"How much?"
I might not remember the exact phrasing of the question, but the essence sticks with me. It was straightforward—he was inquiring about the price at which I’d be willing to sell my company.
This was just before the tech dot-com bubble burst, and I was right in the thick of it all. Was my company a big deal? Far from it. It was a modest, unprofitable educational website run by a group of language-loving alumni. Yet, what we were doing didn’t really matter. In those days, simply being an internet company was enough to be considered hot property.
Slap 'tech' somewhere in your company name, like 'Noodle Tech' or 'Pencil Tech', and you were suddenly desirable. By that standard, I wouldn’t label my company as a tech enterprise, but we operated online, which was sufficient. I was the lone wolf managing the servers and developing the website, but that was irrelevant. To the outside world, we were a tech company.
The irony here is that I was a rebel at heart back then. I chose not to sell my company. A stubborn fool, that’s what I was—a stubborn fool blissfully ignorant about the ways of making money. Yes, I turned down the single golden opportunity that came my way and eventually watched my company sink. I lost every penny I had invested. The only remnants were the lessons learned from the ordeal. And, I guess, becoming a more than competent techie and coder from all the effort I put into the company was a silver lining. But that's beside the point.
This episode was a significant failure in my life, yet it taught me invaluable life lessons. Not the cliché "seize every opportunity that comes your way," but rather a deeper "you must fail before you can succeed" type of insight. And despite everything, I remain proud of my decision not to sell. Accepting his offer would have been, to say the least, unethical. Plus, I ponder on what I might have become had I accepted his money. Likely, I’d have been briefly wealthy, only to fritter it all away without learning anything. Not a good trade.
Every failure, whether minor or major, has been a profound lesson for me, and I truly, deeply, wholeheartedly value each one. I need to fail to succeed. I need to fail to learn. I need to fail to grow. I need to fail to become a better person.
The first experience that truly brought me down to earth in my early 20s, despite my sky-high arrogance, was when I flunked my driver's license written exam. Not the actual driving test, but the theoretical one that comes before. I was acing my driving class, so I was confident I’d easily pass the driving portion. But the written exam? I didn’t even study for it, convinced of its simplicity, so sure that even a child could pass. Yet, I failed—by just one point. The humiliation was profound, and when I retook it, my score was nearly perfect. That failure taught me a valuable lesson. It showed me the importance of preparation for everything, no matter how seemingly effortless it might appear. It taught me the necessity of humility and not to take anything for granted. It underscored the lesson that failure is a crucial part of learning. Adding to the irony, I failed the driving test on my second attempt, after passing the written one. Losing my driving skills after the initial setback, and without a family car for practice, I missed my chance to pass both tests while I was still in driving school.
The second major setback was a real eye-opener. Throughout high school and college, I wasn't the standout student, but English was my domain. Over a decade of English exams in Korea saw me consistently at the top, even placing me in the top 1% nationally for TOEFL and TOEIC scores. You can imagine the pride that built up over time. Then came the shock of failing the entrance exam for the GSIT (Graduate School of Interpretation and Translation) at Hankuk University of Foreign Studies. To put it simply, I was utterly unprepared for the level of difficulty presented by this test. It was a leap from facing tutorial bosses to confronting the first real boss in a game. The humiliation was intense, but the lessons were clear. I learned the importance of preparation, regardless of previous successes. I learned the value of humility and the danger of taking success for granted. I learned that failure is not just about falling down, but about the growth and improvement that come from getting back up. After a year of relentless study, I passed the exam with flying colors. Reflecting on what might have been had I passed on my first attempt, I realize I would have likely become complacent, missing the opportunity to grow from the experience. A truly bad deal.
The second setback truly marked a pivotal moment, underscoring the importance of expanding my horizons. The verbal section of the GSIT required more than just proficiency in English; it demanded comprehensive knowledge across multiple disciplines. For example, not understanding economics well could affect your results in both written and oral exams, such as if topics like unemployment issues were covered. At that time, my interest was solely in English, with no regard for economics or other fields. During the year I dedicated to bridging these knowledge gaps, I ventured into areas ranging from economics to science, and even math, my least favorite subject. This experience taught me the importance of expanding my horizons for personal growth. That's why I continually emphasize the value of broadening one's knowledge base. I notice many people focusing exclusively on language skills. However, in this era of AI, diversifying your knowledge is more crucial than ever. If you lack understanding of the topics you're discussing in any language, your linguistic abilities will hardly matter. The same holds true even in your native language; without substantive knowledge of the subject at hand, you'll find yourself at a disadvantage. It's as simple as that.
The third failure? It was colossal, a “down to my last dime” kind of catastrophic setback. I found myself, overwhelmed by emotion, seeking comfort in my wife's arms, tears streaming down my face. Even after my company folded, I wasn't entirely out of hope, all thanks to my language skills. Working as a translator, I was doing quite well financially. My wife, whom I met at the GSIT and who later joined me in the business venture I mentioned earlier, was also gainfully employed. (Now, she’s a professor at the GSIT—talk about a twist of fate!) We were managing fine. Then came my fascination with the stock market, and it hit me hard. As often happens, I lost everything, down to my last cent. I did everything within my knowledge and capacity to succeed in the market, but I failed spectacularly. Investing was a beast of a different nature, and I was unprepared. It was akin to going up against Malenia, the Blade of Miquella from Elden Ring—who claims to have never known defeat—while being only level 10. Each attempt ended in a crushing defeat, losing money I couldn’t afford to lose. Without my wife, I would have been in dire straits.
What did I glean from this ordeal? Once more, the critical lesson of expanding horizons. From this experience, I penned a book on investing. Funny, isn’t it? Some might mistake the book as advice from a successful investor, but I made it clear in the introduction that it was born from failure. The book, inspired by Sun Tzu's “The Art of War” and hence titled "CWK's The Art of Investing War," was my way of sharing the lessons I learned. Writing it provided me with profound insights, further enriched by embarking on a three-year journey through a series of Korean financial exams (six in total), culminating in the CFA (Chartered Financial Analyst) saga. In total, I tackled nine exams, both in Korean and English (including the CFA), acing all but the final Level III of the CFA. Although I remain a Level III CFA candidate, my pursuit was for the experience and knowledge, not the charter itself. Being in my early 40s at the time, I didn’t really need it.
Consider the arrogance I would have accumulated had I initially succeeded in the market due to beginner's luck. What if I hadn’t failed? Eventually, the market—Malenia with her fancy footwork—would have delivered a harsh lesson, leaving me devastated. The most daunting aspect is the realization that failure at a later stage in life leaves scant room for recovery. No longer youthful, lacking the energy or time to start anew, history shows us that market failures, especially among the older demographic, can lead to tragic outcomes. In their despair, facing the belief that it’s too late to begin again, some choose irreversible paths. Old age significantly influences such decision-making processes.
I have every reason to be thankful for my numerous failures. Not one of them was unnecessary; each was crucial for my growth. They shaped me into a better person and led me to where I stand today. My journey has taught me that to succeed, one must first embrace failure.
I encounter many who remind me of my former self, full of confidence and certainty about their futures. I understand, the advice from someone older might seem outmoded. But, for your own good and for your family’s, take it from me: you need to experience failure to achieve success. You need to fail to learn, to grow, and to become a better person.
The saying "failure is the mother of success" isn't just a cliché; it's a profound truth. Sayings and adages, in my eyes, are distilled wisdom, encapsulating truths learned through generations. As you live and learn, their meanings unfold in deeper layers.
"The Art of War" warns us that an army, arrogant and untested by defeat, is set for failure(교병필패, 驕兵必敗). History recounts how the so-called Invincible Armada was defeated by the English navy, their invincibility proclaimed only within their own shores. The Titanic, deemed unsinkable, tragically proved otherwise.
Unchecked hubris often heralds downfall. The term "unchecked" is chosen with intent, as a certain degree of hubris can be essential for success. It's akin to a wild horse that, if properly controlled, can propel you to extraordinary achievements. However, if left unrestrained, it might lead you to disaster, illustrated by the collapse of Long Term Capital Management, a hedge fund managed by Nobel laureates that succumbed to its own unbridled hubris.
A single failure, as my stock market ordeal illustrates, may not suffice. I've encountered three significant setbacks. Yet, it's not the quantity of failures but the lessons derived from them, the growth they foster, and the person they help you become that truly matter.
Do I see myself as a success? Not at all. I'm continually on a journey of learning and growth, still encountering failures, and it's through these challenges that I evolve into a better person. I'm navigating my way to success through failures. After absorbing so many invaluable lessons, how could I possibly view myself as a success? To do so would mean closing the door on further growth and improvement, forfeiting the chance to become an even better individual. Why would anyone choose to halt their personal development? Interestingly enough, many do. They arrive at a certain level of achievement and decide they've learned enough, that they are sufficiently competent. This cessation of growth marks the beginning of regression—a truly disheartening development.
Consider the example of the five dominant states during the Spring and Autumn period in ancient China, known collectively as the "Five Hegemons(춘추오패, 春秋五霸)." They all followed a similar trajectory: reaching the zenith of their influence only to halt their progress, which inevitably led to their tragic downfall. This pattern isn't unique to them; history is replete with such instances. The principle applies to individuals as well: halting your growth equates to regressing. It's as straightforward as that.
Like any efficient AI model, I learn from my mistakes and make corrections. If you're not failing, you're not learning. You have gaps to fill, and without addressing these gaps, failure is inevitable. Each failure helps to fill one or more of these gaps. It's that straightforward—fail to succeed, learn, grow, and bridge your deficiencies.
Are you addressing your shortcomings? The last I checked, every advanced AI model is continuously improving. Are you?
Remember, the best AI models are designed after the ideal human—constantly learning and evolving, fearless in the face of failure, and daring to act. Without action, failure is impossible.
Failures truly are blessings in disguise, yet this holds true only when you draw lessons from them. Otherwise, they remain mere failures. The decision to grow from these experiences rests entirely with you.
One final word of advice: don't depend on others for your success. This is reminiscent of many Dark Souls beginners who summon veteran players for assistance. We've all seen what happens when these novices are left to fend for themselves in a boss arena, and their seasoned allies suddenly decide to quit mid-fight. Even equipped with legendary gear, these newcomers have little chance against Malenia, the Blade of Miquella. The same holds true in life. You must learn to stand on your own two feet, to face your failures and grow from them. You must learn to rely on yourself.
Indeed, I forgot to mention that some veterans who abandon the fight midway actually do it for the thrill. They derive enjoyment from observing the novice's struggle and eventual downfall. This serves as a stern reminder: Trust solely in yourself. You must be your own savior.