Is this post flopping, or is it just me?

1.

2AM thoughts no one asked for

I’m off the deep end, watch as I dive in. 

– Lady Gaga, ‘Shallow’

It’s 2:04 am, and I’ve fallen into the LinkedIn rabbit hole again.

You know the one:

→ Refreshing your profile views like they’re bloodwork results, hoping for signs of life.

→ Wondering if adding a sepia filter to my “thought leader” selfie will make me seem visionary or just unemployed.

→ Googling: “Can you die from secondhand thought leadership?”

I've tried. Really. I’ve tried everything to break through:

→ Writing “From rock bottom to resilience” arcs (spoiler: I’m still at rock bottom).

→ Posting “10 Lessons I Learned in Leadership” while hoping no one remembers I once got fired for CC’ing the wrong Karen.

→ Captioning a stock photo of a mountain with “This isn’t just a peak. It’s perspective.”

Each time, I tell myself this one’s different. 

And each time? Crickets.

The silence isn’t just loud.

It’s existential.

2.

The moment I knew I’d lost it

Keep ya head up, ooh, child, things are gonna get easier / Keep-keep ya head up, ooh, child, things’ll get brighter.

– Tupac, Keep Ya Head Up

The truth is, my downfall wasn’t a dramatic collapse. It was a slow, ridiculous spiral into irrelevance, fueled by self-delusion, bad advice, and a misguided belief that hashtags are magic spells.

Maybe it started when I used ChatGPT to write a post about how AI would never replace human creativity. Spoiler: the post got zero engagement, but ChatGPT was hired as a VP of Innovation three days later.

Or maybe it was the time I captioned a picture of my dog with “Leadership isn’t lonely if you’re walking your own path”—only for my dog to unfollow me and join Threads.

Or perhaps it was the infamous day I responded to “Tell me about a time you failed” during an interview with: “How much time do you have?” (Turns out, they didn’t have much.)

At some point, I stopped trying to inspire and started leaning into despair. A post titled “Why LinkedIn is Just Professional Tinder and Why I’m Swiping Left” surprisingly resonated. Unfortunately, it resonated with recruiters, who swiped left on me, too.

My final act of desperation: attempting to be relatable by posting a selfie captioned “When you work from home, but your dog is your only coworker.” No one commented. Not even my dog.

I knew then that I wasn’t just losing the game—I’d accidentally set the board on fire, buried it in my backyard, and then tripped over it the next day.

3.

LinkedIn is my toxic ex

Started from the bottom, now we’re here.

– Drake, Started From the Bottom

Here’s the thing about LinkedIn: it promises you connection, opportunity, and growth.

But in reality, it’s just you and the same 14 people from your last company, staring at each other’s posts like awkward strangers on a stalled elevator.

And yet, I can’t quit.

I’ve tried. I’ve deleted the app, sworn off posting, and even thrown my phone into a lake. (Spoiler: lakes aren’t algorithm-proof. LinkedIn still sent me a “Congratulations on your work anniversary!” notification.)

But somehow, I always come crawling back. Why? Because LinkedIn doesn’t just ruin your day—it ruins it with potential.

Every time, I think: This could be the post that changes everything. Instead, I get:
→ Messages like “Congratulations on the new role!” (I didn’t get a new role. I didn’t even get a callback.)
→ Random connection requests from people titled “Blockchain Visionary Alchemist,” who immediately pitch me multi-level marketing opportunities.
→ DMs that start with “Hey, quick question!” and end with “Have you considered cryogenic preservation as a side hustle?”

But still, I scroll. Why? Why? Why?

Well. Because every once in a while, someone’s viral post about “What Sharks Can Teach Us About Quarterly Goals” gives me hope that I could do that too.

Spoiler: I can’t.

And that’s the thing about LinkedIn—it’s not a platform. It’s a toxic ex who shows up uninvited, whispers “Maybe this time we’ll work out,” and then leaves you with fewer likes than your last breakup post.

C’mon! Raise your voices! Let’s all say it in a zillion-part harmony:

I … hate … it here.

4.

The ocean doesn’t care about your #PersonalBrand

There’s a crack in everything / That’s how the light gets in.

– Leonard Cohen, Anthem

Last night, I stood at my window, staring at the Pacific, wondering if the waves ever worry about engagement rates.

Probably not.

The waves don’t post selfies. They don’t ask, “Is this vulnerable enough to go viral?” They don’t spend three hours debating whether their hashtag strategy will get them featured on a trending topic.

They just crash forward, unbothered and eternal.

Meanwhile, I’m here refreshing my profile views like a rat pressing a lever in a behavioral psych experiment, hoping for a hit of dopamine every time someone clicks on my “humble” reflections about synergy.

The waves don’t agonize over captions like: “Leadership is like the tide—it lifts all boats (except the dinghy named Greg).”

They don’t send their interns emails with subject lines like: “URGENT: Does the ocean have a compelling CTA?”

And they definitely don’t worry about whether their metaphors are too heavy-handed.

But I do.

I once posted “Be like the ocean—calm on the surface, but churning with ambition underneath.” It got two likes: one from my mom and one from someone trying to sell me a webinar about underwater leadership strategies.

Maybe that’s the real lesson here.

The ocean just keeps moving. It doesn’t care if people think it’s too salty, or if it crashes too loudly in the middle of the night. It doesn’t adjust its rhythm for anyone. It’s pure, unfiltered chaos, and it embraces it.

Me? I’m here drowning in self-doubt, wondering if my next post should include a chart, a personal anecdote, or a picture of me pretending to look candidly out of a window while holding a coffee mug.

Be more like the ocean, they say. Crash loudly. Swallow a few cruise ships if you need to.

And maybe, just maybe, let go of the idea that your “personal brand” is anything other than a life raft you desperately cling to as you drift toward irrelevance.

(Just kidding. Kind of.)

5.

Welcome to The Water Cooler

Life’s too short to pretend you don’t like weird stuff.

– Probably someone selling MLM essential oils

LinkedIn is supposed to be the professional world’s water cooler—a place for camaraderie, connection, and inspiration.

But let’s be honest: it’s more like a vending machine filled with expired motivational quotes, stale humblebrags, and that one coworker who keeps posting “Why I wake up at 4:22 am” think pieces like they’re legally required to destroy joy.

And yet, we keep coming back. Why? Because LinkedIn is where we air our professional insecurities under the guise of “networking.” It’s where we pretend to celebrate each other’s successes while quietly wondering why Susan from Accounting has more likes than us.

That’s why I started #TheWaterCooler: to drag the absurdity into the light.

This column isn’t about becoming a better professional. It’s not about climbing the corporate ladder, optimizing your KPIs, or learning “5 Ways to Use Q4 Synergies to Crush It in 2024.”

It’s about embracing the chaos and admitting we’re all just winging it.

Think about it:
→ Who decided that your personal brand should be a mix of “authentic vulnerability” and “relentless hustle”? Was it Gary Vee? Let’s all agree to stop listening to Gary Vee.
→ Why does every post feel like it’s written by a committee of marketing jargon and existential dread?
→ And why, dear god, are people still posting black-and-white selfies with captions like “Leadership is lonely, but the view is worth it”?

The truth is, none of us know what we’re doing.

We’re just here, scrolling through someone’s viral post about “10 Things My Goldfish Taught Me About Negotiation” and wondering if it’s too late to pivot to goat farming.

So scream into the void with me.

Confess your sins to the algorithm. Cry a single LinkedIn tear over the fact that “Why We Should Ban PowerPoint” just won Content of the Year.

And if all else fails, remember: there’s always room at #TheWaterCooler.

Because at the end of the day, it’s not about the likes. It’s about laughing through the chaos, accepting the absurdity, and occasionally wondering if LinkedIn is just Twitter in a suit.

Oh, and one last thing:

I hate it here.

What about you?

Tell me about it.