#TradFi交易分享挑战

I’ve been trading U.S. stocks for three years, from standing guard at the peak to lying flat in enlightenment, and I’ve summarized three heartfelt insights, all paid for with real money:

First: Listening to big shots’ news is not as good as chatting with the auntie downstairs.

When I first entered the market, I mixed in various investment groups, and there was always “inside information”: Tesla is launching Robotaxi, go all in; Nvidia is about to report explosive earnings, go full position. The worst was once when someone said a certain Chinese concept stock was going private with a 30% premium, so I poured all my travel funds into it. Now, years later, the stock price has halved, and my travel plans have turned into staying home eating instant noodles. I’ve learned my lesson now—after market close, I go downstairs to buy groceries, chat with Auntie Zhang selling vegetables. Her son works in Silicon Valley and says the company has been laying off and cutting budgets recently. I immediately sold my tech stocks, just in time to avoid a big drop—that’s right, Auntie’s gossip is a hundred times more reliable than Wall Street analysts.

Second: Faith is meant for face-slapping; don’t fall in love with stocks.

I used to be a die-hard Tesla fan, chasing in at the peak in 2021, believing Musk could send humans to Mars and the stock could reach a trillion market cap. But what happened? Musk turned around and bought Twitter, arguing with people every day, and the stock was cut in half. I was standing on the mountain top, blowing cold wind for two years. This spring, I gritted my teeth and sold some, and the very next day, it rose three points—doesn’t that make you mad? Now I realize: there’s no everlasting faith in trading U.S. stocks, only the ups and downs of profit. If you fall in love with stocks, they’ll turn you green with envy. Buffett said “be greedy when others are fearful,” I changed it to: “run when others preach faith,” “buy the dip when everyone calls it trash.” Don’t talk to me about “long-term holding”—holding delisted stocks, holding until the end of the world, will only leave your descendants with worthless paper.

Third: Leverage is like chili oil—add a spoon for flavor, add a bowl and you’ll get diarrhea.

When I first played, I saw my capital was small, and earning a few bucks from a 1% rise wasn’t enough, so I maxed out my leverage at five times, thinking I’d make a quick profit and then get out. But then the Fed raised interest rates, and overnight, my broker forced liquidation. I lost 70% of my capital. That night, I stared at my account, drank three cans of cold beer, and almost got high blood pressure. Now I only use one times leverage, and I only play with spare money. The rest is in money market funds earning interest. Even if I earn less, I don’t have to wake up at 3 a.m. to watch the market, and my heartbeat is slower than falling in love.

Now I’m in a great mood: play with some spare cash, celebrate with a good meal if I gain, and treat dips as donations to Wall Street’s innovation. U.S. stocks are never a paradise of gold; they’re just a big IQ tax scene. You think you’re here to make money, but really, you’re just paying rent to the big shots—ordinary people just play for participation, don’t take it too seriously. After all, if you lose money, it’s your own heartache. $FUTU $PDD $BA