I want to talk tonight about something I do almost every day — and don’t worry, I’m not here to talk about charts or stocks. I’m really here to talk about discipline, loss, and starting over, because Masonry prepared me for those things long before I ever realized it would. If I had to explain what I do in the market to a three-year-old, I’d say this:
“Every day, people argue about what something is worth. Sometimes they panic, sometimes they get excited, sometimes they yell. I don’t try to win the argument — I just try not to get hurt.”
And honestly, some days the market behaves exactly like a three-year-old — no explanation, no logic, and if you try to reason with it, you’re already in trouble.
I don’t predict the future. I don’t need to be right every day. I just show up, look at what’s happening right now, and make small, controlled decisions. And before the market even opens, my real job has already begun. I have to strike away expectations. Yesterday doesn’t matter. A big win doesn’t matter. A bad loss doesn’t matter. The market does not remember me, and it definitely does not care how I feel about it.
I’ve learned — sometimes the expensive way — that the market is very effective at reminding you that humility is not optional. It’s tuition.
I trade with rules. Simple ones. How much I’m allowed to risk. When I must stop. When I must walk away. Acting according to those rules matters more than being right. A reckless decision that makes money isn’t skill — it’s luck. And luck is a terrible long-term plan. The moment I abandon my rules because I’m excited or frustrated, I’m no longer working — I’m reacting.
Some days I win. Some days I lose. And Masonry taught me something critical here: I am not my last outcome. A good day doesn’t elevate me, and a bad day doesn’t define me. At least, that’s the goal. I try to meet both days on the level.
I’ve also come to realize that the way I operate in the market now mirrors the way Masonry progresses a man through its degrees.
When I first started, I was very much an Entered Apprentice. Everything was new, loud, and confusing. I was learning the tools, but I didn’t yet understand how dangerous they could be if used without restraint. I thought more effort meant better results — more trades, more opinions, more screen time. And like any Entered Apprentice, I learned pretty quickly that awareness comes before mastery, and that mistakes are part of being properly prepared.
As time went on, I became more like a Fellowcraft. I started to understand why things worked the way they did. I stopped reacting to every movement and began to study structure, proportion, and balance. I learned that progress isn’t about speed — it’s about alignment. That more knowledge doesn’t mean more action. It means better judgment. That’s when discipline started to matter more than excitement.
Now, on my best days — and I don’t pretend I’m always there — I try to operate like a Master Mason. Not because I know everything, but because I finally know what not to do. I respect limits. I accept loss without drama. I understand that control isn’t about domination — it’s about restraint. And I’ve learned that the real work isn’t predicting outcomes, it’s governing myself.
That perspective changed how I deal with loss. When I lose — really lose — I don’t sit there staring at screens. I shut everything down, and I take a walk around the block. No phone. No charts. Just movement. That walk is my way of laying down the working tools for the day. Because if I carry frustration into the next decision, I’m no longer exercising judgment — I’m letting emotion drive.
I’m also not trying to be a hero in the market. Heroes make great stories — and terrible account statements.
There’s a baseball analogy I love. Mariano Rivera, arguably the greatest closer who ever lived, didn’t come back the next day throwing harder because he blew a save. He didn’t try to make up for yesterday. He showed up with the same pitch, the same routine, the same calm. And here’s the part that matters to me — the last game he ever pitched, he lost. But no one remembers him for that game.
That’s the mindset I try to bring every morning. Yesterday is over. The gate opens again today. Fresh head. Same discipline.
The market has taught me many lessons — mostly the same ones, repeatedly — until I finally decided to listen.
Masonry didn’t teach me how to trade. It taught me how to control myself. How to accept loss without shame. How to begin again without resentment. And whether we labor in stone, in business, in family, or in finance, those are the tools that actually matter.
The market isn’t moral or immoral — it’s a mirror. It reflects impatience, discipline, pride, and humility with brutal honesty. Masonry prepared me to look into that mirror without flinching — and to start each day on the level, with the gavel in hand and the compasses set.
David S Toussie
Editor’s note: The above article was presented in lecture form at the Abravanel Lodge No. 1116 in New York. The illustration for this article was generated by AI.
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