Signal or Spectacle?

Or: How I’m trying to write without performing

For a while, my biggest resistance to hitting publish was internal.

Was I clear?
Was I wrong?
Was I just rambling?

I got stuck in that loop — the classic fear of being misunderstood or not “getting it right.” But over time, with enough reps, that voice started to quiet down. I found my own rhythm. Started trusting that if I was thinking about something deeply enough to write it down, it was probably worth saying out loud.

But lately, a different kind of discomfort has crept in.

Not “is this right?”
But:

“Does this come off like I’m trying to posture?”
“Does this feel like I’m performing a version of insight for attention?”
“Am I sharing a signal — or just trying to look smart?”

I don’t want to be another voice in the LinkedIn-verse of humblebrags and bullet-point lessons pretending to be vulnerable. I’ve seen how easy it is to slide into that tone — the perfectly polished personal anecdote, always ending in a clean takeaway. The kind that’s optimized for impressions, not connection.

I felt this most acutely when I cross-posted a short piece about building a website “just to see if I still could.”
On my blog, it felt like what it was: a small creative pulse check. A way of reminding myself that I still like building things with my hands, even when it’s not part of a project plan.

But on LinkedIn, it risked reading as résumé theater —

“Still got it.”
“Shipping mindset.”
“Digital craftsman vibes.”

I wasn’t trying to show off. But in that context, even a quiet share starts to echo like a personal brand play.

That’s the uncomfortable part.
Even honest reflections can feel like performance when dropped into an environment built for spectacle.

So I’ve started filtering my posts differently:

• Am I writing this to connect, or to convince?
• Would I share this if no one responded?
• Am I offering signal — or just inserting myself into the feed?

The writing I want to keep doing is the kind that doesn’t need applause to be worthwhile.
The kind that someone might stumble on six months from now and feel like it was written for them — not at them.

And if that means fewer reactions or slower reach? So be it.
I’m not here to posture. I’m here to dispatch.

But I still need to meet people where they are — not on a soapbox shouting, “Look at me!” — even if that’s how it sometimes sounds in the scroll.