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culled from:www.entrepreneur.com/article
One of my big
failures taught me that your gut reaction can give you a better answer than
pages of analysis.
In 2007, I decided I
wanted to open a hedge fund. It took me eight months of research without a
nibble of client interest before I realized that I had to give up the venture.
I realized afterward that I had been walking down a path my gut initially told
me would not be a profitable one.
I thought there were
plenty of good reasons to open a hedge fund. For one, there may be no higher
paying activity on the planet. After all, hedge funds earn their owners annual
fees of 2 percent of the assets under management and at least 20 percent of the
profits. Top hedge fund managers regularly pull in over $1 billion in annual
compensation.
I thought I could
manage money well. I had enjoyed high returns investing in private companies
during the 1990s. And in 2002, I started an investment newsletter that
recommended three publicly-traded stocks each month that generated
market-beating returns.
I was concerned about
whether there were regulations that would prevent me from starting a hedge
fund. So I met with a friend of a friend who had started one who had a law
degree and he said that I did not need a specific license, but that I might
need one if I attracted enough investors.
So I drafted a prospectus
for my proposed hedge fund and started to consider how I would approach
potential investors. This was the point where my gut started telling me I would
have a really hard time. After all, I had no experience managing other peoples'
money.
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Having followed the
stock market closely since I began appearing on CNBC in 1998, I was convinced
of one part of financial theory: You can't beat the market. All the supposedly
reliable techniques for picking stocks would not help me pick stocks any better
than all the other well-trained analysts who were using the same approach.
I noticed another
investment rule that worked almost perfectly. If a public company beat Wall
Street earnings expectations and raised its forecast each quarter, its stock
would go up. And if it failed in either, its shares would plunge. But this was
a useless rule because the only way to know for sure how these statistics will
turn out each quarter is to have insider information, which I did not have.
In short, any
market-beating investment profits I had earned, I attributed to luck. And when
faced with the prospect that I could be lucky in the future by betting all of
my net worth and other peoples' money, in my gut, I wasn't sure I could not
succeed. Still I pressed on, hopeful that my hard work would pay off.
A few months later,
at a wedding, I was sitting at a table with a former business school classmate
who worked in a fund-of-funds in Manhattan. He was in charge of allocating
money among different hedge funds.
When I told him about
my idea to start a hedge fund, he scoffed. He said that if I had any hope of
starting such a fund, I should invest all of my own money using the proposed
hedge funds' investment strategy. If I could show that my audited returns beat
the market on a risk-adjusted basis, there was a chance I could raise money
from other investors.
That's when I
realized there was no way I would be willing to bet my entire net worth on my
ability to make investment decisions. Why then, should I be willing to risk
other people's money?
My failure to start a
hedge fund highlighted an important lesson: Often your gut reaction is right.
My gut was telling me this hedge fund idea would not work. But I kept pursuing
it.
What I learned was
that a true test of deciding if a business will work is asking yourself whether
you're willing to bet everything you have on it. If that sounds like a crazy
idea, maybe your gut is onto something. I know mine was.
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