There's a point where your employers have no control over your time. The incentives aren't aligned. It was 2018 and we were playing the Packers. Mid-game, I had personally bought Bitcoin during halftime, before we were called out the tunnel. Yet some reason, in running back out to the game I thought about the field of life. There was a TV break. I looked toward the suites. I knew the team owners were up there watching us, ensuring that the billion dollar NFL product was running. I knew the product well. It had fed me and pushed me to heights I couldn't have dreamed of, but now I saw it for what it was: a game. A productized game. "Mr. Bitcoin!" one of the opposing players called out to me. It was a slight moment, but I knew the fourth wall had broken. We weren't competitors anymore. We saw each other as humans. I looked over for a moment but was still fixated on the suites at the top of the stadium. We spoke about money and how Bitcoin would change the trajectory of how players thought about their financial life. We spoke about how the team owners understood the value of owning an asset, even if it was us. Standing on that field, looking up at those suites, realizing I was both participant and product in someone else's entertainment empire. Bitcoin had given me something they couldn't control: optionality. Financial sovereignty. The ability to see the game from outside the game. When that Packers player called me "Mr. Bitcoin," it wasn't trash talk. It was recognition. Recognition that some of us were building escape routes from a system that treated us like assets on a balance sheet. We were still playing the game, still giving everything we had. But we were also planning for what came after. Planning for optionality. That's what Bitcoin does. It doesn't just change your money. It changes your relationship to power. To time and choice.