Fighting with My Nature of Wanting to be a Bear

I knew people back in the 90s who were bears. These people throughout the entire bull run of the late 90s and early 2000’s hated stocks and never wanted to learn about the internet or anything wireless or related to tech. They bought bond and brick and mortar stocks and focused only on the fundamentals.

I was a kid back then and I remember the scorn they had towards me because I was buying and selling stocks that were moving fast and making large commissions. They were mired in misery — but that misery was lifted when it crashed. You should have seen the looks on their faces — a boardroom filled with angry old men telling you they “told you so” and you had “been warned” and now “had to deal with the consequences” stupidity.

Then the market took off again in 2003 and they were, once again, left holding their dicks buying bonds and General Mills Corp. I wasn’t around the boardroom during the 2008 debacle — but I am sure it was more of the same bullshit with the old men up in arms decrying “the end is near” whilst chewing on unlit cigars.

In a sense, I am the old man now — decrying stocks as “rigged” and eagerly awaiting the end of “Pax Americana.” But you must admit — this time is a little different. Admit it. Even so, I am introspective enough to understand this frame of thought has more to do with grappling with the fact that I am getting older, thinking about legacy, dealing with the pangs of decades of wisdom and patterns that repeat and almost always lead to danger.

Anyone who has been trading since the 1990s has undergone some of the worst drawdowns in history, one fucking collapse after the next. I am pretty sure I have PTSD. The younger generation doesn’t know anything but a bull market, only briefly interrupted by the COVID crash. But even that was so quick and the move so violent to the upside, it ended up being a massive windfall for risk takers.

It’s really hard to go against one’s nature. The older I get the more I hate stocks and want them lower. But I fight it everyday and sometimes get lost in memories when I’d tell those old son of a bitches to “fuck yourselves” and “I hope you don’t swallow that cigar and die you old prick.”

I’ve always been really acerbic, a topic for another day.