The addiction to relevance.

Jennifer was scrolling through Instagram the other day when she stopped and looked up at me, waiting to catch my attention.

Her mouth was hanging half-open in disbelief.

"Have you seen Madonna's Instagram stories? She seems so desperate to stay relevant."

My wife grew up idolizing Madonna, and she still knows all the words to all the songs. So, I think she was a little taken back.

I swung around to her side of the table and started watching the most recent videos she had pulled up: Smoking pot with her 29-year-old boyfriend. Grinding at dance clubs. Butt implants.

If you know me, my take on life is generally “do whatever makes you happy,” and I don’t spend much time judging other people’s choices. But there was something about her videos that felt less like someone having fun and more like a performance for the camera.

Madonna has everything and still seems to need more. She has more money, more fame, and more cultural impact than almost anyone alive. But as I was scrolling her feed, it felt like she was looking for more.

Like someone still trying to fill a void.

A different kind of success

I used to work for a CEO named Travis. He's built multiple companies, made serious money several times over, and is one of the most successful entrepreneurs I've ever met in person.

You've probably never heard of him.

Travis is Canadian, and splits his time between a small Canadian city and a cabin in the woods in Western New York. He spends his days swimming laps, working on his new business, hanging with his family of five, and drinking the occasional glass of great wine. He doesn't have Twitter or Instagram, and I've never once seen him post on LinkedIn. He's not making some anti-social-media statement. He just doesn't seem to need an audience to witness what he's built or what his life looks like.

When I think about Travis and Madonna, I'm not thinking about who's right or wrong. I'm thinking about what makes one person need the world to witness their every move, while another person is genuinely fine being invisible. They've both achieved extraordinary things. But their relationship to being seen feels like two opposite ends of a spectrum.

The thing I'm scared of

I tell myself I don't care about being relevant.

I've built a business that I’m proud of. One that lets me work from my kitchen table in a small Hamlet in Upstate New York and spend a lot of time with my wife. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t recognize how fortunate I am. And I tell myself it's all about the work, the writing, and the people I get to help.

But last week I wrote something that I thought was good, and it didn't perform. No real engagement, no viral moment. And I noticed myself checking it three or four times that afternoon, feeling a little more deflated each time.

Here's the thing: it doesn't actually matter. Whether that post got 50 engagements or 50,000, there's almost zero material impact on my life at this point. And yet I was acting like it mattered. And checking like it mattered.

That's when the uncomfortable question showed up. If I don't actually need the validation, why do I still want it?

I think about this a lot. I was watching TV the other day, and I saw some ex-NFL player turned studio host on CBS. This guy was probably "the man" in high school, then college, and finally in the pros. The best version of his life (at least in terms of relevance) is probably behind him. Now he's in his mid-40s doing game broadcasts and talking about other people's highlights. Guys that he used to be like.

I caught myself wondering if it eats at him. If he watches old game tape and misses being that guy. If he pines for the relevance he used to have back in his glory days.

Then another uncomfortable question snuck into my brain:

Will that be me someday?

Ten years down the road, will I be desperately trying to prove that I still matter? Will I struggle to let go when the audience shrinks, and the attention fades?

Because it always fades.

I'd like to think I'll be more like Travis. Content with a quiet life, my family, good wine, and work that doesn't need an audience. But I honestly don't know. And that makes me feel a bit uneasy.

What I think is actually happening

Travis seems to have built a life where the work itself is enough. He doesn't need anyone to see it. Madonna seems to need the world to keep watching, and no amount of fame has changed that.

I find myself wondering which path I'll eventually go down.

I hope it's the Travis path. But I check my subscriber count more often than I'd like to admit. I notice when my content bombs. And I feel a little hit of something when the numbers are good. If I'm being honest, I like the external validation. Probably more than I should.

And maybe that's totally fine. Maybe craving a little relevance is just part of being a creative person who puts their work out into the world. But I want to be really cognizant about the line between healthy engagement and needing that hit of validation.

What I'm trying

I've been thinking about how to continuously place meaning ahead of relevance in my life and business. Not in some grand, philosophical way, but in the small daily actions that I take, that add up over time. Because I don't think this is something you just solve all at once. I think it's something you practice every single day.

Here are three things that have helped me, and might help you, too, if you're building something and noticing that same pull toward validation:

Create something you'll never post. Most of us have trained ourselves to document everything we do in our business. And some of us, in our lives. Every little project becomes content. Everything we learn becomes a X post or a piece of LinkedIn content. And there’s nothing wrong with that. But I’d encourage you to build something that stays private. For me, it’s a side project with no launch date, and a few personal skills that I’m developing that nobody knows about. I’ve found that this is a great way to rewire your brain to remember that the work itself is the point, not just the proof that you did it.

Before you publish something, ask: "Would I make this if I couldn't share it?" Of course, not everything needs to pass this test. Some content that you create is meant specifically to grow your business, and that's totally fine. But you should know which is which. If the only reason you're making something is so people will see it, that's worth noticing. The stuff that you create that passes this test will end up being some of your best work anyway.

Give your metrics a curfew. I would never tell you to stop checking your analytics and metrics. That's unrealistic if you run a business. Especially if you’re just starting out. But instead of checking all day like a nervous habit, try batching it. Fifteen minutes in the morning, fifteen in the afternoon. And outside of those windows, the metrics basically don't exist. Spend your time building, not measuring. I’ve found this to be the smallest change with the biggest impact.

The bottom line

I'd like to say I have this figured out, but I don't. I just know that watching Madonna's Instagram made me feel something I didn't expect. It wasn't judgment. It was recognition. Recognition that the grab for relevance is a version of something I've felt too. She's just doing it louder, with more resources, more people watching, and higher stakes.

I hope I can be more like Travis. Quiet success, no need for witnesses, happy with a life well-built. But wanting that and actually being wired for it might be two different things.

Maybe enough-ness is something you can develop. Maybe it's something you're born with. Or maybe it's something you have to choose, over and over, until you finally believe it.

I don't know the answer. But I guess I'll find out.

That's all for today.

See you next Saturday.