We have become a treatment-resistant Prozac Nation. But the practice of believing in something—anything—can pull us out.The most memorable business pitch I ever attended began with a young man crying. His company was raising a modest amount of capital to build drones that could protect American troops in battle. The pitch was unremarkable in the first few minutes, until the founder mentioned his family and friends who had served in Iraq. He then stopped speaking, was quiet for a few seconds, and started to sob uncontrollably. I was in grad school at the time and had been instructed by...…We have become a treatment-resistant Prozac Nation. But the practice of believing in something—anything—can pull us out.The most memorable business pitch I ever attended began with a young man crying. His company was raising a modest amount of capital to build drones that could protect American troops in battle. The pitch was unremarkable in the first few minutes, until the founder mentioned his family and friends who had served in Iraq. He then stopped speaking, was quiet for a few seconds, and started to sob uncontrollably. I was in grad school at the time and had been instructed by...WW…

Can ten earnest kids playing Bach become the next Kardashians? When I enter the de la Mottes’ home—a three-floor, red brick townhouse in Harlem, around the corner from the Apollo Theater and down the block from a Verizon store—the somber thrum of a double bass echoes upstairs. I’m greeted by Amber, 43, who looks plucked straight out of an old-timey hearth catalog in a pleated emerald skirt and white blouse, her long, red hair pinned back. She leads me to the dining room table on the first floor where five kids are bent over laptops or workbooks. Marc, 45, her husband and the patriarch of...…Can ten earnest kids playing Bach become the next Kardashians? When I enter the de la Mottes’ home—a three-floor, red brick townhouse in Harlem, around the corner from the Apollo Theater and down the block from a Verizon store—the somber thrum of a double bass echoes upstairs. I’m greeted by Amber, 43, who looks plucked straight out of an old-timey hearth catalog in a pleated emerald skirt and white blouse, her long, red hair pinned back. She leads me to the dining room table on the first floor where five kids are bent over laptops or workbooks. Marc, 45, her husband and the patriarch of...WW…