Welcome. 👋

Every two weeks, I share my writing on investing, career transitions, meaningful work, parenting, living intentionally, and other topics that engage me.

I'm still trying to figure stuff out.

Was this newsletter forwarded to you? See past articles and subscribe here.

Two Tests

After studying for more than a hundred hours over several months, I was finally ready to sit for the exam.

I arrived at the testing center as planned, 45 minutes early. With the rain pounding the roof of the car, I ran through my flashcards one final time, hoping to cram a few more facts into my already stuffed short-term memory.

Now, exactly 30 minutes before test time, I ate an energy bar, took a deep breath, and walked from my car to the testing center.

The space was quiet and calm.

I was in the zone.

I walked up to the check-in desk with my license and registration email - printed on paper as instructed - and handed them to the attendant. While I waited, I ran through a few last-minute formulas I had memorized in the car.

The attendant, an older woman, was reviewing my info with precision. I respected her diligence, to a point. But it was beginning to take longer than it should.

I reminded myself to stay calm and focus on the test.

For the third time, she looked at my license and turned back to the registration form.

Then she pulled out a massive binder from beneath the desk. In my experience, massive binders emerging during bureaucratic processes are the universal signal that something has gone wrong.

While I tried to let this process play out without engaging, my attention shifting from formulas to something more basic, access.

Finally, she confirmed my growing concern.

"We may have an issue," she said. "Your license says David Eric Gerber. Your registration says, David Gerber. They're different."

I exhaled, trying to stay calm in hopes of retaining the info I jammed into my brain a few minutes earlier. Surely this could be resolved easily.

"Eric is my middle name. The exam registration didn't ask for a middle name."

To my surprise, the issue remained unresolved.

She pulled another binder from under the desk. Again she looked at the same information on the computer screen.

Then, she said, "Please wait here. I need to check with my manager."

For a few minutes, maybe seconds, but it felt like minutes, my thoughts began to cycle. Would I be denied entry? Would I need to reschedule the exam? Then the frustration and anger grew. After months of studying, I was rapidly approaching burnout. I was so ready to be done, today.

The irony wasn't lost on me. I'd spent months studying complex financial formulas and esoteric investment approaches, yet here I was, potentially derailed by the most basic question of identity. Who are you? The simplest question was suddenly the most consequential.

As I waited, I looked around the center which occupied a corner of a nondescript commercial office strip near the Maine Mall. A thin tower of steel lockers anchored the left side of the room. A restroom key attached to an oversized piece of wood hung on a hook by a door to the hallway. On the walls, laminated papers reminded visitors to speak softly, turn off cell phones, and that management was not responsible for items left in the lockers.

After a few more minutes, the attendant returned from her consultation with her manager.

I was told that they carefully checked the specific rules provided by the CAIA Association and determined that first and last names alone were sufficient for entry.

With everyone agreeing I was indeed who I claimed to be, I was now awarded the opportunity to sit for a 4-hour exam on alternative investments. So, that's what I did.

When it was over, I got up to leave and walked past the check-in desk. The same attendant was sitting there. But this time she seemed more pleasant than when she questioned my identity.

She smiled and said, "I hope it went well. Have a great day."

At that point, I was toast. Like a zombie, I stared straight ahead and mumbled, "Thanks. You too."

I don't know if I passed. In fact, won't know for up to eight weeks. It could have gone either way. I definitely put in the time, but the exam itself was tougher than I expected. We'll see.

Later in the day, after unnecessarily focusing on the questions I didn't get right, I lay down to clear my head. My thoughts drifted back to the woman at the check-in desk.

I thought about how quickly I'd transformed her into an adversary in my mind. In that moment of stress, she wasn't a person with her own responsibilities and constraints. She was simply an obstacle between me and the culmination of months of preparation.

On the other side, with a bit of perspective, I could see the situation more clearly.

She was performing her role exactly as intended, upholding the standards and integrity that give meaning to the qualification I was pursuing. Without gatekeepers like her, the credential would hold no value.

I wondered how many other people I'd unfairly cast as villains throughout my life. The TSA agent held up the security line when I was running late for my flight. The customer service agent constrained by limited authority. How often had I misplaced my frustration, blaming others for simply doing their jobs?

As I drifted toward sleep, it occurred to me that perhaps the only test that day wasn’t four hours of questions related to alternative investments.

Maybe it was also the extra few minutes I spent waiting at that desk, being tested on patience, perspective, and grace under pressure. And on that test, I wasn't entirely sure I'd earned a passing grade.

Other Stuff

Beautiful vs. Practical Advice What works best isn't always the most interesting option. And that's a problem, especially with investing, where people are often drawn more to compelling stories rather than disciplined and boring strategies that tend to work better. In this essay, Morgan Housel explores the tension between aesthetic allure and functional utility, drawing parallels between architecture and personal finance.

​Read the essay (4 mins)

Desire for Mission is a Career Limiting Belief Cedric Chin challenges the assumption that prioritizing mission over other career factors can lead to success, especially for mid-career professionals. He argues that focusing too heavily on mission can limit opportunities and hinder growth, suggesting that a more balanced approach may be more beneficial.

​Read the essay (7 mins)

Building Lovable: $10M ARR in 60 days with 15 people Swedish AI startup Lovable should be on your radar for a few reasons. Not only could it be the fastest-growing startup in history, but its product could enable billions of non-technical people to build software-based businesses within hours. Their software tool builds fully functioning software from user prompts. It's extraordinary what you can do with this tool today and it's improving rapidly. I look forward to spending more time on this and similar tools over the next few months. If you're already "vibe coding," I'd love to hear your thoughts and any advice.

​

​Watch the podcast (1 hour)

And a Farewell Photo...

​

​

​