.

• I've been an interior designer for years, and I believe some design "rules" are worth breaking.
• A room not working doesn't mean you need to make it bigger or completely remodel it.
• Don't avoid using furniture that's "too nice," or do open shelving just because it's in magazines.

In my years working in interior design, I've had many clients approach me looking for definitive "rules" for decorating their homes.

They want to know how to make their home look good and function better, assuming there is a set of guidelines to help them get there.

Certainly, there are building codes, safety requirements, and circulation considerations that must be met. However, much of what we think of as design and decorating is guided by rules of thumb, best practices, and even cultural assumptions.

The longer I practice design — over 20 years now — the more I learn that there are very few set rules to follow. Although some can be a good starting place, they often overlook the people who actually live in the space we're designing.

Here are a few design "rules" I think are worth breaking and why.

If you're remodeling your kitchen, you definitely need some open shelving.

Open any shelter magazine, and you will likely see open shelving as a prominent kitchen feature.

Open shelving is beautiful, often breaking up a wall of cabinetry, making a kitchen feel lighter and more open while creating a place to display dishes, glassware, cookbooks, or other collected personal effects.

Although I, too, am drawn to open shelves, I question whether it's the right choice for every client. Those beautifully styled shelves require you to decide what stays visible, keep some degree of order, and deal with more dust and kitchen grime.

For some people, that's no problem — or even enjoyable. For others, it's one more thing to maintain.

Before my clients make this design choice, we talk through what would actually live on those shelves and whether they want the responsibility of keeping them looking the way they imagine.

After all, a trend can show you a new possibility, but it can't tell you whether that possibility fits your life.

Your interior style should match your home's architecture.

I have many clients who make this assumption: If my home has a traditional architectural character, my new kitchen or bathroom must also have more traditional elements — think Shaker cabinetry, crown molding, and bronzy hardware.

Although I agree that architectural continuity can create cohesion, the architecture of your home is context, not a mandate.

When someone doesn't identify with their home's traditional character, I think it's important to honor the individual. I have seen many contemporary interiors set within traditional homes, and the juxtaposition can be breathtaking.

If your home isn't working, you need more space.

When a space feels cramped or isn't functioning well, I often see clients immediately assume they must add square footage.

Sometimes an addition is the right answer, but often the problem lies in how the existing space is being used.

For example, I had a client who was considering an addition to their kitchen. As we studied the existing space together, it became clear that the kitchen already had plenty of room, but the current layout wasn't making good use of it.

Rather than expanding the footprint of their home, we focused on reorganizing the space they already have so it functions better for them.

Before assuming more space is needed, identify where the friction is coming from: difficulty moving through a room, belongings that pile up in unwanted places, or things stored far from where they're used.

It's impossible to solve a problem you don't fully understand.

Some furniture is too nice for everyday use.

If you've ever invested in beautiful or expensive furniture, you may have worried about how you'll protect it from getting "ruined" by daily life.

But here's the rub (pun intended): When protecting furniture starts interfering with actually living in your home, we may have a problem.

Think about the white sofa featured in the aspirational home decor imagery in magazines or on social media. It's beautiful. It's pristine.

However, every Friday night, it needs to be covered with a blanket before anyone settles in to watch TV with a glass of red wine and a piece of chocolate. At some point, the needs of the furniture began to take priority over those of the person using it.

Here is the truth: Furniture is meant to be used, and a home is meant to be lived in.

Your kitchen trash can should be next to the sink.

This is a pretty standard kitchen-planning rule of thumb: Put waste collection close to the area where food prep and cleanup happen.

However, this is based on an assumption about how people use their kitchens. Sometimes, there are better layouts depending on your situation.

For example, many of my clients compost most food scraps. One such client keeps a small compost container on her counter, which is convenient during food prep and clean-up. Between composting and recycling, her regular landfill garbage gets very little use.

Once we uncovered how little this client uses the conventional trash can in her kitchen, we decided to relocate it elsewhere, freeing up valuable cabinet space near the sink and dishwasher.

This may not follow the design "rule," but it's a more practical arrangement for her space.

Empty spaces should be filled.

Sometimes an empty wall, shelf, or corner of a room can make a space feel unfinished, and our natural inclination is to fill it.

However, is empty space actually a problem that needs to be solved? No … at least not immediately.

I often encourage my clients to experiment with leaving something empty as part of the design process. It gives you an opportunity to live with the space and discover what — if anything — you actually need there.

You may discover a function you hadn't anticipated, eventually find something you genuinely want there, or realize that the room works better without anything at all.

If a room isn't working, it needs a makeover.

If a space feels unfinished, disjointed, or just "off," we often believe it needs a substantial change — new furniture, different finishes, or even a remodel.

And with so many dramatic reveals and before-and-afters, it's no wonder we think meaningful improvements require meaningful (and expensive!) interventions.

Rather than replacing everything, sometimes small, thoughtful changes can alter how a whole space feels.

For example, I had a client whose guest bathroom was remodeled several years ago. The materials, fixtures, and finishes were beautiful, but they didn't quite come together as a whole.

Rather than replacing them, we added a single wall of peel-and-stick wallpaper, a DIY project the client could tackle over a weekend. It connected what was already there and made the room feel cohesive.

Your interior designer has better taste than you.

Because an interior designer has professional expertise and experience, homeowners assume their aesthetic judgment is more valid — or that the designer has the "right" design answer, and they do not.

Designers understand proportion, scale, color, materials, and composition, but clients know more than they give themselves credit for. They notice when a color feels wrong, have strong reactions to particular materials or furnishings, and can identify what they prefer even if they don't have the design vocabulary to explain why.

Although a designer can help you understand those preferences and translate them into a cohesive space, your own sense of what feels right should be part of the design process.

After all, expertise isn't about applying rules indiscriminately — it's about knowing when they serve the person in front of you and when they don't.

I have a saying in my practice: "You do you!" You are the expert in how you live, what you like, and what makes you feel at home.

• Compass Pathways wants to use psilocybin to help people with treatment-resistant depression.
• Its psilocybin pill, COMP360, could finally be coming to market as soon as next year.
• For its CEO, Kabir Nath, it's been a long, strange trip to get to this point.

In 2022, Kabir Nath had a cushy executive job at a pharmaceutical firm that developed anti-psychotic medication.

Then he got a call from a scrappy upstart with a patent on a synthetic version of psilocybin — the active ingredient in magic mushrooms. It hoped to use the compound to help those with treatment-resistant depression.

They wanted him to join as CEO. Nath, whose father died by suicide, bit on their second pitch.

"A number of people have said to me in the last couple of years: 'You do realize what a risk that was,'" Nath told Business Insider about eventually jumping ship for what was, and still is, a drug company without FDA approval for its product.

"I was probably the first really senior executive from traditional pharma to make the move to psychedelics," he added. "But, you know, it was the right thing to do."

Nath's personal risk is now magnified as Compass Pathways finishes filing its final forms ahead of what could be FDA approval as soon as next year, and then a public rollout of its psilocybin pill, called COMP360.

Compass has recently added 150 new hires to its payroll, expanded its marketing division, and moved into new office space in Jersey City in the hope it all works out. "The company is growing rapidly," Nath said.

Though a subsidiary of Johnson and Johnson attained FDA approval with a version of ketamine for depression patients in 2019, it is by no means guaranteed that Compass, leveraging a more traditional psychedelic, will get the same approval.

Should the FDA deny Compass' bid, investors would rush to dump their shares, likely sending the company into bankruptcy. The Jersey City office, which just received a new lime green paint job, would be untenable.

If you ask Nath, it would also be bad news for 4 million patients with depression in the US, for whom more traditional antidepressants like SSRIs don't work.

"These are people who have been suffering from depression, and nothing's really working," he said.

Like other drug companies — especially those with a single product — Compass' stock has "been on quite the adventure," Nath said, as the company progressed through various human trials.

When markets closed on Friday, the share price hovered around $11, up $5 from last year. In 2020, when the company went public, shares went for $17.

From Haight Ashbury to Wall Street

Psilocybin's journey to the forefront of medical research didn't begin with Compass, and it hasn't exactly gone in a straight line.

Few did more to publicize the drug than Timothy Leary, the Harvard professor turned acid dropout. In a speech at Harvard's Cambridge campus in 1962, he told students that taking psilocybin allows people to experience an "internal rebirth," according to the Harvard Crimson.

In time, Leary would be fired from Harvard as he, along with a measurable portion of the US population, began to experiment more heavily with psychedelic drugs. Come 1966, the Grateful Dead were spiking their Kool-Aid with acid, and a definitive subculture of long-haired, psychedelic-taking hippies had emerged.

Meanwhile, researchers were experimenting too. Studies involving LSD and psilocybin flourished during the 1960s before hitting a brick wall in 1970, when psilocybin was classified as a Schedule I substance, rendering possession illegal, even for research purposes.

Work on the drug languished for years, until 2000, when the FDA gave scientists at Johns Hopkins University permission to conduct research on psilocybin.

And more recently, psychedelics have become trendy with the tech crowd.

From Burning Man to luxury retreats, experimenting with psychedelics is now common among tech founders and executives like Elon Musk and Sam Altman, who credit the drugs with quieting their nerves, boosting productivity, and allowing them to better harness their creativity.

Research, too, has flourished.

"There was actually a biotech boom from 2018 through to about 2022," Nath said. "In that boom, literally hundreds of psychedelic companies went public."

In 2018, Compass' proprietary psilocybin formulation received breakthrough therapy designation from the FDA. A few years later, it started testing the drug on people.

Nath was an executive in 2018 at Japanese pharmaceutical giant Otsuka, where he said he assembled a team to investigate whether psychedelics could become viable medicines after reading Michael Pollan's book "How to Change Your Mind," which explores the history and therapeutic potential of psychedelics.

COMP360

Compass isn't selling an experience analogous to a spiritual awakening at Burning Man, though.

The drug-taking process for a patient enrolled in one of Compass' trials is a bit different. First, a patient has to have treatment-resistant depression, which is clinically defined as depression that two or more standard drugs have failed to treat.

Then, a clinician explains the details of the process that is about to unfold. After that, they're given the psilocybin in pill form.

"It's a quiet room with a couch," Nath said. "They're offered a blindfold, which most patients do actually wear."

As the patient begins to trip, a playlist of music, including classical and new age, plays softly in the background. The clinician, who Nath said could be a nurse, doctor, or therapist, sits silently in the room if the patient wants to talk, and for safety reasons.

Most of the time, though, there isn't any talking.

"This is not psychotherapy," Nath said. "We are not directing the patient's experience."

Six hours later, after some crying, laughing, and everything in between, the patient goes home.

In Compass's most recent trial, results for which were published in September, just under half of participants who took the drug experienced at least a 50% reduction in depressive symptoms within six weeks of treatment.

Next steps

After a decade of slogging through tests, first on animals and then on humans, Compass has completed all the necessary prerequisites and is busily working to get its last papers in order.

In a statement provided to Business Insider, an FDA spokesperson was noncommittal, though.

"The FDA evaluates experimental medications, including psychedelic drugs like psilocybin, through a rigorous, evidence-based process designed to ensure that any approved treatment is safe and effective for the indicated use," the spokesperson said.

Compass isn't the only psychedelic drug company wading through the lengthy process of trialing a drug.

AtaiBeckley, another psychedelic drug company trading on the Nasdaq whose product is not yet approved by the FDA, is developing a version of DMT administered via nasal spray. It received breakthrough status in 2025, years behind Compass.

For Compass, though, it could face the music as soon as the first half of next year, when it expects the FDA to render its decision. The company is already getting ready.

In addition to adding 150 new hires, Nath said the company is preparing its sales force to go online and is in frequent communication with doctors and healthcare providers about operating in clinics where therapists can administer the drug to patients.

"This has the potential to be radically different, and again, the rapidity is something that they're very excited about, and the durability," Nath said, referring to psychiatrists.

• I tried two of Ina Garten's most popular chocolate cakes for the ultimate dessert showdown. 
• Her chocolate cake with mocha frosting was delicious and easier to make. 
• But Garten's Beatty's Chocolate Cake is a total showstopper.

I've been making my way through Ina Garten's recipes to become a better home cook, so naturally, I've tried many of her desserts to satisfy my sweet tooth. 

From a blueberry-ricotta breakfast cake that won over my mom on Mother's Day to the iconic mocha icebox cake that Garten says makes "grown men weep," she truly has a dessert for everyone.  

But Garten really excels at chocolate, and I've made two of her favorite chocolate cakes. The question is, which one is best? 

First, let's make Garten's chocolate cake with mocha frosting.

Garten's chocolate cake with mocha frosting first appeared in her 2014 cookbook, "Make It Ahead." 

The "Barefoot Contessa" star has called this recipe a "dessert everyone will remember." I had to see if it lived up to the hype.  

Garten's chocolate cake features unsweetened cocoa powder, pure vanilla extract, and instant espresso powder.

To make Garten's chocolate cake, which serves 12, you'll need: 

• 3 extra-large eggs, at room temperature  
• 2 cups of sugar 
• 1 ½ sticks (12 tablespoons) of unsalted butter, at room temperature 
• 1 ¾ cups of all-purpose flour 
• ⅔ cup of unsweetened cocoa powder 
• ⅔ cup of half-and-half 
• ⅔ cup of the hottest tap water 
• 1 tablespoon of pure vanilla extract 
• 1 teaspoon of baking soda 
• 1 teaspoon of kosher salt 
• 1 teaspoon of instant espresso powder

To make the frosting for the cake, you'll need:

• 12 ounces of bittersweet chocolate
• 1 ¼ cups of heavy cream
• 3 tablespoons of unsalted butter (diced), at room temperature
• 1 tablespoon of Kahlúa
• 2 teaspoons of instant espresso powder
• 1 teaspoon of pure vanilla extract

I sifted my dry ingredients and mixed the cocoa and espresso powders with half-and-half and hot water before I began making the batter.

I then placed the sugar and room-temperature butter into the bowl of my electric mixer — fitted with the paddle attachment — and beat them for about 4 minutes on medium speed. 

After adding the eggs one at a time, I added the flour and chocolate mixtures alternately in thirds, starting and ending with the flour mixture. 

I poured my batter into a 9-inch-by-13-inch baking pan and smoothed the top.

Before I made my batter, I had buttered my pan, lined the bottom with parchment paper, then buttered and floured it again. 

"There's no point in making a cake if you can't get it out of the pan," Garten said in the "Barefoot Contessa" episode where she demonstrated this recipe. 

I placed my cake in the oven, which had been preheated to 350 degrees Fahrenheit.

Garten says the cake should bake for 25 to 35 minutes. You'll know it's ready when the cake tester or knife comes out clean from the center.

Once my cake was out of the oven, I let it cool for 45 minutes while I made the frosting. 

The mocha frosting for Garten's cake was quick to assemble.

I chopped my chocolate and added it to a bowl with my butter and espresso powder. Then I heated my heavy cream and mixed everything together before adding the Kahlúa and vanilla. I covered the bowl with plastic wrap and left it in the fridge for 30 minutes, per Garten's instructions.

After the frosting has chilled, Garten says you should mix it on high speed for about 15 to 20 seconds, until it forms soft peaks. She also warns that it will curdle if you overbeat it. 

This step was, unfortunately, a bit of a struggle for me. The consistency didn't look thick enough when I took it out of the fridge, so I had to let the frosting chill for another 10 minutes. And after mixing the frosting with my electric mixer, it still didn't appear as whipped as it had looked in the "Barefoot Contessa" episode. 

I was still able to spread the mocha frosting on the cake easily, but it didn't look as good as I had hoped. 

I loved the texture of Garten's chocolate cake, but the icing didn't blow me away.

Garten's cake is springy and light, and I loved the enhanced chocolate flavor thanks to the espresso powder. I think it's really easy for a chocolate cake to become too dense or heavy, but Garten's recipe has a lovely texture.

I just wish I had enjoyed the mocha frosting as much as the cake. The consistency tasted off, and the flavor didn't grab me. But, paired together, the cake and mocha icing still pack a punch that I know any big chocolate fan would love.

Get the full recipe for Ina Garten's chocolate cake with mocha frosting here.

Next up was Beatty's Chocolate Cake, which Garten called the "most fabulous chocolate cake" she's ever made.

The recipe for Beatty's Chocolate Cake actually comes from Garten's friend Michael Grimm, who has frequently appeared on "Barefoot Contessa."  

"He actually served this cake to me once at dinner, and I just begged him for the recipe," Garten said on an episode featuring the cake. "I didn't have to beg very hard." 

Beatty was Grimm's grandmother, and she baked this cake for her husband and the customers on his milk route, according to Grimm's friend Monte Mathews, who shared the cake's origin story on his blog Chewing The Fat. 

Beatty's Chocolate Cake features freshly brewed coffee, cocoa powder, and buttermilk.

To make Beatty's Chocolate Cake, you'll need: 

• 1 ¾ cups of all-purpose flour (plus more for pans) 
• 2 cups of sugar 
• 1 cup of freshly brewed hot coffee 
• 1 cup of buttermilk (shaken) 
• ¾ cup of cocoa powder 
• ½ cup of vegetable oil 
• 2 extra-large eggs at room temperature 
• 2 teaspoons of baking soda 
• 1 teaspoon of baking powder 
• 1 teaspoon of kosher salt 
• 1 teaspoon of pure vanilla extract 

To make the frosting, you'll need:

• 6 ounces of good semisweet chocolate
• 2 sticks (½ pound) of unsalted butter at room temperature
• 1 ¼ cups of powdered sugar (sifted)
• 1 extra-large egg yolk at room temperature
• 1 tablespoon of instant coffee granules (such as Nescafé)
• 1 teaspoon of pure vanilla extract

Pro tip: You can also use Garten's recipe for cupcakes. This recipe will make 24 cupcakes, just make sure to reduce the baking time to 25-30 minutes. 

First, I made the batter.

I sifted my dry ingredients into the bowl of my electric stand mixer and mixed everything together until combined. I mixed my wet ingredients in a separate bowl, making sure to shake the buttermilk before throwing it in. 

While the mixer was on low speed, I carefully poured my wet ingredients into the bowl with my dry ingredients. Then I added Garten's "secret" ingredient — the freshly brewed cup of hot coffee — while the mixer was still on low, letting it stir just to combine. 

I poured my batter into two 8-inch round pans.

Before adding the batter, I buttered my pans, lined the bottoms with parchment paper, then buttered and floured both pans again. 

I threw my pans into the oven, which was set at 350 degrees Fahrenheit.

Garten says the cakes should bake for 35 to 40 minutes. You'll know they're ready when your cake tester or knife comes out clean. 

Once my pans were out of the oven, I let them cool for 30 minutes while I made the buttercream frosting. After 30 minutes had passed, I took my cakes out of their pans and let them sit on a cooling rack and a baking sheet. 

Garten calls her frosting the "easiest, most delicious buttercream you've ever seen."

After chopping and melting my chocolate, I added my butter to the electric mixer and beat it on medium-high speed for about 3 minutes, until it turned fluffy. 

I then added the egg yolk, vanilla, and sugar to mix everything together before throwing in the chocolate and instant coffee granules, which I had dissolved in hot water first. 

The winner was clear, Beatty's Chocolate Cake really ... took the cake.

I was blown away by how moist Beatty's Chocolate Cake tasted. The flavor was deliciously rich, but the texture wasn't heavy or dense. As I wrote in my original review, it's without a doubt one of the fluffiest cakes I've ever had — even from a restaurant or bakery. And I loved the buttercream frosting, which had the perfect amount of sweetness and paired beautifully with the chocolate cake.

Beatty's Chocolate Cake requires a bit of work and effort, but that makes it all the more special. It's a cake no one will forget.

Get the full recipe for Ina Garten's Beatty's Chocolate Cake here. 

• A version of this story originally appeared in the AI Insider newsletter.
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Software engineers in the Bay Area still earn far more than their peers almost anywhere else in the US, even after accounting for the region's eye-watering cost of living.

Recent data from Levels.fyi found total compensation is 77% above an employment-weighted national median. Adjusting for local prices narrows the gap, but Bay Area engineers still come out 53% ahead.

The analysis used federal employment counts to help account for where software engineers work, rather than relying solely on where people submit their pay to Levels.fyi.

Seattle also remains well above average after the adjustment, while cities such as Boston and Washington, DC, lose most of their advantage once living costs are factored in.

The chart below shows the pay differences before adjusting for local prices.

One important caveat: The cost-of-living comparison does not account for differences in state and local taxes.

These numbers are also based on submissions to Levels.fyi, so they could over-index toward areas where people like to brag about their pay, wherever that is!

Sign up for the AI Insider newsletter here. Reach out to me via email at abarr@businessinsider.com

• Lonni Pike got sober at 51 after years of addiction and felt ready for a fresh start.
• She rejected expectations that older women should dress conservatively or fade into the background.
• Now 62, she's a fashion influencer, Twitch gamer, and advocate for aging on her own terms.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Lonni Pike. It has been edited for length and clarity.

Eleven years ago, when I was 51, I got sober after years of struggling with addiction. I felt vibrant again and ready for my life to start.

What I was met with was messaging on TV, social media, and even in day-to-day life that I had missed the train. I was too old, too boring, and I would just need to move along.

Everything associated with women and aging seemed to be negative. Even women themselves were negative about aging, and started hiding away, blending in, or getting treatments to chase youth.

But that wasn't going to be me. I was tenacious and determined to live the life I had another chance at.

I started expressing myself through fashion

Loving fashion, I started finding clothes that told the world who I was. Fashion is much more than clothing — it's the way people feel about themselves.

Most women my age had given in to the expectation that an aging woman is meant to be drab and boring.

For a bit of fun, I went to a clothing store and asked a staff member to help me find something to wear. She chose a pair of tan pants and a button-up, plain top, with a pair of loafers.

We are told not to show our arms because they are too flabby, not to wear miniskirts because our legs should not be seen, and to avoid bold colors so we don't stand out in a crowd.

I'd break out of this noise and dress in a way that made me feel good about myself.

With the help of my son, who studied broadcast journalism, I started posting on social media about what I was wearing.

I remember people telling me I looked like I was dressing like a teenager, or asking why I was wearing men's clothing. I often responded by saying that clothes don't have an age or gender, and that I was dressing to represent myself.

I've now created a community, mostly of women, who are watching my content and being reminded that aging isn't something to fear. It isn't the end.

My quest to age in the way I wanted didn't end with fashion

I shaved my head because I hated my hair and felt that a buzz cut would make me feel more like I felt inside.

Three years ago, I started a gaming channel, and I've become a TikTok gaming live pro and Twitch partner.

My sons had always played video games, and it looked really fun. But I knew it was a notoriously young crowd. I asked if I was too old to game. It was when I found another gamer, Tactical Grandma, who was around my age, that I knew I should try it.

I started solo hiking because, after getting sober, I needed that time alone outside, moving, to reflect. Slowly, I built up my fitness.

In October, I'll run my first 5 K. This was a goal I had after watching people run a half-marathon. I thought half-marathoners would be young and super fit, but there are so many different ages and shapes.

Having gotten tattoos for years, I was determined to continue getting them as I aged. They are my life's journey inked out on my skin. I don't worry about the wrinkles or a changing body shape that might alter how they look. The canvas the tattoos are on doesn't have to be perfect — I love the tattoos for what they represent, not for how aesthetically pleasing they are to other people.

Next month, I plan to get bird tattoos along the right side of my neck.

As I continue to age, I want to be louder. Not "in your face" kind of loud, but I do want to talk more frequently about aging.

Women can be comfortable getting older. They don't need to be perfect to be beautiful. In the world of AI, injectables, and cosmetic procedures, this is a powerful message.

It seems that growing old is becoming a dying art. That's why I want to pop up in their feeds to say that none of it's true. Aging doesn't have to be something we dread.

Sometimes, my body doesn't keep up with my brain. Running had been hard and ruined my feet. Gaming for eight hours a day has been hard on my body. And that's OK — I'll pivot and pursue something else instead.

I tried new things in my 50s and 60s, and I'll continue fearlessly trying more until I can't anymore.

• My husband and I moved from the US to the Netherlands without seeing our new apartment in person.
• We encountered lots of surprises, like the lengthy Dutch application process.
• Although we love our apartment, we've had to get used to a few cultural differences.

After living as digital nomads for nearly two years, my husband and I decided to move from the US to the Netherlands.

We'd visited several times and fell in love with the walkability and bike culture. Plus, I have a connection to the country, since my great-grandparents were Dutch.

With the help of a real-estate agent, we found an apartment remotely from the US, signing a yearlong lease in the city of Utrecht before ever setting foot in the home.

We encountered some surprises while looking for an apartment

Since the process of finding an apartment abroad can often take months, we chose to search remotely from the US. To make things easier, we hired a Dutch real-estate agent with local connections who could view apartments for us in person.

The prep work was much more intense than I was used to. In the US, I've leased apartments in three different states, and the extent of the application typically included filling out a basic form and sometimes completing a background check.

That wasn't going to cut it in the Netherlands.

Our agent gave us a long list of materials to prepare, from 12 months of bank statements and links to our LinkedIn profiles, to a "get to know us" letter, which included our hobbies and photos of us. Then she went looking.

Rentals often get snatched up within a few hours or days, so my husband and I were regularly waking up at 4 a.m. in Colorado to read our agent's emails about the new listings each day.

When we finally found one that checked all our boxes, we asked her to schedule a walkthrough. Luckily, she recorded a video for us to review, so we didn't need to wake up early for this part of the process.

It was during the walkthrough, however, that we learned Dutch apartment listings aren't as detailed as the ones we were used to in the US. When our agent arrived, we discovered the listing had omitted several important pieces of information.

For example, there was a fully fenced-in back garden, complete with a shed, picnic table, and blackberry and rose bushes. The kitchen had a dishwasher. And there was a washing machine hidden away behind a cabinet door — and a dryer (which is not as common in Europe).

Score, right? So we jumped at the opportunity, put in our bid, and jumped for joy when our offer was accepted.

Despite a few setbacks, we fell in love with our apartment

We arrived in the Netherlands a few weeks later, traveling directly from the airport to our rental. When we unlocked the door for the first time, hoping we'd fall in love with our new home, it was … freezing.

Turns out, the heat had stopped working, and the rental company couldn't send someone to fix it until the next day. So, we spent our first night in the Netherlands at a hotel.

Thankfully, the heat was fixed the following day, and then we could start unpacking. This is when we began to notice some of the more nuanced differences of a Dutch house compared to an American one.

The first thing to get used to? The alarmingly steep stairs (a hallmark of skinny, tall Dutch houses) which made moving furniture up to our second-floor office feel like a Herculean feat.

We also learned to accept moths and gnats as houseguests, since Dutch windows don't typically have screens. However, with no air conditioning and a 100-year-old house that was built to retain heat, we definitely want to keep those windows open.

Overall, aside from a few stowaway insects and some hot days, we've been very fortunate with our rental. I particularly love the neighborhood and how we can walk to a grocery store, bakery, or park within five minutes.

The biggest lessons have come from being part of a Dutch neighborhood

Although finding our rental was a whirlwind process, I've found the most interesting parts of living here have come from the cultural differences between American and Dutch neighborhoods.

For example, shortly after arriving, our neighbor invited us to the neighborhood WhatsApp group. If you need to borrow a drill or lose your cat, you send a message to the group.

It's very active, and joining the group helped me feel like I was part of a community before knowing anyone here. Although I've heard of similar groups in the US, I've never been invited to join one.

Ordering packages is also very different. Back in the States, packages would be left by my door. In the Netherlands, however, they aren't left unattended.

Instead, the delivery driver will start ringing the neighbors' doorbells until someone is home. Then, they'll leave a digital note about which house has your package.

One place I didn't expect to feel such a contrast is the sidewalk. On sunny days, my Dutch neighbors bring out their dining room chairs, park them on the bricks outside their front door, and enjoy a cold drink. Sometimes, it'll feel like an impromptu block party — and I couldn't be happier to join in the festivities.

After leasing an apartment across the world, sight unseen, would I do it again? I sure would — especially if I could hire a real-estate agent to check out the home in person.

The quirks of our apartment and neighborhood are all part of the experience of living abroad, and although I may not have expected them, I've now grown attached to these cultural differences.

• My siblings and I are all adults with our own families, careers, and mortgages.
• Time with just us and our parents is rare, but special.
• It reminds me of where I came from, and of younger versions of myself.

When my mom was younger and my siblings and I moved out, she really struggled with empty-nest syndrome. Now that I'm a mom of three myself, I can totally appreciate how she must have felt.

As a parent, you pour so much of your love, time, and energy into your kids. And then one day, they leave. I imagine it must feel incredibly strange. I already dread the day my babies leave the nest, to the point where I sometimes cry to my husband about it.

The other day, I was having one of those moments, sobbing on the bed, when my husband found me. I told him how I felt, and he said, "For God's sake, honey, our youngest is four! You have at least another 14 years with her at home." Fair point.

Time with just my parents and siblings is rare

Now that my siblings and I all have families of our own, the time we have with my folks is often chaotic. Inevitably, one of the grandkids is throwing a tantrum, complaining about being hungry, or announcing they need the toilet, and conversations are often start-stop affairs.

But a few years ago, I had an epiphany. It was my sister's 50th birthday, and we were in Bali with all the extended family. To celebrate, we went out for dinner, just the original six of us — Mom, Dad, and the four of us siblings.

It was one of the most incredible nights. We told stories from childhood, talked about getting older, and shared what actually makes us happy and what we love about each other. There were tears and plenty of laughter.

Afterwards, I realized how much I'd missed my original people. The ones who've known me the longest. The people who remember what I was like as a naughty four-year-old who would scream the F-word in the supermarket if I didn't get lollies, or as a pimply teenager going through puberty. The people who knew me before I had a husband, children, a career, a mortgage, responsibilities, or any real idea of who I was or where life would take me.

As adults, we inevitably morph into different versions of our younger selves. We form new identities, build our own lives and our own ideas.

But there's something so incredibly beautiful about being able to return to those younger versions of yourself, if only for a few hours. For me, I've always been the baby of the family, and somehow, if I'm alone with my parents and siblings, I revert straight back into that role. Goo goo, ga ga. Even at 41, I'll always be the baby of the family.

Spending time together is special for all of us

Since that dinner all those years ago, I've made a concerted effort to organize catch-ups with the original clan only. Partners and children know they're not invited, which I'm sure has offended a few people along the way, but nowadays the spouses are used to it.

My sister lives in Africa, and we are all in Australia, so getting us all together can be tricky. But when we do, we have the best time. There's always a lot of reminiscing and laughing. Often, too, a few inappropriate jokes, and inevitably, the occasional argument or two.

I think for my folks, who are now in their 70s and 80s, these moments are golden. There's no doubt they adore the grandkids and partners. But there's something different about having their kids all to themselves for a couple of hours.

No tantrums. No one cartwheeling through the living room as we attempt a conversation. Just us.

At the end of the day, no matter how old we get, we'll always be their kids. You can grow up, move away, become a wife and mother, and build an entirely new life. But when we're all together again, somehow it feels exactly the same.

• The author and his mother graduated from college in May 2026.
• Despite earning their degrees, both struggled to find jobs in their fields.
• Their experiences challenged the promise that a college degree guarantees a better life.

I grew up believing that I had to work hard, go to college, get a piece of paper, and unlock a decent life. My mom believed in it even more than I did.

In May 2026, we crossed the finish line together. I was 23, graduating from New York University with a degree in Film and Television, ready to launch a career in journalism and filmmaking. My mom was in her late 40s when she earned her bachelor's degree in psychology after decades of putting her life on hold.

My mom raised me while taking care of family members

For as long as I can remember, my mom has been running on empty. Back in Alabama, she worked hospital shifts by day and cleaned corporate offices at night, riding public buses through the heat. She was also raising my brother and me, caring for my grandmother through cancer, and looking after my paralyzed uncle. Going to college felt impossible.

When my grandmother and uncle died shortly before I finished high school in 2022, our family was grieving. But my mom also had a moment to think about what she wanted for herself. She decided to start college and pursue her psychology degree. In 2024, after my brother graduated from high school and headed to college in upstate New York, my mom packed up and moved out of Alabama. She settled in Albany to be closer to both of us. I was living in New York City, attending NYU.

From 2022 to 2026, we both worked toward our degrees. While I stayed up finishing college assignments, my mom balanced her nursing shifts with classes and the costs of building a new life in Albany.

But graduating didn't make the next steps any easier.

Getting a job as a recent graduate wasn't easy

I thought an NYU degree would give me a real foot in the door. Instead, I entered a job market where entry-level roles demanded years of experience, while rent and groceries kept getting more expensive. I've had employers tell me during interviews that they loved my work and thought I'd be a great fit, only to never hear from them again. It happened more than once, and each time, it became harder not to wonder what I was doing wrong.

The numbers suggest I wasn't alone. In the second quarter of 2026, 42% of recent college graduates were underemployed, according to the Federal Reserve Bank of New York. Finishing school didn't guarantee a career. For many graduates, it meant entering a crowded job market and hoping someone would give them a chance.

My mom faced her own version of that wall. She's currently working toward her master's degree, hoping to eventually become a licensed therapist. In the meantime, she's been trying to get her foot in the door through entry-level jobs such as behavioral health or psychiatric technician roles. Despite decades of frontline healthcare experience and a bachelor's degree in psychology, applications went unanswered, and automated rejection emails kept arriving. After years of working and caring for others, she was still struggling to get someone to give her a chance.

A few weeks after graduation, I sat with her in her living room as she refreshed her inbox. Another rejection came in. She closed her laptop and looked down at her framed diploma, exhausted.

If my mom was struggling to find work after everything she'd done, I couldn't help wondering what my own degree would do for me. A degree can still make a financial difference.

In 2025, full-time workers aged 25 and older with a bachelor's degree earned a median weekly wage of $1,578, compared with $966 for those with a high school diploma, according to the US Bureau of Labor Statistics. But those figures describe people who are already working full time. They don't guarantee a recent graduate will land a job, earn those wages, or afford to live in the city where they're trying to build a career.

For my mom, college was supposed to rewrite her story. For me, it was supposed to be the launchpad. When we look at our graduation pictures, the pride is real; neither of us will ever downplay what it took to survive those years. But a diploma can't pay rent. A piece of paper can't buy health insurance, a stable job, or peace of mind.

My mom and I did what we were told would lead to a better life. We're still trying to figure out when that life is supposed to begin.

We did everything right. Somehow, it doesn't feel like enough anymore.

• I remember how overwhelming motherhood was, and I see my sons facing similar challenges.
• I sometimes disagree with their parenting decisions, but try to listen instead of offering advice.
• I'm learning that supporting my adult children means giving them room to make their own choices.

I remember vividly how hard the preschool years were.

My world was turned upside down while my husband's life remained virtually unchanged. I was swamped with diaper changes, feeding, bathing, and preparing for my fifth-grade class the next day.

He accepted a longer commute so we could live closer to my work and both of our families for support. His impediments consisted of challenging weather and swerving to avoid wildlife, but mostly he enjoyed driving to his tunes without kids whining or fighting in the back seat, something I would have traded my right arm for on many occasions.

He came home to a home-cooked meal and continued playing hockey with the guys a couple of nights a week. He was no deadbeat, though — he put in long, physically demanding days working outdoors in all weather. Then on weekends, he kept up with the seasonal demands of our 23-acre property.

In those early years, his help with household chores and children was minimal. It was our system, and not uncommon in our generation.

My sons are more involved parents

Thankfully, gender roles have changed since then, and a generation later, my sons have taken on more significant parental duties. It is not for me to judge whether they do their fair share, but they certainly do more meal-making, cleaning, and childcare than their dad did.

I also remember my delusion of believing I would be a better mom than my mom was. I thought I could be more emotionally present, able to provide and respond to my kids' every physical, mental, and emotional need.

I juggled raising three rambunctious boys alongside my often absent husband while aspiring to be a perfect mom and teacher. Something had to give, and I refused to let it be family, so when my burnout was diagnosed and labeled as depression, I took a sick leave from work. Creative workshops, me-time, time with family, and a diet-and-exercise reset helped me recover enough to return to work, choosing part-time to avoid the same pitfalls.

My mother's unconditional support was essential, and so was learning to ask for help

This is the point where I became more forgiving of my mother for not meeting all of my emotional needs growing up. I finally understood that I could not be all things to everyone, and despite my resistance, I still needed my mother's support to deal with all of it. I felt both too proud to ask for help and humbly grateful to accept it.

My mom never judged me. She calmly listened and offered support, something I have always deeply appreciated. I was too proud to confide my deepest insecurities, and she never pried. I hid my low self-esteem and low self-confidence by projecting false bravado to the world, but I'm sure she saw right through me. Her unconditional love and support generated and now drives my need to honor her by paying it forward to my own kids.

My kids are approaching this same point in their lives. Their perfect parenting honeymoon is over, and they often find themselves in survival mode. It is hard to watch as I remember those times well and how hard I fell. It must have been just as difficult for my mom to see.

As I listen to my sons and daughters-in-law share their challenges, I remember how the business of meal prep, naps, bathing, grooming, and potty training takes up so much mental space. Previously able to eat and sleep according to your own goings-on, you suddenly pivot to adapting to the kids' needs and current schedule. Although I hear them proudly declare they are handling it, they underestimate my ability to read their betraying eyes.

I'm trying my best to pay it forward without losing myself

I am careful about offering unsolicited advice. I want to be supportive without meddling, so heeding the fact that I have two ears and one mouth, I try to listen twice as much as I speak. Instead of voicing my opinion when I would do things differently, I hold my tongue as I am certain my mom did when she questioned my way of doing things.

So many times, I had to be brave, reading the fear in my sons' eyes as they experienced various growing pains, both physical and emotional. I learned to transition from hand-holding to standing by their side to finally letting them go to live their own journey. I must be brave again as I now watch them struggle with their own children's growing pains, knowing that their problems and wounds will increase in direct proportion to their age and physical growth. I will stand by as my mom did, watching my pain, powerless to protect me, knowing I had to learn on my own.

I am also mindful not to forsake my whole life for them. It is important to me to be an honest role model by being just as kind to myself as I am to them, as the analogy goes: put the oxygen mask on yourself before you can save others.

• I've been a doctor for more than a decade and have a family of four.
• I've traded traditional health insurance for direct primary care and a medical cost-sharing group.
• For the first time, I feel like I'm truly in control of our healthcare.

I've spent more than a decade navigating the labyrinth of American healthcare. I've worn the white coat, spent sleepless nights on call, signed the charts, and cared for thousands of patients.

A few years ago, I realized I couldn't keep participating in a system that felt like it was designed to fail the very people it was meant to serve.

Today, my family and I are uninsured in the traditional sense — and I'm confident that it's the best financial and medical decision I've ever made.

I hit my breaking point

For years, I worked in a traditional, insurance-based primary care practice. My days were a blur of 15-minute appointments, dictated not by medical necessity, but by billing codes and insurance reimbursements. I felt completely beholden to the behemoth of corporate medicine. Patients were waiting months to see me and were almost always shortchanged on the time I was able to spend with them.

I felt like the insurance companies were the invisible third party in every exam room, deciding which tests I could order and which medications my patients deserved. I wasn't just a doctor anymore; I was a data-entry clerk for multibillion-dollar payers. The result was a total, soul-crushing burnout that followed me home every night.

On the other side of it, some of my patients were forgoing necessary care because the costs presented to them were simply too high. Did it make sense to spend $300 to check a thyroid test to ensure the $10 per month medication I prescribed was working as it was supposed to? Many patients, rightfully so, decided to spend their money elsewhere.

I knew I had to get out — not just for my own sanity, but to actually provide the type of care I believed in.

Direct primary care offered something different

I eventually traded the treadmill for Direct Primary Care (DPC). In this model, my patients (or their employers or an insurance company) pay a flat monthly membership fee directly to me (around $100 per month). This type of care is affordable— my current patient panel includes attorneys, electricians, teachers, and retirees. There are no co-pays, no deductibles, and most importantly, no insurance companies breathing down my neck.

The difference was night and day. Without the administrative bloat of insurance billing, I finally became the doctor I trained to be:

• Time: I went from seeing 20 patients a day to seeing six or eight.
• Access: My patients can text me directly. We have hour-long conversations instead of 10-minute sprints.
• Cost: By cutting out the intermediary, I'm able to offer wholesale pricing on labs and imaging that are often 90% cheaper than hospital rates. That $300 thyroid test from my previous job? I now offer that for $8.

I took my own family off the grid

Once I saw how much better medicine functioned without traditional insurance interference, I took the ultimate leap. I took my wife and children, now 9 and 6, off our health insurance plan.

Instead, we joined a medical cost-sharing community. It isn't insurance; it's a community of members who share each other's large, unexpected medical expenses. When I combined a DPC membership for our routine care with a health share for the big stuff, I realized I had found a better way to protect my family — and was paying far, far less for it.

The math backs up my decision

To understand why we left, look at the cost of childbirth. When our first child was born under a supposedly high-end traditional insurance plan, we still walked away owing about $10,000 after paying our insurance premiums. We were paying twice: once for the premium and again for the actual care.

My wife spent hours of her precious maternity leave arguing with insurance companies about the services we received in the hospital. When our infant son was hospitalized a few months later, she was back on the phone again, having to advocate for his coverage during the time of a family crisis. We spent years paying off the cost of the birth and his illness.

With our second child, we looked at the numbers through the lens of a cost-share program. On a plan like ours, the Initial Unshareable Amount (IUA) — the part we pay before the community kicks in — was only $1,500.

Beyond that $1,500, the community shared the rest. We didn't have to spend my wife's recovery time fighting with a claims adjuster or waiting for pre-authorizations. We knew exactly what our responsibility was, and more importantly, we knew our family was covered by a community, not a corporation.

I feel like I took back control

As a physician, I've seen the insurance trap from both sides. We've been conditioned to believe that without a blue or green plastic card in our wallets, we are unsafe.

The reality is that for some, traditional insurance has become a barrier to care rather than a bridge. By opting out and pairing Direct Primary Care with a health share, I've reclaimed my time as a doctor and my peace of mind as a father. I'm no longer waiting for an insurance company to tell me how to care for my kids or my patients. As a doctor and as a father, for the first time in my career, I feel truly secure.

• A Ukrainian drone maker was surprised by how much explosive weight soldiers loaded onto one of its drones.
• A drone's payload is limited by the weight of its battery, camera, and other equipment.
• Drone makers push technical limits, but Ukrainian soldiers often go even further.

A major drone maker said Ukrainian soldiers surprised it by packing one of its drones with more explosives than the company ever thought it could carry.

When loading up an attack drone with explosives, combat units are limited by how much weight it can carry and still fly. Batteries, cameras, and other essential equipment also take up some of that capacity. That doesn't stop soldiers from pushing the equipment to its limit.

"One of the most surprising videos I've seen recently is that one of the units has managed to put the huge explosive part on our drone," Oleg, an executive at TechEx, told Business Insider.

The drone was carrying "something like five or seven kilos, and they managed to fly into the building and put it completely to the ground with one single FPV."

"I was like, 'How do you literally put this amount of explosives on one single FPV?' But it managed to carry this on and did the mission," the TechEx exec said, speaking on the condition that he be identified only by his first name for security reasons.

TechEx lists a maximum payload of two kilograms for three of its NATO-codified fiber-optic drones: the Stalker XO-10 China-Free, Stalker XO-15 MAX PRO, and Stalker XO-13.

Weight is a major constraint for Ukraine's drone makers, who are constantly trying to accommodate more firepower and bigger batteries, as well as heavier weapons and cameras. It's a constant trade-off, with every gram mattering.

Soldiers fighting for survival often push beyond advertised limits. Last year, a sergeant major in a heavy bomber company told Army Inform, Ukraine's defense ministry media, that while a Bat drone can fly up 8 kilometers and carry up to 12 kilograms, his unit pushed it to fly a little farther and carry a little more.

Weight is an important consideration for TechEx drone development. The company advertises its "ultralight fiber optic reel" as one of its product advantages. Last year, Ukraine's Ministry of Defense characterized TechEx's Stalker series as having a "record-low spool weight among Ukrainian fiber-optic drones."

The struggle with weight is particularly acute for fiber-optic drones because, in addition to gear like batteries, they have to carry the spool containing the fiber-optic cable that trails behind them, maintaining a connection with the drone operator. The cable makes them resistant to enemy jamming, but the added weight limits how many explosives they can carry. The cable spool can weigh several kilograms on some drones.

Olha, a TechEx representative, told Business Insider that the company developed its own technology to reduce spool weight, making "tiny tweaks and changes" to how the spool is assembled and the fiber is wound into it. Those adjustments allow the company to keep the spool lightweight while maintaining a stable connection and minimizing the risk of the cable breaking during flight.

The company needs the "perfect balance" to make sure it stays reliable and durable, as not all drone pilots have a wealth of flying experience, Oleg said.

The company faces trade-off decisions. Extending the range of its fiber-optic drones, for instance, would require larger cable spools, potentially leaving less room for explosives, Olha said. But not every drone needs a heavy payload. For some, speed and agility matter more.

Ukraine's soldiers often surprise the manufacturers of their weapons with how they use and adapt their gear, with troops sometimes repairing and modifying equipment near the front lines and experimenting with new tactics.

Kuldar Väärsi, the founder and CEO of Estonian ground robot maker Milrem Robotics, previously told Business Insider that Ukrainian soldiers used the company's technology in ways it was not expecting, including adding and attaching things to the robots. "Ukrainian troops are really creative, and they really find very simple ways how to get even more out of the equipment," he said.

How gear is used in the field often informs how Ukraine's defense companies update and modify their products. Soldiers give feedback to firms like TechEx every day, and companies send their own employees close to the fight to gather feedback and make changes.

Oleg said that TechEx receives direct feedback from soldiers constantly, resulting in weekly changes to its products. Without changes, a product in Ukraine "within three months, it will be outdated, and nobody will use it, because the industry is moving extremely fast," he said.

TechEx encourages soldier experimentation, including by making its drones with parts that are interchangeable. Soldiers can swap components to repair damaged drones or combine parts to create configurations the company never designed.

"Part of what I think TechEx is really great at is the ability to customize," Olha said.

• Hayley and Mo Molina built a house on Hayley's parents' 400-acre family ranch in Oklahoma.
• Now they live steps away from Hayley's parents, grandparents, and brother and sister-in-law.
• They both enjoy spending time with the family, and everyone has grown closer.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Hayley and Mo Molina, 30 and 49, a married couple who live on a 400-acre ranch in Claremore, Oklahoma. Hayley's parents bought the ranch in 2021, and now four generations of family live there. The following has been edited for length and clarity.

Hayley: I was born in Bluffton, Indiana. Then my family moved to Oklahoma when I was three.

We always lived in town, and my family knew nothing about ranching. They were golfers; I didn't listen to country music until I was in high school — we were city people. But then my parents sold their house and were looking for something new, something different.

They were actually looking for something smaller and with not as much land to take care of, but we started talking about a family compound, found Hook Ranch, and just jumped in headfirst.

When my parents first found the property, it was about 170 acres, give or take, and they just kept buying more land and growing it bigger and bigger until it landed on what it is now.

When my parents were talking about doing this, the future goal was for me to be out here. For me, it wasn't the goal right away. I wanted that in the future, but I didn't know what the future looked like for me.

My grandparents ended up moving out here and living in the barn, where they live now, because I wasn't planning on moving out there or building anytime soon.

They were like, "OK, well we'll just take your spot then."

Then Mo and I met, and honestly, I don't even know if we ever had the conversation about living out here.

Mo: We really didn't bring it up early on. And when we first thought about it, I was like, "There's no way I'm living out there with all them family. There's no way." Not because I didn't like them; it just wasn't in the plan.

But then, as I got to know them, loved them, and we hung out with them almost every weekend, we were like, "Wait a minute, we love it out here."

I proposed out here, and after that, it took off from there. And then it was normal.

It's not weird to be living this close to my family

Hayley: On the property, there's us, my parents, my mom's parents, and then my brother and sister-in-law and their two daughters.

My family's always been so close. We're the type of people who always hung out on the weekends. We always went to my parents' house Friday night. It was so normal to be so close and always together.

Mo: For me, it was just my mom and me growing up, and we lived in the city, but I'm a country boy. I knew I always wanted to be out in the country. But it looked like I was going to be in the city the whole time. But with Hayley being close to her family, it all came together.

Hayley: We actually moved in with my parents first. We sold my house in March 2025, and then moved in with my parents.

Mo: We lived there while we were building our house.

Hayley: We got married in September, moved in with my parents in March, and lived there for seven months. We moved into our house in October of 2025.

Our house is only about 100 yards away from the barn, which is where my parents and grandparents live.

My brother and sister-in-law are about 200 yards away from the barn — it's like a seven-minute walk. It's literally a one-minute walk from my house to my parents' house.

Mo: I didn't know if there were going to be any benefits to living that close or not, especially when my father-in-law built a trail that goes right from the barn to our house.

It's kind of cliché, but if we don't have any eggs, we can literally walk down there.

Hayley: But honestly, we have so much privacy. You wouldn't think that, but I can't even see my parents' house or my brother's house from my house.

We can be in the backyard, the front yard, and I have no idea what's going on at their houses ever.

We can go weeks without seeing anybody. There's a lot of privacy out here because everybody respects each other's privacy.

Mo: It is weird knowing that we're this close and then a couple weeks go by, and I'm like, "Man, I haven't seen anybody," or "We haven't gone down there," and they're 100 steps away.

We've built closer relationships by living on the same property

Mo: When we first started dating, she was always hanging out with her parents almost every weekend, and I was living my single life, and I was hanging out with my buddies, and we would go out almost every weekend.

Hayley: Friday nights, we know what my parents are doing, because they do the same thing pretty much every Friday night.

So if we don't have anything to do, we are just going to go join them. Sometimes I just want to hang out with people, but I don't want to have to drive anywhere, and I don't want to have to get ready. So we'll have a game night at the barn with the whole family: my grandparents, us, my parents, and my brother and his family.

Mo: Hayley used to come and hang out with my friends, and then it didn't take very long before I went over to her family's place and hung out with them. I was like, "Man, this is kind of cool." They're awesome to hang out with.

At first, I was like, "I'm not hanging out with your parents. This is not a cool Friday night." In less than a month, I would say we were literally hanging out every weekend with her parents.

Hayley: I think we all have gotten so much closer. I have learned so much about my grandparents and gotten closer with my grandma.

My grandma comes over to our house every Monday morning and washes our sheets for us. While the sheets are washing and drying, she cleans the floors for me, and while she's doing that, she and I chat.

That's been really nice because I get to connect with her whenever. Before, I couldn't really do that because we only saw them every once in a while. Now I can do that every week. And she goes to my brother's house and does their laundry on Tuesdays.

Mo: Getting to know her family more and seeing how they do things and what they like and what their everyday looks like has been a benefit.

Her family works so hard. Her mom is the hardest worker on the ranch, and I would've never known that when I met her.

Her parents run a business, and her dad is constantly not in the house — except to watch college football.

I've learned so much from him.

I think getting to know that part of her family was huge for me. That's what's different. If we lived where we lived before, I probably would've never learned, or wanted to learn, that. So that was big for me.

• Working at an AI lab is one of the hottest jobs in tech.
• Lila Ibrahim, DeepMind's chief AI readiness officer, explained what skills she looks for in graduates.
• Extracurricular activities on a CV show if someone has a preset for "lifelong learning," she said.

Pay attention, prospective applicants: The graduate candidates Google DeepMind wants to hire are not defined by their degree alone.

At a media lunch in September, Lila Ibrahim, Google DeepMind's chief AI readiness officer, said that the firm is increasingly looking for candidates who can show a record of learning beyond the classroom.

Whether it's researchers, engineers, or other roles, degrees still matter, she said, but there's been a shift toward placing greater weight on the extra credentials and experience on a candidate's résumé.

"One credential will tell me what you've learned, but multiple credentials tell me that you have a learning mindset," said Ibrahim.

Today's graduates often showcase more detail about what they have studied outside a formal learning environment on their résumés, alongside their job and education history, she said.

"I look at some of the new college grad résumés and CVs right now, and I'm like, 'Oh wow, this is so different from what I did in my generation.'"

That additional detail matters to recruiters at Google DeepMind because it can reveal whether a candidate is curious and "preset to a life of lifelong learning," she said.

Ibrahim said she believes another benefit of diverse learning experiences is that people can become better at asking questions — a capability she sees as valuable in an AI-powered workplace, but one she said isn't taught well in schools.

"You realize that a lot of people in school haven't necessarily been taught how to ask questions, how to ask good questions, and how to really question why."

These human skills matter even if someone is technically skilled with AI, she added. "Getting answers is super cheap these days, but actually knowing how to ask really good questions is getting harder and harder."

Ibrahim summed up DeepMind's criteria for applicants as: "Curiosity, courage to take on something completely new that is unpredictable, and the ability to work in a dynamic environment and to be able to collaborate with people."

Humanities or STEM?

Ibrahim was formerly Google DeepMind's chief operating officer, a role she had held since 2018. At the beginning of 2026, she became chief AI readiness officer, a role she said she created to help address a widening gap between the technology being built and society's readiness to receive it.

Google DeepMind's founder, Demis Hassabis, has been among the frontier AI executives warning that society has a narrow window to prepare for the next stage of the technology.

Hassabis has said that STEM and computer science studies remain important, but the AI world also requires the humanities, such as philosophy, economics, and ethics.

"I think we really need them in the world we're about to enter," he said during an interview at a London business conference in July.

What Google DeepMind looks for is interdisciplinary people who can collaborate well with others, said Ibrahim.

Having "the neuroscientist, alongside the ethicist, alongside the biologist," has massively helped with some of DeepMind's technical breakthroughs, she said. The lab has hired numerous philosophers, she said, adding that "you need to pair them with operators to turn those ideas into action."

So far, it hasn't been a challenge to find those skills in the UK, said Ibrahim. "Compared to my time in Silicon Valley over 30 years, what I have seen is more diverse talent because there is a strong appreciation toward philosophy and political science, and some of these other skills."

As AI has seeped into the everyday workplace, fears of AI-related job loss have somewhat abated. Rather than taking jobs, AI is changing them, and the pressure is now on workers and HR departments to develop the right combination of "human" and AI skills.

A recent study of more than 300 million registered learners on Coursera and Udemy found that companies' AI deployment is outpacing the skills people need to use it effectively.

While nearly 75% of organizations have deployed or are piloting the technology, only 18% reported that most of their workforce participated in AI upskilling or reskilling over the last year.

• This post originally appeared in the BI Today newsletter.
• You can sign up for Business Insider's daily newsletter here.

The great window-shade debate

Airplane question for you: If you're in a window seat, do you keep the shade up or down?

We raised this in our morning news meeting a few days ago, and the room erupted into a fierce debate over flying etiquette. This is up there with whether reclining your seat is appropriate, or society's unwritten rules around airplane armrests or taking off your shoes and socks.

For some travelers, open shades offer a lot of positives. You can watch the clouds, take a photo, or just feel a little less claustrophobic at 35,000 feet. (I'm shades up, for sure!)

For others, leaving the shade open is an act of selfishness. Sunlight pouring into the airplane cabin can keep half the plane awake, or cause glare on laptop or tablet screens. These folks very much want the shades closed. Flyers have been intensely litigating the issue on Reddit in recent days.

So, who's right in the window-seat debate?

The practical answer depends on the moment. Many airlines require the shades to be open during takeoff and landing for safety reasons, so passengers and crew can spot hazards outside and emergency responders can see into the cabin. But once the plane reaches cruising altitude, there are generally few rules governing the shade.

From there, it's all etiquette.

We spoke with a former flight attendant who spent nearly a decade working for an international airline. She has particularly strong feelings about how this debate should be settled.

Where do you stand on the issue? Should airplane window shades be open or shut during flights? Drop me a note at srussolillo@businessinsider.com and let me know what you think.

• Where I live, some parents enter a lottery to choose their child's school.
• I expected my son would end up where his older sister is, but he was waitlisted.
• He's now attending our local middle school and I'm seeing some unexpected benefits.

I love living in Washington, DC, but navigating the complex public and charter school admissions system is tough.

Students have the right to attend their neighborhood school, and many do. However, every year thousands of parents choose to apply to public schools in different neighborhoods or publicly funded charter or magnet schools throughout the city.

There are rarely enough spots to meet demand at the more desirable schools or specialty schools, ranging from arts and hospitality to college-prep programs and the sciences. To decide who gets to go where, DC instituted a lottery system.

Parents across the city often create spreadsheets to track programs and their child's odds of getting into a particular program, before entering a lottery, ranking schools in order of preference, and hoping for the best. Such an uncertain system makes planning difficult and sometimes leads to unpleasant surprises. That was the case with my son's foray into middle school.

I thought I had found the perfect middle school for my son

When my son entered his last year of elementary school, I thought I knew what his next steps would be. For years, I assumed that he would follow in his big sister's footsteps and attend an International Baccalaureate charter school starting in 6th grade.

The charter school isn't perfect; no school is. However, my daughter, now a junior, often says she enjoys school, which is a shocking statement for a kid of any age, let alone a teenager. An environment where at least some kids are happy to go every day would be reason enough for me to send my son there. However, I was also convinced the school's rigorous program and strong emphasis on world cultures would be a perfect fit for him. After all, he is a triple citizen and a world traveler at heart. I also appreciate the school's diversity and range of classes, from sneaker culture to advanced sciences.

Although a spot for my son was never guaranteed, I assumed his sibling preference would help secure one. I was in for a rude awakening.

I had to face reality

When my son was put on the waitlist after the first round of admissions, I didn't panic. Instead, I spent most of the summer in denial, convinced that if I just waited long enough, he would get in eventually.

The week before school started, I had to face reality. No spots were available for my son at the school I had grown to love and was convinced would be perfect for him.

Without a viable alternative, I enrolled him in our local middle school, which I thought was very large and very chaotic. I kept telling my son how excited I was for him to start middle school, but I couldn't hide my worry.

I was nervous about sending him to a large school

My son's elementary school had about 400 kids total, from pre-K4 to 5th grade. For a big city, it's a small school where most teachers know all the kids, and the community is tight-knit. I worried about how my son would transition to a large school with nearly 1400 students across just three grades, in a building that occupies nearly an entire city block. Despite my worry, he walked in with confidence on his first day.

Not everything about such a big change was easy. My son got lost a few times trying to find his classes. While many of the other incoming sixth graders knew each other from elementary school, my son didn't know a soul. He was upset when recess, his favorite part of the day, was cut short because other kids wouldn't stop talking. It's almost impossible to get a timely email response from the school administration, who seem swamped by the sheer number of students. Still, my son rolled with the punches and started to adjust.

I now see the benefits of a neighborhood school

Even though my son had to start his middle school social life from scratch, he quickly found his crew: other kids who love soccer. He first spotted potential friends by looking for kids wearing Real Madrid jerseys and kicking a soccer ball around at recess. Once he found his tribe, he could easily meet friends after school for walks to our local playground and pizza shop. Those are things he wouldn't have been able to do if he had gotten into the school I had been hoping for, which draws students from across the city. Within a few weeks, he rattled off at least a dozen new friends' names. I wondered whether he could have made friends as easily at the smaller charter school I wanted him to go to, with a smaller pool of potential friends.

I also appreciate the resources such a big school has, including a range of after-school activities. Although my son hasn't wanted to try most of them, I appreciate that options like an archery team and a Rubik's Cube club are available to him.

There are other benefits as well. Because our neighborhood is just over a mile from our home, my son can easily walk or take a short bus ride there and back, giving him even more independence. Not having to drive him saves me at least seven hours a week, and the school's proximity to our house gives my son more free time.

Now that we are well into the school year, I realize I should have given my son more credit for adaptability. I also should have been more open-minded about what kind of school would be "right" for my son. Although I am still sad that he doesn't get to attend the same school as his sister, I now know there is more than one answer to what makes a good school.

Cristian Barcenas is getting ready to cut out date nights, food delivery, and Starbucks.

He graduated from the University of California, Fresno, in 2013 with a student-loan balance of about $65,000. Barcenas took out additional loans to pursue a master's degree, but left early to care for his father, who had cancer. His balance now stands at $127,000.

Barcenas, who works full time in sales in California, was making $105 monthly payments under the Biden-era SAVE repayment plan. President Donald Trump eliminated SAVE, and in November, Barcenas' payments are expected to spike to $815 per month.

"When I saw how much the payment is expected to be, I freaked out for a whole week," the 40-year-old said. "I, under no circumstances, want to default."

Barcenas and his wife combed through all their expenses over the past three months. He said it was "jaw-dropping" to see that they spent over $300 on Starbucks and $600 on grocery deliveries in that time.

The couple has started grocery shopping more carefully and in person, and Barcenas has stopped using Uber for rides. They've also cut their date nights down to once a month to free up more money for student-loan payments.

Beginning in July, more than 7 million borrowers received notices to transition off the SAVE plan, and many of them are gearing up for higher payments. More than 1,000 borrowers have told Business Insider over the past year that they're worried about factoring a higher bill into their budgets and are considering taking on second jobs or digging into retirement savings to make it work.

The Trump administration has said that its student-loan changes are intended to simplify a complex repayment system, curb excessive borrowing, and compel colleges to lower tuition. Barcenas said he thinks the changes will lead borrowers to "want to hold onto what they have even more."

"There's going to be a lot of fear around spending because they know that they have this obligation that they can't really get out of, and that's going to be prioritized over everything else," he said.

Delaying life milestones for student-loan payments

Rey Sosa expects his student-loan payments to surge from $50 a month to more than $700. The 32-year-old urban planner is paying off a $101,000 balance, largely from his master's degree in urban planning, and while he's still on forbearance, he's configuring his budget to make it work.

"I based my entire life around that payment coming back at some point," Sosa said. "The amount shocked me at first, and while I have a budget for it, it does take away from saving for home, saving for kids, family, because that is what we have to scale back right now."

The Department of Education has recommended that borrowers enroll in its new Repayment Assistance Plan, intended to be the most affordable income-driven repayment plan. A recent report from the Center for American Progress, a left-leaning think tank, said that borrowers moving from the SAVE plan to RAP could see their student-loan bills increase by $2,163 annually on average.

Sara Partridge, associate director of higher education at CAP and a coauthor of the report, said that the payment increases come "at a time when there is high inflation, stagnating wages, and people are generally feeling financially strained," making it more difficult to budget.

Amy Webb, a 60-year-old borrower, said she's feeling that strain. She has a $178,000 balance that she took out for her son's education as a single parent and is concerned about higher monthly payments. She's unable to purchase a new car, she refinanced her house, and she's considering selling it and moving out of Virginia to a state with a lower cost of living.

"I don't know how long I can do this," Webb said. "I wish the government would help."

Sosa hopes to achieve Public Service Loan Forgiveness, which forgives student debt for government and nonprofit workers after 10 years. But with about six years of payments left, he anticipates pushing back big purchases like a first home.

"I understand that we have to repay our loans," Sosa said. "That's not what I'm upset about. What I wish is that there was more consideration into the cost of living. The world just got more expensive after school."

Have a story to share about student loans? Contact this reporter at asheffey@businessinsider.com.