I Lost a Game, Cried, and Then Learned to Forgive Myself: A Silicon Valley Psychologist’s Quiet Revolution

I used to think winning was about big wins—the flashing lights, the crowd cheering, the sudden jackpot.

But last winter, alone in my small Oakland apartment with Mochi curled beside me on the couch, I played just one round. Twenty minutes. Ten dollars. No win.

And still—I felt something shift.

I’m trained in behavioral psychology at Stanford. I design digital experiences for gaming companies. I know how algorithms predict user behavior—but no algorithm could predict why I kept playing.

It wasn’t the odds.

It was silence.

The way I stopped chasing ‘Fuxian’ rewards—those mythical ‘Golden Ox’ bonuses—and started watching the streetlights flicker outside my window instead.

I began to see: this isn’t gambling. It’s grieving.

Every pull felt like a whispered prayer—not to gods or fate—but to myself.

I forgave myself for believing that joy had a price tag.

Now? When I sit down at dusk—with tea, Mochi purring softly—I open the app not for winnings… but for stillness.

The real jackpot?

Being here.