Not My Setup, Not My Problem
99 problems, but fomo ain't one
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Money is made in the waiting.
A big trade begins with a long silence.
Jesse Livermore—the OG legend of the 1920s bucket shops (for youngsters, basically the first trading apps)—put it bluntly:
“It was never my thinking that made the big money for me; it was always my sitting.”
A century later that lesson remains, but harder than ever to adhere too when everything is a simple click away. Most traders obsess over outcomes, stare at every tick, and wonder why the scoreboard never stabilizes. The cure is to prize timing that fits you.
There are plenty of perfectly valid ways to pull dollars out of this market—despite what some on social media might have you believe. Maybe they’re just stupid and haven’t studied or just shilling an overpriced course.
Dip-buyers lean on DeMark exhaustion signals that flag the final sputters of a sell-off. Candle scalpers stalk 1-minute wicks tucked safely inside a four-hour range, milking mean reversion before the bigger frame chooses a direction. Harmonic traders map Fibonacci geometry—Gartleys, Bats, Crabs—looking for the “D” point where symmetry snaps back. Trend followers ride strength: long above rising 20- or 50-day averages, trimming only when breadth rolls over or a clean trendline breaks. Key-level players do the same thing in simpler language—support, resistance, higher highs. None of these camps owns the truth; each just focuses on mastering one slice of price action while tuning out the noise. Knowing them all is just good practice, many say the same things but in different languages, but success comes in mastery of one that suits you best.
That means no room for FOMO. Sometimes the blinders go on and you let enticing names sprint without you. Sometimes you yank a position the instant your confidence falters. I did exactly that today—cut a handful of bullish option plays that still looked technically okay, but the rotation was trucking against me and theta and premium burn doesn’t care about my feelings. I quickly folded my weak convictions, found other setups I studied in the premarket and night before when I did my planning, and closed green even though my daily win rate took a dent.
The skill is oddly hard to teach. Friends/mentees ask frequently why I don’t jump right back in after a bounce or after hints of my setups recovering; the answer is I’m dodging an emotional ricochet. I’ve lost plenty of money caught up in the chatter of tick by tick tracking and emotional roller coasters. Before the market even opened I had already made the decision to cut my positions and give it a day, let the market settle. I remind myself the tape will print new opportunities tomorrow. Whatever losses I may incur can be quickly made back if I simply stick to my process and knowledge. Paul Tudor Jones—macro wizard, famous for nailing the ’87 crash—keeps it simple:
“The secret to being successful from a trading perspective is to have an indefatigable and an undying and unquenchable thirst for information and knowledge.”
Thirst is great, but he still waits for his pitch.
I see setups lighting up every day. I understand how a DeMark dip-buy or a harmonic reversal can print, but my own A-plus pattern—the one I’ve rehearsed a thousand times—prints more reliably because I know every beat of it. I’ve executed it thousands of times. So I let the other trades drift by, keep my powder dry, and sit in earned confidence. As Jesse Livermore, the first trader to make $100 million on a single trade (or roughly $1.7 billion in today’s dollars) put it,
“A man must believe in himself and his judgment if he expects to make a living at this game.”
There’s a low, steady serenity in standing aside while everyone else chases sparks. A light bag and a clear mind amplify the next conviction when it appears. Patience pays. Know your strengths, know your weaknesses, know your setups, and you’ll know exactly when to strike. One bad day beats a bad week, which often turns into a month, of hoping laggard positions heal. Today proved that again: I took a hit to my batting average, but I protected my capital and still finished green.
Jesse Livermore is the quintessential case study. He was Wall Street’s first trading legend, clearing the path for every speculator who came after him. Yet his story ends in tragedy: a string of over-leveraged bets wiped him out, and he ultimately took his own life. Few examples illustrate more starkly the dizzying highs trading can deliver—and the devastating lows it can impose if you don’t obey your process.
Opportunities are endless; capital isn’t—guard it like your life depends on it.
And remember,
Patience. Pays.