What Do You Want to Be Remembered For?
Balancing low-hanging fruit and deep creative work in the age of algorithms
When I first started working seriously as a recording vocalist and songwriter, Instagram felt like the place to be. It was 2016, and the app was booming. Hashtags and curated feeds were the currency of creative connection.
At that time, I was just getting into the dance music scene, gaining traction as a vocalist, and eager to make the most of it. I was excited to learn, to share, to express, and to create. I was meeting musicians, producers, and artists from all over the world, and the feeling was expansive and joyful.
Although a lot of artists roll their eyes at the mention of “content” or social media (and I get it), the fact is that building an audience didn’t feel impossible back then.
Engagement felt organic, almost effortless at times. I’d revel in aesthetics and connect with like minds, looking to other artists for inspiration and content ideas, as we all did.
And it wasn’t just about getting attention. Instagram, in particular, felt like a genuine community—a place to share and discover, to connect with other people who were as passionate about music (and many other topics) as I was.
I had so many conversations and interactions with people who were genuinely interested in what I was doing. It felt like we were all part of something, growing and creating together.
But things began to change.
The landscape that once felt like a community started to feel more like a marketplace. Content that had once felt like genuine expression now seemed tailored for attention—colored by a new kind of pressure.
And while there had always been plenty of insincere or attention-seeking content before 2016, this felt like a major shift.
Enter the endless scroll
It was 2018, and TikTok had grown popular. Its algorithm initiated the endless scroll, where content streams past at lightning speed, rewarding bite-sized entertainment and instant engagement.
This changed the game, pushing creators to post faster, funnier, and more performative just to keep up.
At the same time, TikTok empowered countless individual creators—who might never have found an audience on Instagram—to share their voices and build careers in ways that were once unthinkable.
Instagram and other platforms followed suit, and a new scene emerged: one that demanded a constant hustle while also offering new opportunities and revenue potential for artists willing to invest their time and effort in creating highly-engaging content.
But the fruit that once felt so reachable now seemingly demanded a metaphorical clown costume of trends, sounds, dances, and skits—anything to catch an eye in the endless scroll.
Must I really do childish playground dances for my music to be heard?
What a depressing thought.
Connection or clickbait?
We all know the feeling: sitting there, staring at a blank page, waiting for inspiration to strike. And then, like a shiny apple dangling just above your head, there it is—the easy win. A trending topic, a clever meme, a remix of something that’s already been done a hundred times. It’s quick, it’s light, and (let’s be honest) it’s satisfying.
Low-hanging fruit, they say.
I’ve reached for it more times than I can count. Sometimes it’s a relief—a balm against creative inertia, that gnawing sense of stuckness that makes you wonder if you’ll ever accomplish anything. A fast payoff can feel like a small mercy: a way to stay in motion, even if it’s just one small step at a time.
Other times, maybe it’s just for clicks, likes, and validation.
There’s nothing inherently wrong with trying to stay engaged, as it’s becoming easier and easier to get lost in the sea of voices. It’s natural to want to remind the world: I’m here, I’m still part of the conversation, don’t forget me.
But how do you know the difference?
If you’re trying to build something, whether it’s a business, brand, persona, or some kind of art, of course you want people to engage with it. But is it enough to show up, or does it matter how you show up?
Is the easy win a step forward, or just a detour that leads you further from the work that truly matters to your soul?
Recently, I discovered a fantastic classical pianist who only gained traction on Instagram after posting videos of himself mispronouncing French Canadian food labels. While I find great amusement in his videos and enthusiastically support him to this day, I grapple with how that actually makes me feel as an artist myself.
Some would say, “Whatever works,” and that’s fine. There’s no harm in it. There’s also no shame in wondering, Where can we possibly go from here?
Certainly, more people know this very talented pianist exists now, due to some humorous and unrelated videos. That’s a net positive, I’d say.
Why do we share?
Every time I post something on any of these platforms, I ask myself:
Is this post, this song, this story coming from a place of meaning, or is it just a desperate attempt to stay afloat?
Is it just marketing? Art? Is it real? Fake? Is it worthwhile?
Honestly? I can’t answer it the same every time—and I know I’m not the only creative person who questions the point of it all.
Naturally, we want to be seen, heard, and acknowledged as creators. But isn’t the motivation ultimately the art itself? Or is it the meaning that the art creates for others? The community? All of the above?
This is where the debate always starts: One camp says, “Just post what’s authentic to you and the right people will find you.” The other says, “You have to keep up and hustle to promote yourself, or you’ll be left behind.”
If your goal is to be known by the public, it’s not much of a dilemma. But if your goal is to create meaning and connection with others through works of your creation, it can be.
Of course, they are not mutually exclusive. And sometimes, simple engagement is enough of a reason. There’s nothing wrong with entertaining people.
Maybe overthinking is the problem!
Content, content, content
So many of us cringe at the thought of self-promotion, yet feel compelled to do it anyway, pulled by the algorithm’s siren song. And now, it feels like we have to jump on a bandwagon, put on a costume, or chase a trend just to stay in the game.
Creating content can feel like a race to the performative look-at-me finish line: a total stranger’s device screen.
And that’s the point where anyone who believes in the law of attraction might start to wince. After all, if you’re truly what you say you are, should you really have to shout it, or beg for acknowledgement?
When I look back at the work I’m most proud of, it’s never the low-hanging fruit that comes to mind. It’s the projects that made me wrestle with doubt, the ideas that refused to go quietly, the stories that demanded more than I thought I had to give.
But we humans are wired to reach for the easiest option. Our ancient brains still whisper that energy is precious, that safety is in the familiar.
Steven Pressfield writes in The War of Art: “The more resistance you experience, the more important your unmanifested art/project/enterprise is to you—and the more gratification you will feel when you finally do it.”
In the ache of avoidance, there’s a certain magnetism to the low-hanging fruit: the promise of quick likes and shares on social media, where algorithms reward surface-level work—bright and shiny, fast and shallow.
Content for content’s sake. A bottomless pit.
You might start to feel like you’ve at least overcome resistance. “Productivity” is a good thing, right?
The thing is that often, the work that stirs your soul—the kind that demands your full attention and your truest voice—never comes easy. It’s the work that fights back, the project that feels too big, too complicated, or too personal.
That’s the resistance Pressfield is talking about.
It’s the signpost that says: Here lies the work that matters. This path might not get you the dopamine rush of quick applause, but it will leave you changed, and proud.
Personally, that’s the work I want to do more of.
But quick wins aren’t always bad. Sometimes, what looks like surface-level success is actually a small, achievable piece of a larger creative strategy. A single post might spark a deeper conversation, or a short video might draw the right people into your orbit.
The key, I think, is being honest with yourself: Is this something that moves me forward toward the work that matters—or is it just a short-term gain that feeds the feed?
It’s okay to balance both: to mix the momentum of quick wins with the depth of meaningful work. Maybe that’s the sweet spot, the place where art and audience actually meet.
And that brings me back to the question that sits at the heart of every creative life.
What do you want to be remembered for?
It’s the tension between the quick hit and the long game—between instant gratification and the work that makes your heart race. Because the easy win is, well, easy.
But easy isn’t necessarily meaningful.
Technology has made the low-hanging fruit more tempting than ever. AI writes captions, generates images, drafts outlines. And yes, these tools are incredible. They’ve opened doors, leveled playing fields, and given us power to bring our ideas to life in ways that used to take a team (or a small fortune).
But they can also lull us into thinking that easy is enough, or that done is better than deep (which can be true, in some instances).
A reminder:
The applause of the crowd can never replace the applause of the soul.
I’m not here to tell you to stop picking the low-hanging fruit. Sometimes it’s the very thing that breaks the spell of perfectionism and reminds you to keep moving. Sometimes it’s the seed of something greater, a small win that grows into something beautiful.
But I am here to remind you (and myself!) that the work that changes you rarely comes easy—and that resistance is a signpost: a nudge to climb higher, to stretch further. I’m still learning when to embrace the quick wins and when to climb higher.
Maybe the best question we can all ask is: What do I really want to be remembered for?
And:
Am I chasing clicks, or am I chasing meaning?
Is this piece of work coming from a place of curiosity and joy, or from a place of insecurity and fear?
Is this low-hanging fruit, or a step toward the work that shapes me?
I’d love to hear your thoughts. When has an easy win helped you move forward, and when has it held you back? Let’s talk about it, because we’re all reaching for something.