There was a time when I was obsessed with winning.
I want to win quickly. Win big.
Win to the point that people look at it and think:
"Oh, this guy can really play."
Until the market gets in the mood.
It gave me a slap hard enough.
And I woke up.
Realizing that: winning quickly is not the ultimate goal.
Surviving – that is what is more important than anything.
Not the kind of survival of just 'as long as I breathe.'
But it’s the kind of keeping a bit of clarity,
enough awareness not to turn a loss into a reason for my nervous system... to permanently strike.
The market – or broadly, life – doesn't exclude me because I'm foolish.
It excludes me because I am greedy.
Because I was overconfident.
Because I stubbornly believed that:
"I can't be wrong."
I realize:
To survive long-term, I don't need to become a genius.
I just need not to self-destruct while trying to appear genius.
There is an image that keeps repeating in my mind –
I learned it from investors I truly admire:
"This trip is very long.
Don't drive fast enough to burn the engine.
Don't be reckless enough to flip the car.
Just keep myself on the road.
Slow is fine too.
As long as I don't plunge into the abyss like that hurried crowd.
Actually, I don't really know where my limits are.
But I slowly understand:
Correct positioning is not about finding the optimal strategy.
It's about avoiding strategies that cankill you the moment you try.
I never thought of myself as the most resilient person.
But each time I get up after a painful fall –
while still keeping faith in myself –
I see that I have evolved in a way that profit charts... cannot measure.
And perhaps, that's how I'm learning to play for the long term –
A journey where the goal is not just tomake money
but tonot lose myself.