To The Moon

Black Friday arrived like it does every year—flashing banners, endless notifications, and the subtle, irresistible pull of “limited-time deals.” My phone buzzed with alerts from Amazon, Shopee, Lazada. I opened each app like a kid in a candy store, my eyes scanning hundreds of items, my finger swiping through discounts and promotions. I added more things to my carts than I can count: headphones, gadgets, a few books, maybe even something I didn’t need but couldn’t resist.

And yet… I didn’t buy a single thing.

I found myself thinking about 12.12, the next big sale day. Maybe the discounts would be better then. Maybe patience would reward me. So all those carts, stuffed with potential purchases, sat idle, digital tombstones of my indecision.

The same pattern is true in the stock market, or at least in my own little corner of it. I have watchlists overflowing with companies I admire, companies I believe in, companies that make sense fundamentally. Yet, when their prices dip, I hesitate. Compared to historical valuations, I don’t feel like the shares are really “on sale.” They’re good companies, yes—but good doesn’t always mean cheap. So I wait. I watch. I think. And sometimes I do nothing at all.

Black Friday, in that sense, becomes a mirror of investing. The psychology is eerily similar. Both require patience, both tempt impulsive decisions, and both test the tension between desire and rationality. Add the sense of scarcity—limited-time deals, market dips that might vanish—and the pressure intensifies. My shopping apps and my brokerage accounts feel like parallel universes of temptation and restraint.

It’s curious, too, how historical perspective changes behavior. I know the pattern: after Black Friday, prices sometimes rebound, or 12.12 brings better deals. I also know stocks rarely deliver bargains perfectly aligned with my expectations. The market doesn’t schedule discounts for human convenience. Some bargains are fleeting, some are illusions, and some are obvious only in hindsight. And just like I hesitate to hit “Buy Now” on an app, I hesitate on the “Buy” button in my brokerage account.

The thing is, this hesitation isn’t inherently bad. It’s a reflection of how I perceive value—whether in products or in shares. I’ve learned that not everything that drops in price is truly a bargain, and not every discount is worth acting on. There’s a discipline in waiting, in observing, in letting time and context work their magic. And yet, there’s a subtle ache in missing opportunities—watching items disappear from carts, watching stock prices rebound, realizing that indecision has a cost.

So here I am, carts full of potential purchases, watchlists full of promising stocks, and a mixture of curiosity, restraint, and impatience swirling in my mind. I don’t know if 12.12 will be better. I don’t know if a stock will drop to the level that finally convinces me to buy. But I do know this: the tension, the waiting, and the small internal battles between desire and judgment are part of the game.

Maybe that’s the real lesson of Black Friday and the market: the thrill isn’t just in catching discounts or dips. It’s in observing, in weighing, in knowing that value isn’t always obvious, and that patience—even when frustrating—can be its own kind of reward.