Author: Mike McCready

  • Trading Can Be Like Learning to Ride a Bike

    Trading Can Be Like Learning to Ride a Bike

    You can read every book ever written on how to ride a bike.
    You can study the mechanics, watch slow-motion videos, break down the physics of balance and torque…
    But the first time you actually get on a bike?

    You’re going to fall.

    Trading is exactly like that.

    You think, “I’ve got this. I’ve been watching charts for weeks. I understand support and resistance. I even know what a fair value gap is.”

    Then you place a real trade.
    You watch it turn red.
    And suddenly—
    You realize you don’t know anything about balance.

    Because just like a bike, trading requires feel.
    Micro-adjustments. Confidence through wobbles. A relationship with risk that can’t be taught—only lived.

    Enter: The Training Wheels

    For most of us, that means a mentor.
    Someone who’s been through the crashes and can help you stay upright long enough to build some muscle memory.

    They’ll tell you when to brake, when to pedal, when to coast, and when to get the hell off the sidewalk.
    They’ll show you what not to do.
    And if they’re good, they won’t just hand you a strategy—they’ll help you build your own balance.

    But even with training wheels, you’re going to tip over.
    Your stops will get hit. You’ll fumble an entry. You’ll panic, hold too long, exit too early.
    That’s not failure. That’s learning to ride.

    The Most Dangerous Phase?

    When the training wheels come off, and you think you’ve got it figured out.
    You get overconfident. You start taking corners too fast. You forget the market is still the pavement—and it doesn’t care how good you felt yesterday.

    You’re still building reflexes.
    Still calibrating judgment.
    Still earning the ability to stay upright without thinking about every tiny move.

    But eventually—if you stick with it—you stop wobbling.
    You ride clean. You navigate with confidence. You feel when something’s off.
    You even start to enjoy the ride.

    And that’s when you know:

    You’re not trying to learn trading anymore.
    You’re just… trading.

  • I Am My Edge

    I Am My Edge

    People are always chasing “edge” in trading.

    They want the secret indicator. The right signal.

    They think somewhere out there — maybe in a Discord, maybe behind a paywall — there’s a method that will let them finally win.

    But here’s what I’ve learned:

    The edge isn’t out there.

    It’s in here.

    It’s not the strategy. It’s not the setup.

    It’s not the candle pattern or the moving average or the Renko box that whispered “buy me.”

    I am my edge.

    Because give two traders the same chart, the same level, the same conditions — and one will walk away with profit, the other with pain.

    Why? Because edge isn’t the strategy. It’s the person using it.

    It’s how I wait.

    It’s how I enter.

    It’s how I manage the trade when it goes my way — and how I manage myself when it doesn’t.

    It’s the risk I take.

    The discipline I enforce.

    The self-awareness I build when I walk away from B setups, even when I’m bored and hungry for action.

    I’ve spent years thinking the edge was some external advantage.

    Some tool I hadn’t discovered.

    Some technique I hadn’t mastered.

    But now I know the truth:

    The real edge is how consistent I can be —

    when the market isn’t.

    It’s how I respond to chaos.

    How I stay calm when the dollar’s sliding, gold’s snapping, and my last trade just clipped my stop by a pip and reversed 200 in the right direction.

    (It’s fine. I’m fine.)

    My edge is knowing that I only need a few good setups a day.

    That the rest is noise.

    That discipline isn’t boring — it’s lethal.

    So no, I don’t need a crystal ball.

    I don’t need to know what gold will do next.

    I just need to stay locked in long enough for the opportunity to show itself —

    and sharp enough to act when it does.

    I am my edge.

    And if I forget that —

    I lose it.