When you join the crypto industry, people will warn you: “This space is 24/7/365. Be careful. Don’t get sucked in too far, or you’ll burn out quickly.” It’s true. Thankfully, I already did all of that in 2017.
After first falling down the crypto rabbit hole, I’d spend hours every day on Twitter, Youtube, and Telegram, soaking up information, learning everything that I could, trying to find the next big coin. But after a few months, the bull market ended, I didn’t get filthy rich, and I realized: “Okay, you don’t have to do that. Life will go on either way.” But bull markets come and go—and they’re all intoxicating for different reasons. So “I’ve done this before” isn’t the real reason I’m not worried about my new job becoming all-consuming.
In 2017, I was a college student. Working full-time for myself to earn an okay-ish income, but still also a college student. I had time. I was single. My vision for my writing wasn’t very clear. I often lived day-to-day, and when you do, it’s easy for any particular wave of life to come in and sweep you away.
Today, I’m an engaged man. I live with my fiancée, and my rent is twice as high. I know exactly which books I want to write, and I know how long it’ll take me. In other words: I don’t have time for shenanigans. Distraction is a luxury, and with a full-time job, I can only afford it in small doses. This might sound like it creates pressure, and sometimes, it does. But mostly, it feels liberating. It makes me proud of every minute I spend writing my next book—and it makes it easy to close my work laptop when the day is over.
I’ve long believed that when we’re young, we value complete freedom too highly. That’s why I worked a lot in my 20s, and it gave me a career foundation that can last a lifetime. Some of my high school friends also settled down quite early in their lives. They got married, built houses, had kids. Floating through life like a butterfly in the wind has its moments but, to me, it seems it’s never a bad time to be anchored. Life consists entirely of tradeoffs. Sooner or later, we’re all forced to make the hard ones. There is no shame in facing that game when you’re young, in playing it early and getting better at it rather than trying to escape it.
It’s ironic but almost typical, the kind of joke life likes to play on us: If you want to see how high you can fly, you actually need an anchor—and you’ll spread your wings as soon as you pick the right one.