I was trying to decide if I should eat the second piece of toast on my plate when my friend commented: “You know, capitalism has failed.”

It’s not like her comment came out of the blue. We were enjoying breakfast on a beautiful island in Southwest Florida and had stepped into the political fray with a discussion of the latest No Kings march.

I told her that I did not participate for several reasons, but primarily because I was busy working with several others at a church furniture sale to raise money for local charities. Nearly $30,000 was raised in four hours, I’m proud to say.

Feeling a little full of myself, I went on to say that perhaps a working protest might be more beneficial than one in which people walk around carrying signs, complaining about the election results, and accomplishing little.

“How about protesting by going into a poor neighborhood and helping willing owners paint their houses, or cleaning up city streets, or working at a food bank or animal shelter,” I said between bites of scrambled eggs.

Emboldened, I wanted to add but didn’t. “Think about how much ‘millions’ of people could accomplish if they spent several hours picking up garbage instead of talking trash.”

Instead, I said something to the effect that if you can organize that many people that quickly, you ought to do it to provide some lasting benefit. Not nearly colorful enough, but when you’re talking to a dear friend you sometimes measure your words—as you should.

I’m not against people marching or protesting or despising the current president. I just wish there was as much enthusiasm for helping others as there is for grousing. But, then, that’s not the human way, is it. We’d rather bitch loudly than quietly benefit.

So back to my friend’s comment about the failure of capitalism. I had already pushed the bounds of sanctimoniousness by sounding critical about the No Kings protest. So, I let her comment pass.

Later, I regretted not asking a pertinent question: “Why do you think that?”

I wanted to know her opinion because from where I sat at the little breakfast restaurant on an island filled with beautiful homes and pristine beaches, capitalism had been very good to me. My dad worked hard, fed, clothed me, and paid for my college when it didn’t cost an arm and a leg but was still a lot for a small-town lawyer. When I graduated, he gave me $200 and said: “Work hard, have a good life, and only come home to visit.” Mom told me to help others where possible.

Some might be offended by those words. I took them as my mantra. I’ve had a great life, sometimes worked two jobs to pay my bills, and had no desire to move in with my parents. I might have been able to do that under other economic structures, but I can’t think of any that gives you the freedom that capitalism does. I just know that I had my marching orders, and the opportunities were out there waiting. The only thing holding me back was me.

My friend and I breakfasted and chatted for two hours. It was a spirited discussion. Neither of us changed our mind, but we left the restaurant looking forward to our next get-together.

I believe we already have a topic: “Now, exactly how has capitalism failed?”