You’ve probably seen the Gartner Hype Cycle — a curved graph that tracks how new technologies rise, fall, and stabilize. First, there’s the rush of excitement, then the inevitable crash of reality, and finally, after the dust settles, the technology finds its real purpose.
It typically moves through five stages:
- Innovation Trigger — something new emerges, full of promise.
- Peak of Inflated Expectations — early buzz fuels unrealistic hopes.
- Trough of Disillusionment — reality sets in; excitement fades.
- Slope of Enlightenment — deeper understanding begins to form.
- Plateau of Productivity — the technology matures and proves its value.
Now imagine applying that same curve to something far more personal: career.
This isn’t a framework. It’s a thought experiment — born over lunch, half in jest, but strangely sticky once it landed. Because when we step back, it’s clear that careers don’t follow a straight, predictable line. They surge, dip, stall, loop, and occasionally rise in ways we didn’t see coming.
So what if we thought of a 30–35 year career the way we think about evolving technologies? Not as a ladder, but as a curve — with moments of hype, doubt, clarity, and quiet power.
Let’s walk through the arc — not as a rule book, but as a way to notice patterns. Starting with the beginning, where most journeys ignite quietly.
The Beginning: Curiosity, Energy, and the First Spark
Every career begins with a kind of ignition — an inner “yes” that moves us forward. Maybe it starts with a degree, a dream job, or just a quiet attempt to land something — anything — that pays. But there’s energy. There’s momentum. You say yes to things you don’t yet understand, and learn by doing. Every meeting feels like a learning moment, every small win matters, and even the coffee tastes like ambition.
This is the Innovation Trigger stage — when we’re new, optimistic, and open. We may not know much yet, but we’re absorbing fast, asking questions, and trying to belong. There’s a quiet thrill in the grind.
The Rise: Recognition, Confidence, and the Illusion of Arrival
Somewhere around year five or so, we start to get the hang of things. We’ve collected a few wins, maybe switched a job or two, and begin to feel like we’re becoming someone others take seriously. The learning curve flattens, the systems start making sense, and sometimes, so do we.
This is where expectations — our own and others’ — begin to rise. There’s confidence, sometimes boldness, and often a subtle sense of “I’ve figured it out.” Titles change. Responsibilities grow. The work feels more important.
But this phase comes with a hidden trap: we start believing this upward curve will continue forever. That the same energy and tactics that got us here will keep taking us forward. And sometimes they do — until they don’t.
The Dip: Disillusionment, Stagnation, and Quiet Questioning
Then, often without warning, things start to shift. The work feels repetitive. The learning slows down. Maybe there’s a rough boss, a stalled promotion, or a creeping feeling that you’re not doing the thing you were meant to do. Or maybe nothing dramatic happens at all — just a dull flatness that wasn’t there before.
This is the part no one prepares us for. And it’s real. The Trough of Disillusionment is often internal, invisible, and lonely. It’s the phase where the stories we told ourselves earlier don’t hold up. Where we quietly wonder if this is it.
It’s not dramatic like burnout or crisis. It’s just… fog. Sometimes we push through. Sometimes we coast. Sometimes we quietly shut down parts of ourselves and keep going through the motions.
But sometimes, this phase also plants the seed for something deeper.
The Climb: Rediscovery, Craft, and Quiet Mastery
If we choose to engage — genuinely engage — with this disillusionment, we often emerge with a clearer sense of what really matters. We stop chasing every shiny opportunity and start asking better questions: What am I good at when no one’s watching? What kind of problems do I care enough to solve? Who do I want to work with, and why?
This is the long slope of return — not necessarily to glory, but to groundedness. To depth. The learning returns, but in a different flavor. Less frantic, more deliberate. You begin to spot patterns others miss. You teach more. Listen better. Work begins to feel like something you shape, not something you survive.
You’re not trying to prove anything anymore — and that’s exactly what makes your presence more valuable.
The Plateau: Stability, Influence, and the Power of Less
Eventually, for those who stay the course and keep evolving, the curve flattens again — but this time in a good way. It’s not stagnation; it’s rhythm. You know your strengths. You know where not to waste energy. You start creating systems instead of just solving problems. There’s less noise, but more signal.
You may not be chasing every trend, but you know which ones matter. You might not speak the loudest in the room, but your words often shift the conversation. At this stage, you’re not just building for yourself — you’re building space for others. And often, that’s where the real legacy begins.
There’s still room for reinvention, of course. Curiosity doesn’t vanish — it just matures. But now, there’s also a comfort in knowing that you don’t have to be everywhere to make an impact.
This is the Plateau of Productivity — a phase where stability meets contribution, and where your career finally starts to feel like something that belongs to you.
But Some Get Stuck — And Keep Looping
Not everyone reaches this point. Some get caught in loops — repeating old behaviors long after they’ve stopped working. Some of these loops are familiar — you’ve seen them in others. Sometimes, in yourself.
One version of this is the peak chaser — the person who keeps trying to recreate an early win, applying the same tricks in different places, hoping the magic will strike again. Sometimes it does, briefly. But more often, it doesn’t. The world moves, and they don’t.
Another is the disillusioned realist — someone who once cared deeply, but got tired or hurt or simply ignored. They don’t quit, but they stop showing up with their full self. They do their job, but the spark is gone.
Then there’s the expert trap — someone who’s built deep skill in one area and then parked there. Safe. Respected. But slowly becoming invisible in a world that rewards fluidity and cross-pollination.
And sometimes, we meet the legacy loop — a leader still playing by old rules, unaware the game has changed. What once worked now misfires. They project past success onto others, creating quiet disconnection and growing gaps between intent and impact.
These aren’t failures — just patterns we all slip into. A long career gives plenty of time to drift, get distracted, or forget what once sparked us. What matters is whether we notice — and whether we choose to reinvent, evolve… and eventually, fall into new traps all over again.
Final Thought: Where Are You on Your Curve?
Careers, like people, evolve in strange, nonlinear ways. They surge, dip, rest, restart. And maybe the biggest trap is believing that growth should feel like a steady upward slope. It rarely does. Sometimes, the most meaningful progress happens just after the dip. Sometimes, boredom is just reinvention knocking in disguise. And sometimes, the real shift isn’t about learning something new — it’s about letting go of what no longer fits.
This isn’t a map. It’s a mirror. A way to pause and ask: Where am I right now? And am I still moving?
Quiet Reflections 