In the summer of 2017, I rushed into the crypto world like a fool. Back then, I didn't even understand what blockchain was; I just heard people say Ethereum was about to take off, and on a whim, I dumped half a month's living expenses into it. After buying, I stared at my phone checking prices every day, even zoning out in class. Guess what happened? I actually guessed right! My investment quadrupled in three months, and when I walked around campus, I felt like everyone else didn’t know how to make money, and I was the best.
Good times didn't last long. The bear market in 2018 came more punctually than a menstrual cycle, and my account felt like a deflated balloon, getting flatter every day. At my lowest point, I couldn't even afford a decent hot pot with that little ETH. I hid in my dorm, refreshing prices, feeling my heart sink with every refresh, and finally just uninstalled the trading app—out of sight, out of mind.
But isn't it strange? Humans are just foolish. The worse I lose, the more I want to understand what’s going on. I started studying white papers like I was preparing for college entrance exams, spending whole days in the library. One time, when I finally understood the principles of smart contracts, I was so excited that I almost spilled my coffee, causing the girl next to me who was reading to roll her eyes.
The turning point came in 2020. At that time, DeFi suddenly became popular, and with the little I had learned before, I unexpectedly received 400 UNI airdrops. At the moment I received the coins, I was eating instant noodles in my rented room and almost choked on the noodles. $1200! That was the money I lost back then coming back to me!
In the bull market of 2021, I almost got carried away again. Watching ETH break $4000, I dreamed every night of getting rich overnight, forgetting even how to take profits. What happened? I ended up giving back more than half of my profits; I deserved it. The worst part wasn't losing money, but knowing I should sell yet couldn't control my hands—that sense of helplessness was even more torturous than losing money.
When LUNA collapsed and FTX blew up last year, the whole community was in despair. But strangely, I was more composed this time. Maybe it was because I had paid enough tuition in real money and finally understood a principle: the market can go crazy without reason, but you have to be reasonable.
Now I stake a portion of my ETH and steadily collect rent every month. Although it’s not as thrilling as a bull market, that sense of stability is something the young kid who used to obsess over candlestick charts could never have imagined.
Looking back at these seven years, from reckless to awake, from greedy to calm. The most important thing the crypto world taught me is not how to make money, but how not to be an idiot. I still make mistakes now, but at least I know where I went wrong—this is probably what growth is.
If I could say something to my seven-years-ago self, I would say: Kid, don’t rush to get rich, fill your brain first. Money can run out, but the knowledge you gain will always be yours.
