All-In To All-Out
How I burned out for good in poker and discovered an important lesson
Hey friends,
Yesterday, Paul Portesi retweeted this video on Twitter.
He writes, “Money comes at a cost. It’s not about the money it is what it does emotionally to you. It’s the emotional swings.”
Speaking from experience, I wholeheartedly agree. The emotional swings in poker was always quite volatile and towards the end I was beginning to crack.
Recently, a few people have asked me if I will ever make a return to poker. I don’t think I will. When I quit last year, I was determined never to return to it for a living. Perhaps someday, I will find the desire to play for fun again, but for now, I’m determined to move on.
Here’s the story of when I finally said enough.
“Please fucking hold,” I whisper.
I was eight hours deep into my online poker session and one card away from losing $50,000 for the day.
This was my first shot at the biggest game I had played in my career (¥50/¥100/¥200 (¥100) RMB. The equivalent to $50/$100). Yet only 30 minutes into the session, everything was going wrong. Lady luck struck against me twice, and I found myself already down $10,000.
My brain felt the tremors of rage, and anger crept over my face. But instead of walking away and calming down, the devil on my shoulder whispered, “Look at how soft this game is, we can’t walk away just yet.”
So I loaded up more money and continued playing. Yet lady luck persisted to deal me blow after blow. The rational part of me begged to take a break and reset. But I ignored his pleas, gritted my teeth and dug my heels in. If I walked away now, I was guaranteed a sure loss. And my mother taught me never to give up. I was going to fight for every poker chip. I was going to stand my ground. I was going to war.
As I sat there in quiet rage, my instincts heightened. I could sense the smallest deviation in table dynamics. I watched, analysed and took notes on weaknesses I saw in each opponent. Carefully crafting my response to their strategy and counter-strategy. I was relentless in my aggression – winning all the small and medium-sized pots. But lady luck continued to infuriate me and ensured I lost the big ones. One step forward, two steps back. This was the dance she made me do.
Every time I lost a big pot, my mental game felt like it took a right hook to the face – Stumbling all over the place, desperately trying to re-orient itself to fight back.
I had lost all sense of time, but eventually, I checked my results. The line on my graph pointed down towards -$25,000. How the hell was I going to get out of this? This was going to be a monumentous task to get back to zero. So I readjusted my expectations and told myself, “I’ll be happy with a -$15k loss”
But I was beginning to tire. I had not eaten anything all day, and I could feel the energy inside of me wane. My brain felt frazzled. Not only was I not fighting for pots anymore, but I could no longer sniff out the bluffs correctly. The feeling of flow started to stall and stutter. "How long can I keep going?" I thought to myself.
As I think about how to boost my energy levels, I am dealt K♣️K♠️ in the small blind.
The player on the button raises to ¥1000. My heart jumps. I re-raise to ¥4500, and he calls. The fuzzy yet familiar feeling of adrenaline surges into my bloodstream.
Flop: A♣️A♦️K♥️
Fuck yes, I’ve got a full house.
I bet ¥3500, and the button calls.
Turn: 7♥️
I bet ¥13,000. The button raises my bet to ¥50,000.
My eyes widen. My breathing increases. My heart pounds. And my brain scrambles to stay sane.
Holy shit, is this it? Is this how I get out of my hole for the day?
But I can’t think rationally. The best long-term move is to call, but the only thing I want to do is go all-in.
I shove all my chips into the middle. The button snap calls.
My heart drops.
A snap call could be very bad. He could have a better full house than me, and I could be drawing almost dead (2% - K♦️ the only card to save me).
But he has A♥️5♠️.
“Please fucking hold,” I whisper.
I feel sick. I’m ahead, but he still can win. He has A♠️, 7♠️, 7♣️, 7♦️, 5♥️, 5♦️, 5♣️ he can hit to win the hand.
86% of the time, I'll win this hand. But after being on the receiving end of lady luck's shenanigans, my brain fears the worst. All I can imagine is the pot going the other way. My mental game is dangling by a thread. If I lose this hand, I will be down $50,000, and the loss will take the title of ‘biggest losing day’. I need to win this hand to spare my sanity.
The river card flashes onto the screen. I can see it, but it doesn’t register. The chips slide across the table, and the amount in front of me increases.
I won.
All that hard work finally paid off in one single hand. I was out of the hole. I end my session and feel as though I can breathe again. I sit there in disbelief. I’ve somehow made a small profit for the day.
I’m all too familiar with these types of swingy sessions, but this time something feels off.
My eyes begin to water. I shut my eyes like a dam to stop the tears from flowing out. I can feel my mind fighting itself, trying not to break down. As the sun dragged itself out of my room, I kept on asking myself, “What the hell is this all for? Why am I doing any of this? Is this even worth it?”
But my brain answered back with silence.
Finding Enough
It’s been over two years since that hand played out. That was the day I mentally checked out of poker. I tried everything to revive the spark — taking a month off and moving down to midstakes to regain some sanity. But the burnout was too big. I didn’t quit until a year later because I was scared to let go of my poker identity.
Looking back, I had lost myself in poker.
I sacrificed my happiness for more money, thinking that would make me happier. But when I won more, it never felt enough. So I kept on pushing, telling myself I'll feel happier at the next milestone. But I didn't define my enough and defaulted to more. The higher I moved up the stakes in poker, the bigger the cost to my emotional sanity — A debt that I’m still paying to this day.
One year on, and I find it hard to believe I was insane enough to do so.
Yes, money is important, and I still want to achieve a level of wealth to alleviate my worries. But I know now to think longer term and say "no" to financial opportunities that could be detrimental to me and "yes" to the things that make me feel alive.
— Jason Vu Nguyen
For someone who only has a vague idea of what is involved with playing poker, you brought the game to life. High stakes drama, indeed.
Funnily enough, this brought to mind some of my adrenaline junky friends. Same sort of compulsive drive. I know. I've been there. I remember a helicopter pilot who ferried skiers to the steeps and deep, and who was also a guide in Alaska, saying that he was getting out because you can only play the odds for so long before the mountain eats you -- one way or the other.