The Crossroads

You're not invisible. Not exactly. You have some presence—a modest following, maybe. Some posts that got traction. People who recognize your name, at least in certain circles.

But you're not captured either. Not yet. The freeze hasn't fully set in. You still feel like yourself when you post. The gap between who you are and who you're performing hasn't become unbearable.

You're at the crossroads. And you're trying to figure out which way to go.

Grow it? You could lean in. Post more. Optimize harder. Try to become a god.

Burn it down? You could step back. Go anonymous. Return to the freedom of being unknown.

Stay here? Maybe this middle ground is fine. Maybe you don't need to choose.

The problem is: the crossroads isn't stable. The internet doesn't let you hover. You're either becoming more visible or fading into noise. The algorithm demands momentum.

So the question isn't whether to choose. It's which choice is actually yours.

The Validation Problem (From Here)

Before you can choose, you need to understand what you're choosing between.

The reason this feels so hard is that you can't trust the signals. The same metrics that would tell you "you're making it" also reward dogs performing godhood. The same invisibility that feels like failure might be the freedom real gods remember fondly.

From the crossroads, you can see both paths—and neither one looks reliable.

The gods you can see might be genuine, or they might be performers who figured out the game. The dogs you can see (the ones visible enough to notice) might be biding their time strategically, or they might be stuck in permanent avoidance.

You can't tell. And neither can anyone else.

This is the validation problem as lived experience. Not a theoretical framework. The actual sensation of standing at a fork where the signs might all be lies.

Dogs Performing Godhood

Here's what you're afraid of, probably: that if you grow, you'll become one of them.

The people who seem successful but hollow. The influencers with huge audiences and nothing to say. The thought leaders whose thoughts are just repackaged consensus. The gods who aren't gods—just dogs who learned to perform.

You've seen them. You can feel the emptiness behind the polish. And you're terrified that the path to visibility necessarily becomes the path to that.

It doesn't. But the fear isn't irrational.

The platforms reward performance. The algorithm can't tell the difference between substance and confidence. The path of least resistance, once you start optimizing, is toward hollow godhood.

Avoiding that fate requires intention. Specifically:

• Know what you're actually offering. Not what gets engagement. What's real. What you'd still believe if nobody was watching. What you'd still do if it got no likes. That's the seed. Everything else is negotiable.
• Keep spaces that aren't optimized. Anonymous accounts. Private communities. Offline relationships. Places where the algorithm can't see, where you can stay in contact with the person you are when you're not performing.
• Watch for the gap. The moment you notice a distance between who you are and who you're posting as—that's the warning sign. Don't wait until it becomes a chasm.

You can grow without becoming hollow. But you have to do it on purpose.

Choosing Your Game

So which way?

Here's a question that might help: what are you actually trying to do?

If you're trying to explore—figure out what you think, discover what you might become, try on identities without commitment—the dog's path might serve you better. Growth will constrain exploration. Visibility will freeze options. The freedom to be nobody is the freedom to become anybody.

If you're trying to offer—share something you've found, build something that helps others, have leverage to make things happen—the god's path might be necessary. Exploration without emergence is ultimately sterile. At some point, the ideas need to meet the world.

If you're not sure—that's fine. But staying at the crossroads too long has its own cost. The indecision becomes its own identity. The person who's always about to do something becomes someone who never does.

You don't need certainty. You need a direction. Even a tentative one. Even one you might reverse later.

Pick a path. Walk it. See what you learn.