Читать книгу Psychological Analysis - Adam Sarhan - Страница 24

The late 1990s was the era of the dot‐com craze. I pumped money into the market speculating on the euphoria that drove stock prices for internet start‐ups ever higher. They had no earnings, no sales, but all you needed at the time was a “.com” in your name, and people would buy the stock! At one point, on a golden afternoon around the turn of the century, I felt invincible while staring at my brokerage account, proud to have doubled my tiny fortune at such a young age. I've learned that money is all relative. To me, a kid who started with less than nothing, $500 was a lot of money, $5,000 was crazy, and $5,000,000 was a dream. It is amazing how your perspective changes over time.

Then, in March 2000, the dot‐com bubble burst; the market crashed, and I was in a state of shock and disbelief as it imploded over the next two years. I made every mistake under the sun. I did not have a plan to sell if the stock went down, I did not have a clue about risk management or position‐sizing—and thanks to my naivete, I couldn't imagine that stocks could go down so far for so long. I also had no idea that it was possible to actually make money in a bear market. Looking back, I realize I was clueless.

My investment portfolio was bankrupt. But to me, it wasn't just money that I had lost. It was deeper. I lost my Blow Pop profits, my fireworks sales, my cell phone commissions—all the fruits of my early entrepreneurship had evaporated. Essentially, my life's work had disappeared. Gone. All my sacrificed college weekends spent selling cell phones while my friends partied—vanished. It was a gut punch like no other. It was personal. It was emotionally devastating.

On The Street (Wall Street, that is), they call that kind of experience “market tuition”—provided you walk away with some lessons. I knew I wanted to win. I also knew I had no idea what I was doing so I had one job: to learn. Knowing what I don't know became (and still is) one of my biggest strengths.