If you asked me which trade taught me the most this year, I’d say Wendy’s (WEN). Yes, Wendy’s. It started simply enough: I bought shares at $10.98 and thought, “Seems reasonable. The company is fine. Burgers aren’t going anywhere. What could possibly go wrong?”
Wendy's (WEN)
A few months later, Wendy’s was down to around $8.29. And my reaction? Picture me staring at the screen like it had personally betrayed me, whispering, “Really? You’re doing this to me?” Once I calmed down, I reminded myself—very rationally, like an adult—that the company wasn’t broken. People were still lining up for Frostys, Baconators etc.
Fundamentally, nothing had changed except the number on my screen and my blood pressure. So what did I do? Absolutely nothing. I sat there, clutching my coffee like it was emotional support, convincing myself that “doing nothing” was a well-thought-out strategy.
And this is where the real lessons began.
Lesson one: patience. Some things just can’t be rushed—like long lines at Disneyland, or apparently, waiting for Wendy’s stock to move in your favor. I caught myself talking to the stock like it was a pet: “Come on, buddy, behave. I believe in you.” Over time, I realized that patience isn’t about sitting quietly; it’s about practicing a weird mix of hope and denial. I started narrating the stock’s journey in my head: “And today, Wendy’s dips slightly… will it rebound? Tune in tomorrow!”.
Lesson 2: Ignore the noise. The stock market is a circus. Headlines screaming doom, analysts tweeting their predictions, random strangers on the internet swearing they have the secret sauce—none of it mattered. Wendy’s taught me that I don’t have to react to every beep and alert. I imagined the chaos as a loud, obnoxious neighbor banging pots while I sat in my apartment calmly eating fries. Sometimes, the best move is to just block out the noise and focus on what I actually know. And what I knew was simple: Wendy’s is still selling burgers. That’s it. That’s the news I needed.
Lesson 3: Optimism is sneaky, but powerful. Yes, the 52-week high was $16.66, which is way above the $10.98 I paid. I could’ve sulked, but instead, I looked for the little bright spots. At least I didn’t buy at the high. That tiny mental victory felt bigger than it should have. Suddenly, optimism wasn’t about predicting the future—it was about choosing how I framed the present. Every dip became a story of “well, at least it’s not worse,” and every small uptick felt like a tiny personal celebration. I started imagining that Wendy’s stock and I were on a hiking trip together: sometimes slipping on the rocks, sometimes enjoying the view, but always moving forward.
Lesson four: perspective matters. Treating every tick of the market like a crisis is exhausting. Wendy’s taught me to step back and take a breath—the company is still running and people are still buying Frostys and Baconators. Those small pauses helped me watch the ups and downs without panicking. I didn’t control the swings, but I learned to move with them instead of letting them move me. Holding the stock became less stressful and more… tolerable.
By the end of 2025, I realized Wendy’s had taught me something unexpected: trading isn’t just about making money. It’s about navigating uncertainty, noticing the little wins, and seeing a stock less as a number and more as a story you experience. I didn’t make a fortune. There were no fireworks. But I learned, and I got a lot better at ignoring noise while sipping coffee and treating every dip like a plot twist rather than a disaster.
So here’s to Wendy’s: the slow, stubborn, surprisingly patient teacher of 2025. You didn’t make me rich, but you made me a better observer, a calmer thinker, and yes, someone who can survive a little chaos without losing their mind. And that feels like enough… especially if there’s still a Baconator waiting somewhere along the way.
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