What Brexit means to me

Not a lot, really. With my probably shortened lifespan (two years? three?), location (USA, baby!), occupation (none; savings and Social Security), and need to vacation (last vacation: the Outer Banks of North Carolina in the off season, by car, ten days, eighteen years ago), I can't see how Brexit would have any impact on my way of life.

What it did mean to me comes from when it happened: June, 2016. Brexit was pushed through with lies and half truths by would-be populists. In the weeks after it passed and what it meant became clear, many U.K. citizens who had voted for it wanted to do it over and take back their votes. As I write this, the Prime Minister has barely passed a no-confidence vote, taken because she's done a poor job of selling something that will damage her country.
I'd always thought of the English as being more skeptical to political chicanery than we are. But when Brexit passed I thought, "Uh-oh. If that happens there, there's a good chance that this clown Donald Trump could get elected here."
(Trump people who feel insulted by that characterization: Think back to 2015 and you'll recall that you felt the same way. How easily we forget such things and end up supporting an admitted sex offender.)