I Lost $114,000 Because I Didn't Trust Myself
And it taught me the most valuable lesson of my life
Welcome to Beyond Self Improvement issue #133. Every other Wednesday, I share an essay with practical ideas on finding personal freedom in an unfree world.
Dear Friend,
It was August 2021, and when I woke up and looked outside, the sky was an ominous shade of orange and grey.
I opened the Apple Weather app. Air Quality Index: 62. Moderate. I checked Purple Air. Same reading.
But when I stepped outside, I could feel it in my lungs.
I asked my partner, whose nose is more sensitive than mine. “It feels about right to me,” she said, glancing at the AQI reading. That night, my sinuses felt unusually dry, and I had trouble breathing.
So what do you believe? The apps? Your partner? Or your own body?
I almost didn’t close the windows that morning, but I did.
That afternoon, my partner ran errands. “The air is terrible out there,” she said. “The AQI is 129 now. I guess you were right.”
This wasn’t the first time I’d doubted what I knew to be true.
A few weeks earlier in Guanajuato, Mexico, my partner and I were searching for a trailhead to go hiking. We hiked up through the city until the road reached its highest point, and there, at the summit, was a sign pointing to the trailhead.
“There it is,” I said, pointing to the sign.
“Google Maps says it’s back down the hill,” she replied.
What’s funny is that I did the same thing a week earlier. We’d just arrived in Puerto Vallarta and were looking for our Airbnb. I kept insisting it was up the hill because Apple Maps said so. We dragged our luggage higher and higher in the heat and humidity until we ended up at someone’s “rustic” house, the last one on the hill, which was clearly not our rental. Apple Maps was wrong.
After a minute of arguing, I gave in because my relationship is more valuable to me than being right.
As we walked back down the hill, Google Maps kept recalculating, promising the trailhead was just ahead. We never found it...because it was back up the mountain.
I learned to distrust myself from watching my mom.
My mom didn’t believe her head or heart when they differed from what she’d read. Not because she wasn’t capable, but because she’d been taught, like so many women of her generation, that experts knew better than she did. When Dr. Spock advised letting babies “cry it out,” she followed his advice, ignoring every instinct to nurture us. He was an Ivy League-educated doctor, and she got pregnant and dropped out of community college.
As a kid, I learned to ignore my body, too. We drank orange juice from concentrate on weekends. My dad liked it, and it was supposed to be good for you. It gave me a headache every time, yet I continued drinking it throughout my childhood, thinking I was the problem.
The worst part? This is a universal phenomenon. The creator of Candid Camera, Alan Funt, once put up a sign on a road that read “Delaware closed today.” People didn’t question it. They asked, “Is Jersey open?” It seems we’re wired to default to authority.
In 1996, I was a store manager at Starbucks. I appreciated that the company prioritized its employees and had a corporate staff that was friendly, competent, and inspiring. It was the best company I had ever worked for, and I believed in what we were building: a third place beyond home and office.
Then I read an article in Fortune magazine: “Has Starbucks saturated the market?” At the time, there were 778 stores. I had about $2,000 in stock, which was trading at $1.45 per share. I sold it all.
Today, there are over 32,000 Starbucks stores. The stock is at $84.40. That $2,000 would be worth $116,000 now.
I had insider knowledge, yet I trusted a journalist over my direct experience.
Years later, I finally learned the lesson in the most ordinary way: earwax.
Growing up, every doctor had advised against using Q-tips. “You could rupture your eardrum,” they’d say. But I produce a lot of earwax, enough that it doesn’t self-clean on its own, diminishes my hearing and requires medical removal.
After one such procedure, the doctor said, “You know, you can clean your ears with cotton swabs at home.” (I’m pretty sure his dream of becoming a doctor didn’t include ear wax).
“I thought we weren’t supposed to use cotton swabs.”
“I clean my ears every day with them.”
“Have you ever had any problems?”
“Never,” he said.
My situation may be uncommon, but if doctors can’t even agree on the use of cotton swabs, what else might they disagree on? Of course, I consult my doctor, but I also listen to my body.
I’d been doing this my whole life. Trusting experts about parenting, about stocks, about GPS, about air quality, about my own ears. And you know what? They were often wrong. Or they disagreed with each other. Or what worked for them didn’t work for me.
I get things wrong all the time, but now it’s different.
When I missed out on money on Starbucks, following a journalist I’d never met, I felt like an idiot. Worse, I didn’t learn anything because I was acting out of fear rather than from my own knowing.
Now, when I’m wrong, and I am, I know why I thought what I thought. I can see where my assumptions failed. My mistakes actually teach me something because they’re mine.
I feel more grounded now. Not because I’m right more often, I’m probably not, but because I trust my intuition, knowing full well I may be wrong. The times when I trust myself and still make mistakes, I don’t get upset because I dared to follow my conviction and a willingness to acknowledge when I’m wrong.
Last week I opened a package of shredded cheddar cheese. It had been in the fridge for maybe two weeks, yet it smelled like dirty feet. The expiration date was three months out, and there was no sign of mold, yet I threw it out anyway. In the past, I may have eaten it.
I still read articles, talk to people, and seek advice. But now I’m more likely to follow my own sense, even if it contradicts the opinions of those who know more than I do.
James Audubon said it best: “When the bird and the book disagree, believe the bird.”
The Buddha said something similar: Come and see for yourself if what I say is true.
I’m still learning to believe the bird.
Keep trusting yourself,
Ryan
If this essay resonates with you, I invite you to share it with someone who may benefit from this message.
