You think your brain is a ledger, but it lies every time it recalls the past. You think markets are a scoreboard, but they rewrite themselves with every tick. Both are drafts, never verdicts. Both can destroy you if you mistake noise for truth.
What if I told you the same rules that edit memory also govern money? That the trick to surviving a bad trade is the same trick to surviving a bad year in your life. That the human brain and the market are not enemies, but mirrors.
This is not theory. It is a playbook I saw forged in the hands of Michael, a man who survived four decades of bubbles and busts. He showed us how memory edits the past, how markets demand the same edits, and how discipline in either field compounds into a life worth keeping.
If you are ready to stop worshipping stories and start trading reality, read on.
The interview with Trader Mike.
Some people don’t believe he exists, that I made him up, but this truly is Trader Mike and he’s in the house today.
Michael and I met about five years ago. He was first-time married just six years ago in the Anglican church next door to the beautiful Carolyn. Michael is the smartest person I know. We met in the beach restaurant, Shellona, through mutual friends here in St Barts. We’re all going there on Thursday.
He spends six months a year in St. Barts and six months elsewhere. He has a curious and expansive mind. I’m lucky to count him as a friend. He keeps his circle pared to the bone. One hundred names, never more. Each chosen with care, each held to account. To be on that list is no accident. It is a testament. I sometimes fear I test his generosity too much. Another summer on stage at summer camp and I may well be for the chop.
I believe the three most powerful forces in investing are curiosity, mischief, and playfulness. Michael has all three in abundance. If you need further elaboration, come and grab me later.
We sit at Eden Rock and chat daily when he’s in residence. We’re both storytellers. We regale each other with the adventures that play out in our heads and on our screens. We have vivid imaginations, each capable of capturing the merest glimpses of the future. Wise enough to understand the vicissitudes of the journey; the curse of knowledge.
We chase the future in fragments.
Catch it in flashes.
Hold it just long enough to see it bend.
He may look like a gentle, even sweet figure, but make no mistake. He is a natural killer in markets, a machine built to make money. Where sweat pours from me in effort, dollar bills seem to pour effortlessly from him.
And the best thing? He’s eccentric. Like me, he looks like a tramp, a hobo. No one gets it. He’s like my big brother. Another fake Bono. Someone not drawn to the jet-set but here anyhow.
Always thinking. Always investing. Always discerning.
