The Invisible Reward

Addiction to validation results in shortcuts. That sentence has been echoing in my mind for some time now. Whenever I pause to reflect, I notice how much of what people do is shaped not by conviction but by the subtle tug of external approval. My mind resists uncertainty, insisting: “I don’t want to do something that isn’t validated.” That thought becomes an excuse. If others haven’t blessed it, if it doesn’t carry the sheen of applause, then surely it must not be worth the  time. And when the hunger for applause grows louder, shortcuts suddenly feel justified. The ends seem to justify the means, because the ends promise recognition. Yet when I look more closely, I see that the applause was never the point. Validation was never the true reward. At best, these are surface ripples. The deeper current flows elsewhere, toward something quieter, subtler, and far less visible. The irony is that chasing validation doesn’t bring me closer to it; I get  further away.

On the surface, shortcuts look efficient. Who wouldn’t want a faster route? When a road bends and winds through the hills, it’s tempting to cut across a straight path. In work and in life, that “straight path” often looks like leaning on what is already proven, what has already been applauded, what feels safe and familiar. The thinking goes: if it’s validated, it must be right. If it earns applause, it must be valuable. Why spend time wrestling with uncertainty when the crowd has already spoken? But shortcuts have hidden costs. They are not just about saving time; they are about abandoning meaning. When I substitute internal convection for external applause, I may appear to move faster, but in reality I’ve hollowed out the journey. I’ve traded discovery for compliance, depth for surface, substance for show. I may still arrive at a destination, but I arrive with empty hands. This is why addiction to validation is so dangerous. It tempts us into thinking we are making progress when all we are doing is chasing echoes. We confuse movement with meaning.

What makes validation so addictive is the hunger underneath it. There is a part of me, one I don’t often admit; that craves to be seen, acknowledged, affirmed. I give it polite names like “feedback” or “recognition,” but stripped bare, it is simply greed. Not greed for money or possessions, but greed for attention. When this hunger drives me, my choices shift. I write not for clarity but for applause. I select projects not for their meaning but for their visibility. I rush, because slowing down risks exposing the emptiness behind the chase. And every time applause does arrive, it feels good for a moment, but only for a moment. Very quickly, the hunger stirs again, sharper than before. The applause that felt so loud in the instant fades quickly into silence, and the silence is heavier than before. That is the paradox of validation: the more I feed the hunger, the hungrier it becomes. External approval can never fill the space it promises to fill.

If applause and validation are not the reward, then what is? The answer, is surprisingly simple, though not easy to embrace. The reward is invisible. It cannot be displayed, posted, or measured. It is not the nods of others, nor the statistics of reach, nor the lines on a resume. It is quieter and far more personal: the knowledge that I did not take the shortcut. That I chose to walk the winding road even when no one was watching. That I stayed with uncertainty until something genuine emerged. This invisible reward often feels too small in the moment. It lacks the rush of applause. It lacks the adrenaline of validation. But over time, it leaves behind something deeper: peace. The invisible reward doesn’t thrill, but it steadies. It doesn’t spark excitement, but it sustains balance. It becomes a source of strength that no external applause can match. Ironically, when I shift my focus toward the invisible reward, external validation sometimes arrives anyway. But now it comes as a byproduct, not the goal. And because it is not the goal, it no longer controls me.

Even as I write this, I notice another temptation creeping in; the urge to explain it neatly, to package it into something tidy and palatable, to present it in a way that earns agreement. The part of me that craves validation whispers: “Turn this into a lesson. Conclude with a principle. Make it sound definitive.” But to do that would be to betray the very truth I’m exploring. The invisible reward is not about explanation, not about airtight arguments or persuasive conclusions. It does not ask for proof; it only asks for honesty. Each time I justify too much, I am reaching again for external validation. This is where addiction hides, in the compulsion to defend, to explain, to seek agreement. Letting go of that compulsion is itself a step toward freedom.

Learning to resist validation is not easy. My mind is conditioned to crave it. Each time I act without applause, my thoughts protest: “What’s the point if no one sees it?” And each time I resist the shortcut, the voice insists that I’m wasting effort. But slowly, I’ve noticed shifts. When I allow myself to ignore the hunger, even briefly, something gentler takes its place. The urgency softens. The restlessness eases. The silence that once felt heavy begins to feel like rest. And in that silence, a sense of balance emerges; not the loud satisfaction of being recognised, but the quiet assurance of being true to myself. This is the invisible reward at work. It doesn’t announce itself. It doesn’t arrive with fanfare. But it leaves me lighter, calmer, and less captive to the cycles of hunger and applause. Perhaps this is what people mean when they speak of inner peace. It is not a grand arrival. It is not a sudden burst of joy or enlightenment. Instead, it is the slow erosion of hunger. It is the absence of compulsion, the loosening of the need to be seen. Inner peace is not something added on top of life, but something that appears when cravings fall away. It is not applause, not validation, not recognition. It is silence that no longer feels empty. And so I return to the beginning. Addiction to validation does not only result in shortcuts; it also blinds me to the very reward I was searching for. 

The ends never justified the means, because the ends were never the point. The applause was never the true reward.  The reward was invisible. It still is, and will always be; perhaps that invisibility is not a flaw but the very proof of its worth.

C