I’m excited to announce that I’m joining as …
Well, not really. But that’s how it feels every time I open LinkedIn—like I’ve wandered onto a crowded subway platform where everyone’s shouting their wins into a megaphone. Promotions, thought leadership, “Top Voice in 15 Things You Didn’t Know Existed.” You stand there, trying to catch a whisper—a signal—amid the announcements and noise.
We’re told to hustle. Show up. Shake hands. Sign up for webinars. Buy LinkedIn Premium for that little gold badge that impresses absolutely no one in the real world. Build a brand. Be noticed.
And for what?
A polite rejection email? A “we’ll keep your résumé on file” (a phrase that has never been true in the history of HR)?
We confuse visibility with value. Engagement with meaning. Volume with validation.
That’s the noise.
The noise is the constant push to be seen, liked, endorsed, and shared. It’s the networking event where no one remembers your name, only your business card design. It’s getting 1,000 views and zero callbacks.
But sometimes, something else happens. A hiring manager says, “Let’s talk.” Not “Let’s connect” or “Let’s grab coffee sometime” (translation: never), but “Let’s talk next week.” That’s a signal.
Signals are quiet. They don’t come with confetti or urgent subject lines. They slip into your inbox without fanfare.
An interview isn’t a job offer. But it’s real interest—and that’s what we’re actually chasing.
We forget this. We keep mistaking the blur for the picture.
And this isn’t just about jobs.
On social media, We scroll endlessly through curated vacation photos, workout routines, humblebrags, and enlightenment-through-matcha posts. We compare. We doubt. We spiral. That’s noise. The signal is a real conversation where someone says, “Hey, I’ve been feeling off lately too.” Not shareable. Not aesthetic. But it matters.
In love, the noise is the text games, the apps, the flirty emojis, the “seen at 3:12 PM” with no reply. The signal is someone showing up. No drama. No games. Just there.
In friendships, the noise is group chats and tagged birthday posts. The signal is someone remembering a hard day you mentioned weeks ago and checking in.
In learning, the noise is the avalanche of courses, hacks, and AI summaries. The signal is when something truly clicks—when it changes how you think.
The hard part?
Noise is loud. Signals aren’t. And noise will always be louder.
Life doesn’t come with a filter to separate what matters from what doesn’t. Most days, everything feels urgent. Everything feels important. If you don’t respond now, you’ll miss everything.
That’s the trap.
Signals live in stillness. Not in the scrolling. Not in the sprinting. In stillness.
But stillness is hard. We’re expected to be “on” all the time—available, productive, impressive—as if we weren’t already worthy just by existing.
So we do more. Post more (..and I’m posting here …) .. Attend more. And hope for a sign.
But here’s the thing: the signal you’re waiting for might have already arrived—so quietly you missed it.
And sometimes, it doesn’t look like what you expected. It’s not the dream job, the grand romance, or the standing ovation. It’s the small yes. The call instead of the text. The mentor who says, “You’ve got something here.” The kid who looks up to you. The quiet gut feeling that says, “This might be enough.”
Even failure can be a signal. It’s honest. It tells you what isn’t working. That’s clarity.
Noise lies. Signals tell the truth.
The trick is knowing which is which.
We’re not always good at it. We chase applause and overlook meaning. We want validation, but what we need is resonance—something that echoes long after the moment passes.
So, how do you train yourself to hear the signal?
Pause. Reflect. Filter.
Ask: “Is this real?” “Does this align with what I care about?” “Am I doing this because it matters—or because I think it should?”
Ask often.
Cut ruthlessly. Unfollow the noise. Mute the hype.
Keep your antenna up, but don’t stretch it so far it snaps.
The truth is .. the world’s not getting quieter. The noise will grow. Platforms will multiply. Expectations will compound. People will keep shouting their success into the void.
But you can choose to listen differently.
You can choose depth over width. Presence over performance. Connection over crowd.
You can stop mistaking the flash for the fire.
And when you find a signal—no matter how small—hold onto it. Nurture it. Protect it. Let it grow.
Because signals are where life actually happens. Everything else is just background static.
So yes, I’m excited to announce… that the best career move I’ve made this year wasn’t a title—it was turning down the noise enough to hear the quiet “let’s talk.” The lighting’s worse, but the conversation’s better.