I’ve played poker professionally (and profitably) for 13 years, and yes you read the title correctly. I moved to Las Vegas with $4000 dollars in my pocket in 2010 (after taking a poker hiatus for a few years to pursue other goals). I’ve made a career of it since then earning a comfortable living with the daily freedom I wouldn’t have even thought possible when I was considering careers. There’s just one problem really:
I CAN’T QUIT.
None of the foremost reasons are the usual ones for addicted gamblers. I’ll start from the beginning (well one of the beginnings). When I first decided to make poker a daily activity for profit, I started in Los Angeles at Commerce Casino. I’d originally moved to Los Angeles to pursue a career in music. You can see/hear a couple of forays here (yes, I wrote and performed the vocals/instruments):
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0gIjSJO1BAA&t=
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yEUiGbsA-DQ
Anyway, once I realized I could win in poker, all I wanted was more money. What started as a side-job to make sure I could survive in Los Angeles became what I dedicated every minute of the day to. Playing 20+ hour sessions was common. Running math on hands I’d played, or could play, for hours at home was a constant. I’d scribble out probability math on the backs of $500 meal receipts while stuck in LA traffic. And I was winning. A LOT.
And I was winning. A LOT.
I started at the smallest game in the room. In a matter of months, I’d started regularly playing the biggest game in the room, 20-40 No Limit Holdem. A normal human in functioning society would be thinking of what he could do with all the money he’d accumulated. My quixotic reaction was disappointment. I was actually disappointed that there was no bigger game to play. In retrospect this should have been the first warning sign. I had quickly abandoned my consideration of poker as “only a means to an end” when it appeared I could make what seemed like infinite money.
I was actually disappointed that there was no bigger game to play.
And I actually thought I could make infinite money. My average meal with a girlfriend and a couple friends cost $500. I’d go on shopping sprees when bored. My internet searches were filled with full size arcade video games that I’d never use. I couldn’t spend it fast enough. The feeling I was chasing wasn’t the thrill involved in the riskiness of gambling that most addicted to it struggle with. I found myself envious of my poorer self. For too long my only meaning had come from playing bigger and bigger games. Now I felt lost in the real world where the purpose of money was to improve people’s lives by incentive or generosity.
I found myself envious of my poorer self.
Eventually, I got my wish. I’d spent myself broke and mourned a couple years away trying to fathom what I did with my life. One day I decided to try it all over again and drove to Vegas with $4000 to a month-to-month leased house. I committed to stopping at a $50,000 bankroll to use that money to try to find my way in music again. I played every day for 12-16 hours per day. I’m not exaggerating. EVERY DAY. There is no harder easy work than sitting at a poker table testing your patience and game theory constantly. The bad luck no longer phased me. When I wasn’t playing poker, I was in the gym. I felt better than I ever had in my life so when I accumulated $50,000 I made the same fatal mistake. I thought “I feel great. I’m doing well. I’m enjoying myself. How can I quit now?”
I started making justifications to wait till I had $60,000 then 75,000 then 100,000. All these goals came and went, and I still never went to do anything else with my life. Gambling for a living seems risky, but it had become the most comfortable security blanket for me. What would I do if I had to take risks for a living, I wondered? There’s no guarantee I would ever be successful in music. There’s no guarantee I would ever find a “career” if I went back to college.
If I ever needed a pick-me-up there was no better feeling than going out to outsmart people for a few thousand dollars.
As I tried to ween myself off of poker I found another manifestation of the addiction. Have a bad day? Maybe you hit the gym harder or zone out in the TV or a video game? If I ever needed a pick-me-up there was no better feeling than going out to outsmart people for a few thousand dollars. Failing in real life? I could head back into the poker room and realize I still got it. I tried it all. Playing bigger than I could afford. Playing smaller than I cared about. I used to try to win without looking at my cards. And it worked. I won consistently, but I did have a problem. I continued to postpone real life in favor of this microcosm of life that I had control over.
So I give this warning to everyone who considers poker as a career. The game creates nothing. It is worse than zero-sum. A transaction occurs between two people where nothing is created. Games are fine, and games can actually teach us a lot about life; but I HIGHLY suggest poker as only a means to an end or controlled distraction. What started as a means to gain financial freedom to actually effect the moral sum of the world may turn into an addiction to keep you from participating in life. Poker is not a career. Set yourself a limited term goal, make money, get out, get a life.