SAN FRANCISCO—“Learn to love your new economy. With proper care and maintenance it should last and last.”

I couldn’t believe it. These, and the name of the place I work for, were the only words printed on the sheet of newsprint taped to the wall above my desk. All I could think of on my first day was, “Why?”

Not “why would anyone think to publish this ad?” because that’s not that important. It was printed last October, and was maybe a testament to the high-flying optimism that had gripped Silicon Valley and Wall Street for four years. Or maybe it was a brand of “new economy” gospel. Or, heck, maybe it was for the 15 minutes of fame in the A section of the Wall Street Journal.

No, the question I had in my mind was, why would someone decide to put the nine-month-old ad on the wall in the first place? Was someone trying to be funny? Was someone trying to point out the irony? Or was someone just a little angry?

“The New Economy”, with a capital N and E (not to be mistaken for any old “new” economy, mind you), was coined a few years ago to describe the world of the late 90s and early 2000—a world of near-zero inflation, ultra-low unemployment and unparalleled and seemingly unstoppable growth. It was a world changed dramatically by the rapid, almost dizzying pace of technological innovation, jump-started by the maturation of the Internet and the rise of global communications. From these initial seeds of growth and promise came a vision of sustained productivity and prosperity for years, if not decades, to come. And here in sunny Bay Area, Ground Zero of the silicon revolution, that dream took flight carrying with it the hopes and aspirations of millions.

Today, nearly a full year after that very dream came hurtling back to reality, San Francisco and its environs is a far different place. And depending on the way you look at it, this may very well have been the best and worst summer to come out West—I can safely say I’m not deluded by the irrational exuberance that had swept through the area in the late 90s, but, at the same time, I have to deal the aftermath of the storm. And it isn’t pretty.

I arrived with bright eyes and big hopes, thinking that perhaps I could catch one tiny bit of the silicon magic that created empires out of thin air and made kings out of financiers and entrepreneurs. After all, less than a year before money had flowed everywhere, and it seemed the “dollar and a dream” was no fantasy—it was reality. Any bright-eyed dreamer or college drop-out with an idea—Sell books online! Deliver groceries over the web! A virtual petstore? Sure, why not?—could get millions (millions!) thrown at him. The American Dream! How quickly it could be realized.

How quickly it could be lost.

Weeks before I arrived, my company laid off 400 people—half of its staff. My group shrunk from 15 to just four members. My roommate out here works—or shall I now say “worked”—for a seasoned, established startup (read: five years old, and still in business). He would wake up each morning not knowing if he would still have a job at the end of the day. For him, it was just a matter of going to work, closing deals and praying that whatever business he brought in would save him from the executioner’s axe, for at least another day. Soon it became a joke—“I have to get to work by 8:30 this morning to get fired,” he would constantly say. Three weeks ago, the joke became reality.