Look, it’s not that I don’t want to talk about my alternative investments. It’s that there’s not much good to talk about. And rather than drag you through the five stages of portfolio grief with me, I’ve been channeling my energy into something more useful: writing comprehensive guides about what crypto actually looks like in the real world.
Because here’s the thing—while crypto isn’t touching every area of your life, it does bubble up occasionally. You’ll see Bitcoin ETFs in your 401(k) options. Your nephew will ask about Dogecoin at Thanksgiving. That one local pizza place will have a “We Accept Bitcoin” sticker that’s been there since 2017 and has never been used. So even if you’re not actively trading, it helps to understand the landscape.
But since you asked for updates (or I assumed you wanted them) on my alternative investment portfolio, let me give you the abbreviated tour of my financial purgatory:
The Crypto Coin Collection: A Study in Bad Timing
I met with my crypto guru last week. (Yes, I have a crypto guru. Yes, I’m aware this is already a red flag.) After completing his “Advanced Crypto” class last fall—which cost money and somehow didn’t include the lesson “maybe don’t buy at local tops”—I purchased several individual crypto coins.
The plan was simple: if the market hit the levels most analysts were predicting, my crypto reserves would be well-stocked by now. I’d be writing this from my yacht, dictating to an assistant while sipping something expensive and unnecessary.
Instead, during our meeting, the guru suggested my best move was to buy more AVAX (Avalanche, for the uninitiated). His pitch was compelling: I could dollar-cost-average my position, bringing down my average purchase price. This is the investment equivalent of “it’s not a loss if you don’t sell” mixed with “throw good money after bad and maybe math will save you.”
So I bought more AVAX.
The coin promptly dropped over a dollar.
This is now the pattern with all my coins, with one glorious exception: the ETH I bought near what I thought was the bottom. (It was the previous bottom. Crypto has multiple bottoms, like those Russian nesting dolls, except each doll is filled with regret.)
Liquidity Pools: The Silent Treatment
You know what’s worse than losing money? Not even getting the opportunity to lose money actively.
Both of my liquidity pools—one heavy on ETH, one heavy on SOL—are currently out of range. For those unfamiliar with DeFi terminology, “out of range” means:
- I earn NO FEES
- I get NO appreciation
- I just sit there watching the value fluctuate while collecting exactly zero dollars
It’s like being a landlord whose property is in a neighborhood where no one wants to live, except the house is made of imaginary internet money.
The silver lining? My gurus are also caught in the same trap. Misery loves company, and apparently company loves overconfident price predictions. We’re all just sitting here, twiddling our thumbs, waiting for the market to move back into range so we can start collecting fees again.
When that happens—if that happens—it’ll be glorious. (Fingers crossed. Prayers to the crypto gods. Sacrifices to the blockchain. Whatever it takes.)
The Trading Bot: One Year of Creative Ways to Lose Money
Ah yes, my trading bot. That autonomous creature with a mind of its own and an apparent vendetta against my bank account.
It recently passed its first anniversary with one of its trades. Not because the trade was good—because it’s been open for a full year. This is the equivalent of going on a first date that never ends. You’re still at the restaurant. The waiter has brought you seventeen checks. You’ve been here so long the menu has changed seasons twice.
Not wanting to be outdone by its own incompetence, the bot decided it needed either more trades or a whole harem. It has since stacked up an impressive level of drawdown—which is Wall Street speak for “you’re losing money, but we’re going to use a technical term so it sounds less bad.”
Since “drawdown” translates directly to “additional reasons for my spouse to question my life choices,” I’ve chosen not to air my grief publicly. Not talking about it at all seems to be the better approach. Out of sight, out of mind. Except it’s not out of sight because I compulsively check it every morning. But I’ve stopped mentioning it, which is basically the same as healing.
The Futures Bot: At Least This One Uses Fake Money
One often-unmentioned alternative in my portfolio is a futures bot I have running on a simulator account. “SIM” meaning “not my real money,” which means I’m not too bothered by its inconsistency in the same way I’m not bothered by my performance in video games.
The good news: this bot opens trades and closes them the same day. I don’t have to agonize for months over how deep any losses might be. When it has a bad day, I can shrug and think, “Glad I chose not to put real money in that one!” When it has a good day, I can fantasize about what could have been while knowing full well I’d have pulled the plug the first time it had a losing week.
It’s like having a relationship in the Metaverse. All the emotional highs and lows, none of the real-world consequences.
So Why Am I So Skeptical of Alternative Investments?
The headlines above are my inspiration.
Every time I write a cautionary blog post about trading bots, or deconstruct the fee structures of crypto platforms, or explain why “guaranteed returns” in DeFi should make you run screaming, I’m writing from experience. Not the experience of someone who got rugged on a sketchy platform or lost their seed phrase in a boating accident.
I’m writing from the experience of someone who did everything “right”—took the classes, followed the gurus, diversified across strategies—and still ended up with a portfolio that looks like a murder board in a true crime documentary. Red strings everywhere, no clear resolution, lots of questions about judgment.
Why Do I Write About This At All?
Am I doing penance for my investment sins? Maybe.
Am I just a crypto-realist who serves as a counterweight to all the hype that precedes every meme coin spike? Possibly.
Or maybe I just can’t stand watching people get sold the same dreams I bought into, knowing that for most people, those dreams end with a spreadsheet full of red numbers and a deep suspicion of anyone who uses the phrase “passive income.”
Whatever I am, I’m here to evangelize to those who think crypto and trading bots are always rainbows over El Dorado.
Here’s some news that’s hard to deliver: neither rainbows nor El Dorado has anything to do with gold.
The rainbows are marketing. El Dorado is a myth. And the gold? Well, the gold went into someone else’s pocket—probably the person who sold you the shovel.
The Bottom Line
My alternative investment portfolio is currently teaching me expensive lessons about:
- The difference between backtested returns and live trading
- Why “dollar-cost averaging” is often just “averaging down” with better branding
- How liquidity pools can be illiquid in the ways that matter most
- Why simulation accounts exist (hint: so you don’t do this with real money)
These lessons cost real dollars. But if writing about them helps even one person avoid buying AVAX at the top, or setting up a liquidity pool right before a volatility spike, or trusting a trading bot with their rent money, then at least my losses weren’t completely pointless.
They were mostly pointless. But not completely.
And in the world of alternative investments, “mostly pointless” is sometimes the best you can hope for.
Part of my ongoing series on crypto reality checks and investment cautionary tales. This is not financial advice—it’s financial therapy, and I’m the patient.
For more painful honesty, see my Bitcoin Ownership Guide series and the Trading Bot Reality Check. Misery loves company, and apparently company loves reading about other people’s bad trades.
