How mornings feel now
Once, mornings began with checking if the electric kettle survived another week, if rent didn’t bounce, and whether half a slice of pizza could pass for breakfast.
Now it’s graphs before coffee. My phone flashes before my eyes even open — Bitcoin charts, Ethereum gas fees, the dance of red and green candles. It’s absurd and somehow perfectly reasonable. A decade inside crypto turns your mind into circuitry.
And no matter what people say — the market’s face barely changes. New logos, new “geniuses,” new disasters. Governments threaten bans, influencers scream “next 100x,” but it’s all the same old symphony — just louder.
I’ve watched Bitcoin mocked at $600, glorified at $20K, buried at $3K, worshiped at $60K, balanced at $70K. Each phase felt like an ending. None were.
Where the real lessons came from
Long before trading tokens, I traded attention.
Back in Israel, I created something called Night Life Zone — in Hebrew
https://nightlife-zone.com/, it meant exactly what it sounded like: an escort directory. Raw, unfiltered, unapologetic.
It wasn’t glamorous — it was business without perfume. Every hour had a price tag. Every photo was a calculated bet. Change one word in a headline — the phone exploded. Move an image — the week went silent.
That world stripped me of illusions. Markets don’t care about emotions. They respond to timing, clarity, and trust — or at least the illusion of it.
I kept quiet about it for years. Thought it would make me look small. But it was my crash course in human behavior. Swap “escorts” (
https://nightlife-zone.com/tel-aviv/) for “tokens,” “profiles” for “projects,” and you get the same melody. People crave hope, overpay for promises, and regret it when the music stops.
Comedy, pain, and trading rules
My first trade was comedy gold. I bought too late, sold too soon, and felt like a genius — until I did it again.
By 2018, I was sitting in a Warsaw café with bitter coffee, writing my “rules” in a cheap notebook. They looked dumb then. They’re gospel now:
Don’t chase green candles. The bus you missed won’t U-turn.
Take profits when your gut screams no — that’s greed talking.
Telegram full of emojis? Close it.
And yes, taxes exist even if you pretend not to see them.
Each lesson cost real money. I laughed once. I don’t anymore.
2020 hit — DeFi summer. Uniswap didn’t sleep, and neither did I. Cold meals, napkins covered in scribbles about “impermanent loss.” Friends quit, some broke, some burned. I stayed — not because I was smarter, but because I built rituals.
Walk instead of revenge-trading. Keep 20% cash untouched. Lock the “family fund” far from your laptop.
I’d seen this movie before — in Night Life Zone. People staying too long, paying too much, believing “this time it’s different.” It never is.
The illusion of progress
October 2025. The UIs are slicker, the apps shinier, the regulators louder. But people? They’re the same.
Bitcoin hits $70K, and suddenly the world sees a path to a million. Ethereum updates again, and the word revolution trends like a prayer.
Now the new crowd comes — the AI dreamers, tokenized-compute prophets. Slides so polished they blind you. But under the gloss? Same hunger, same belief: “This one can’t fail.”
Everything can fail. Night Life Zone taught me that long before crypto. One bad night and trust vanished. A server crash, a scandal, a rumor — gone.
Survival wasn’t about perfection. It was about rhythm — knowing when to pause, when to walk away, when silence was smarter than action.
Markets eat ego. The winners aren’t visionaries — they’re the ones still standing.
How to actually last
People DM me weekly: “What’s the next hot coin?”
I could say “Layer-twos,” “real-world assets,” or “AI-driven protocols.” But none of that matters without discipline. Otherwise, it’s fireworks at noon — bright, short, pointless.
Here’s what matters:
Lose small before you dream big.
Learn wallets before markets — no keys, no ownership.
Bitcoin isn’t “old bread.” It’s aged whiskey.
Diversify off-screen — because money isn’t the only thing markets can take.
It’s not sexy. That’s why it works.
Cities and scars
I don’t count years anymore — I count cities.
Brno taught humility. Vienna, patience. Warsaw, endurance. Tel Aviv, speed. Tbilisi, quiet.
Each place stripped another illusion away — how to read people faster, how to hear the lie behind a smile, how to stay calm when others are drowning in noise.
Crypto didn’t give me wealth; it gave me rhythm. A strange peace inside chaos. The understanding that uncertainty isn’t an exception — it’s the rule. And that’s fine.
Tonight
I’ll still open the charts before sleep. Still scroll through panic and euphoria in the same feed. But it feels different now.
October 2025 — still trading, still learning, still screwing up, but calmer.
Because if there’s one lesson both crypto and Night Life Zone
https://nightlife-zone.com/strippers-in-givataim/ taught me, it’s this:
Every chart, every price — is a mirror.
And what you’re really investing in… is yourself.
How mornings feel now
Once, mornings began with checking if the electric kettle survived another week, if rent didn’t bounce, and whether half a slice of pizza could pass for breakfast.
Now it’s graphs before coffee. My phone flashes before my eyes even open — Bitcoin charts, Ethereum gas fees, the dance of red and green candles. It’s absurd and somehow perfectly reasonable. A decade inside crypto turns your mind into circuitry.
And no matter what people say — the market’s face barely changes. New logos, new “geniuses,” new disasters. Governments threaten bans, influencers scream “next 100x,” but it’s all the same old symphony — just louder.
I’ve watched Bitcoin mocked at $600, glorified at $20K, buried at $3K, worshiped at $60K, balanced at $70K. Each phase felt like an ending. None were.
Where the real lessons came from
Long before trading tokens, I traded attention.
Back in Israel, I created something called Night Life Zone — in Hebrew https://nightlife-zone.com/, it meant exactly what it sounded like: an escort directory. Raw, unfiltered, unapologetic.
It wasn’t glamorous — it was business without perfume. Every hour had a price tag. Every photo was a calculated bet. Change one word in a headline — the phone exploded. Move an image — the week went silent.
That world stripped me of illusions. Markets don’t care about emotions. They respond to timing, clarity, and trust — or at least the illusion of it.
I kept quiet about it for years. Thought it would make me look small. But it was my crash course in human behavior. Swap “escorts” (https://nightlife-zone.com/tel-aviv/) for “tokens,” “profiles” for “projects,” and you get the same melody. People crave hope, overpay for promises, and regret it when the music stops.
Comedy, pain, and trading rules
My first trade was comedy gold. I bought too late, sold too soon, and felt like a genius — until I did it again.
By 2018, I was sitting in a Warsaw café with bitter coffee, writing my “rules” in a cheap notebook. They looked dumb then. They’re gospel now:
Don’t chase green candles. The bus you missed won’t U-turn.
Take profits when your gut screams no — that’s greed talking.
Telegram full of emojis? Close it.
And yes, taxes exist even if you pretend not to see them.
Each lesson cost real money. I laughed once. I don’t anymore.
2020 hit — DeFi summer. Uniswap didn’t sleep, and neither did I. Cold meals, napkins covered in scribbles about “impermanent loss.” Friends quit, some broke, some burned. I stayed — not because I was smarter, but because I built rituals.
Walk instead of revenge-trading. Keep 20% cash untouched. Lock the “family fund” far from your laptop.
I’d seen this movie before — in Night Life Zone. People staying too long, paying too much, believing “this time it’s different.” It never is.
The illusion of progress
October 2025. The UIs are slicker, the apps shinier, the regulators louder. But people? They’re the same.
Bitcoin hits $70K, and suddenly the world sees a path to a million. Ethereum updates again, and the word revolution trends like a prayer.
Now the new crowd comes — the AI dreamers, tokenized-compute prophets. Slides so polished they blind you. But under the gloss? Same hunger, same belief: “This one can’t fail.”
Everything can fail. Night Life Zone taught me that long before crypto. One bad night and trust vanished. A server crash, a scandal, a rumor — gone.
Survival wasn’t about perfection. It was about rhythm — knowing when to pause, when to walk away, when silence was smarter than action.
Markets eat ego. The winners aren’t visionaries — they’re the ones still standing.
How to actually last
People DM me weekly: “What’s the next hot coin?”
I could say “Layer-twos,” “real-world assets,” or “AI-driven protocols.” But none of that matters without discipline. Otherwise, it’s fireworks at noon — bright, short, pointless.
Here’s what matters:
Lose small before you dream big.
Learn wallets before markets — no keys, no ownership.
Bitcoin isn’t “old bread.” It’s aged whiskey.
Diversify off-screen — because money isn’t the only thing markets can take.
It’s not sexy. That’s why it works.
Cities and scars
I don’t count years anymore — I count cities.
Brno taught humility. Vienna, patience. Warsaw, endurance. Tel Aviv, speed. Tbilisi, quiet.
Each place stripped another illusion away — how to read people faster, how to hear the lie behind a smile, how to stay calm when others are drowning in noise.
Crypto didn’t give me wealth; it gave me rhythm. A strange peace inside chaos. The understanding that uncertainty isn’t an exception — it’s the rule. And that’s fine.
Tonight
I’ll still open the charts before sleep. Still scroll through panic and euphoria in the same feed. But it feels different now.
October 2025 — still trading, still learning, still screwing up, but calmer.
Because if there’s one lesson both crypto and Night Life Zone https://nightlife-zone.com/strippers-in-givataim/ taught me, it’s this:
Every chart, every price — is a mirror.
And what you’re really investing in… is yourself.
Українська
English
