I Failed On That Podcast

The Moment I Knew

"Oh, you're the guy from that Bitcoin show."

A friend said this to me at dinner last year. Casual. Not meant as an insult. Just a statement of fact.

But it hit me like a verdict.

I'd spent three years co-hosting a podcast called Quarter Life Capital. 35 episodes. Crypto, AI, markets, careers. And somewhere along the way, I'd become "the Bitcoin guy" — without ever believing in Bitcoin.

That's when I knew something had gone fundamentally wrong.

What We Were Supposed to Build

The podcast started with a mission I still believe in.

Young people aren't being heard. In Canada, the US, across the West — an entire generation is locked out of homeownership, drowning in education debt, watching the rules change faster than they can adapt.

"Get an education and you'll find a job," our parents said. That math doesn't work anymore. "Work hard and get promoted." AI changed that forever.

I wanted to build a show that spoke to this. Real talk about money, careers, and building wealth in a world that wasn't designed for us. The name said it all: Quarter Life Capital. A show about figuring things out in your twenties.

I still think that mission matters.

But the show I ended up making wasn't that show.

The Drift

It happened slowly. Then all at once.

One co-host had been in Bitcoin since 2017. He knew the thesis in and out — the Austrian economics, the "sound money" arguments, the technical case.

He could talk about halving cycles and Lightning Network with genuine conviction. He is a 100% believer. He puts his money where his mouth is. Unlike many other people in the community looking to make a quick buck, he and his team genuinely built technologies in the DLC space they believed would change the world.

I admired that conviction. But I made the mistake of agreeing 100% - which kills the podcast vibe but more importantly - I lost my authenticity.

The other co-host believed too. He'd agree, amplify, push the narrative forward. Two believers in the room.

And me. Nodding along.

Every episode, the gravity shifted a little more. Every macro discussion bent toward crypto. Every conversation about building wealth became a conversation about stacking sats.

It's not the co-host, he genuinely believed in the vision and he's excited to talk about it. It was me, who wasn't able to shift the conversation along. To shift it back to finance, to tech, to SaaS.

I thought my role is more of a host that coordinates, so let George shut up and let everyone else talk more. Which I thought back is just not the right thing to do.

We even put Bitcoin as the show's artwork. To this day, I don't know why I agreed to that.

The Truth I Didn't Say

Here's what I never said on the podcast: I admire the convictions of my co-hosts. However, I don't believe in Bitcoin.

I worked at a Web3 company in 2018. My University of Waterloo alum founded ETH. The start-up was using ETH and hired me likely because I was also from the University of Waterloo. They gave me crypto as a signing bonus. I didn't keep it.

That same year, I watched Bitcoin fall 84% from its peak. I was inside that world, and I didn't believe.

Seven years later, I was nodding along on camera like I'd been converted.

Why?

Because he'd been in since 2017 and I hadn't. Because he spoke with certainty and I had doubts. Because disagreeing felt like it would break something — the friendship, the vibe, the show.

So I stayed quiet. I nodded. I agreed.

For three years.

What I Did To Young People

This is the part that keeps me up at night.

We had young viewers. Not many — 10-20 per episode, maybe 1,000 on some clips. But they were there. People who couldn't afford housing. People living paycheck to paycheck. People looking for guidance.

And what did we tell them?

Buy Bitcoin. Stack sats. Just a little each paycheck. You'll be fine.

I didn't believe that advice. But I said it anyway. Or worse — I let it be said while I nodded along.

What if someone saw those clips and bought at $120,000? It's $60,000 now. Half their money, gone.

Were we helping young people? Or pushing them off a cliff?

I can't have that on my conscience anymore.

My co-host can tolerate these volatilities because he's a professional. The ups and downs can go crazy.

However I told my own dad not to buy it when he wanted to buy some. That made me feel bad for the advice I sent out there.

If I'm not telling my own father to buy the asset, I just didn't have convictions. I don't know why I'd kept it going and not raise my own voice.

What I Actually Believe

Let me be clear. Not for my image — for the record.

On Bitcoin

I don't hate it. I'm not "anti-crypto." Blackrock owns it. There are ETFs. It clearly has a place in the world.

But I don't believe the thesis.

"Digital gold" was the pitch. A store of value. A hedge against chaos. In 2025-2026, we got the perfect test: inflation, banking stress, geopolitical instability. Gold did exactly what gold does — it hit all-time highs above $5,000.

Bitcoin dropped almost 50%.

That's not a store of value. That's a risk asset wearing a costume.

I held Bitcoin briefly. Bought it last year, during the podcast era. Social pressure, not conviction.

One day I was sitting alone, and I felt this anger rise up.

Why am I holding this? It violates everything I believe about investing. No intrinsic value. The price is just whatever the next person will pay.

I sold everything that day. September 2025. I was afraid to tell my co-hosts because I didn't want to upset them.

That's when I knew the whole thing was broken.

On Taxes

I pay my taxes. Full stop.

I'm Canadian. I file my returns. I pay what I owe. Roads, healthcare, infrastructure, safety nets — these things cost money. I'm fine paying my share.

I have no offshore accounts. No UAE bank. No Estonian structures. No Delaware shells. The "capital flight" conversations on that podcast were my observations of where capital is going.

However, I was stupid to think about capital flight. I don't have that much money for capital flight to be worth it for me (genuinely).

I was thinking about different structures, even in my book, I talked about sovereignty quite a lot. However, I think it's misguided for companies under $20M in cash. Maybe that number should be $50M on a reasonable scale.

I have no second passport. I'm not building an escape plan. I live in Canada. I'm building here.

And I don't believe "taxation is theft". Yes, the Bitcoin community championed on it. But Saylor still pays taxes. Blackrock still pays taxes. More importantly:

When it snows, who clears the roads? Your tax dollars. When you wake up without fear of bombs overhead? Your tax dollars funding a military. When you call the police and they actually come? That's your tax dollars.

Calling taxation theft, in my opinion, is an insult to the entire system that lets you sleep safely at night. I think it's an immature position. I should have said that on the podcast. I didn't.

On Capital Flight

For most people, it's cosplay.

The average person trying to build wealth doesn't need a Cayman Islands trust. They need income, savings discipline, and a basic investment strategy. The "sovereignty" stuff is fantasy for people who've watched too many YouTube videos about escaping the system.

Are there legitimate reasons for international structures? Sure. Multinational businesses. Genuine ties to multiple countries. Actual political persecution.

But the way we discussed it on the podcast - and also how I described it in one of my book chapters - as default advice for young people building wealth - was wrong.

It was inauthentic and it was my fault.

Why I Stayed Quiet

Nobody held me hostage. I could have spoken up anytime.

So why didn't I?

I valued the friendship more than the truth.

My co-host was a friend. Disagreeing on air felt like it would damage something I didn't want to damage. That was entirely on me. I'm sure he'd be fine if I disagreed, and he encouraged disagreements. I did not do it.

I thought he knew more than me (and he probably does).

He'd been in since 2017. When someone has years of experience, there's a natural tendency to defer. I assumed his conviction was based on something I hadn't understood yet.

I actually never talked about the crypto/Bitcoin topics in details. I just thought I didn't know enough to talk about it.

It took me years to realize: conviction isn't the same as correctness. My co-host was confident, brave, speaking of his mind. He does not hold back because he genuinely believes what he talked about.

When I was on Quarter Life Capital pod, a lot of times I felt like I'm holding back. If you see the content I made now and compared to before - you'd feel it too.

I just wasn't myself.

Agreeing was easier.

This is the embarrassing one. Nodding costs nothing in the moment. Saying "interesting point" is painless. Stopping a conversation to say "I disagree" is hard.

I chose comfort over honesty. For three years.

The Numbers Don't Lie

Quarter Life Capital averaged 10-20 views per episode.

Three years of work. Dozens of hours recording, editing, publishing.

Nobody cared.

I blamed the algorithm. The format. The promotion. 'Podcast doesn't have algorithms! It's way harder!'

But looking back, I think the audience could feel it.

When you're (me specifically) performing — saying things you half-believe, filtering yourself for social dynamics — people pick up on it. They can't name it, but they feel it.

Authenticity has a frequency. So does performance.

What Happened When I Stopped Performing

When I started posting my own content — my name, my views, completely unfiltered — everything changed.

3 million views in two weeks. 30,000+ followers. Engagement I never got in three years of podcasting.

Same person. Same brain. Same topics.

The only difference was honesty.

The gap between 10 views and 3 million wasn't intelligence or production quality. It was truth.

When I stopped filtering for the room, people listened. When I was performing, they scrolled past.

That lesson cost me three years. I won't forget it.

What I Learned

Groupthink is comfortable but expensive.

Three years of nodding, and suddenly you're "the Bitcoin guy" to everyone who knows you.

Your voice only works when it's yours.

The filtered version got 10 views. The honest version got millions. People are starving for voices that actually believe what they're saying.

Conviction isn't correctness.

Someone can be passionate, articulate, and certain — and still be wrong. Confidence is not evidence.

Friendship that requires agreement isn't friendship.

If a relationship needs you to abandon your judgment, it's not worth protecting. The real ones can handle "I think you're wrong."

My co-host would have been perfectly fine if I disagreed. In fact he would like me to. But I just didn't because agreeing was easy. I also didn't do my research in the space to give meaningful disagreements. I thought I would look petty.

Changing your mind isn't weakness.

Pretending the clips don't exist — that would be weakness.

For The Record

The podcast was its own thing. My co-hosts had their own companies, their own projects, their own paths. I had mine. We came together once a week to record.

I wasn't involved in what they were building outside the show. No investments. No advisory roles. No business partnerships.

I genuinely enjoyed every minute of it. We are not in each other's business, and that's what made it stick. However, my self-censor was the main issue.

What's Next

The last episode I recorded was June 2025. I'm not going back.

I'm starting something new with John — someone I've worked with for four years. Someone who tells me when I'm wrong. Someone I can disagree with without the relationship collapsing.

This time, the show will reflect what I actually believe. No filtering. No deferring. No performing.

I'm also building Freedom — a program helping founders build businesses they own 100%. Not startups designed to be sold. Just real businesses that generate cash and belong to the people who built them.

And Resurrection — helping existing businesses disrupted by AI find their next chapter instead of dying slowly.

Both came from the clarity I found when I stopped pretending.

If You've Seen The Old Clips

Yeah, that's me. I'm not going to pretend otherwise.

But that version of George prioritized keeping the peace over telling the truth. That version thought friendship required agreement. That version let someone else's conviction override his own doubt.

This version knows better.

I'm not proud of how I showed up on that podcast. I'm grateful for what it taught me.

And I'm done performing.

The growth goes public. The voice stays mine.

George, February 2026