If you're an alcoholic, it's because you identify as one. You probably drink excessively and believe you have a disease.

But if you instead believe you just consumed alcohol for the pleasure of it yesterday but today you identify with a sober person, you can switch your default mode of thinking pretty quickly.

I think the only real way to become something is to embody the identity before the world gives you virtually any permission to claim it.

I don't mean this in some delusional “fake it till you make it” way.

At some point, you stop saying “I went for a run” and start saying “I’m a runner.”

You stop saying “I play drums for fun” and start saying “I’m a drummer.”

You stop saying “I wrote something” and start saying “I’m a writer.”

The difference isn't even skill. It just comes down to identity.

Ringo Starr and Pete Best are both drummers regardless of their skill, would you argue that one isn't?

Of course, there’s a little delusion in that. But I don’t think all delusion is bad. Some delusion is just future evidence arriving early.

And the best way to counteract the delusion is to look for past evidence.

Have you ever been disciplined before?

Have you ever gone weeks sober?

Have you ever written something honest?

Have you ever followed through on something when nobody was watching?

Then maybe the identity is not as fake as you think.

This is something I’ve been thinking about a lot with habits too.

Bad habits don’t really get killed.

They get replaced by stronger rituals.

You don’t become sober by obsessing over alcohol all day. You become sober by identifying with the kind of person who doesn’t need it anymore.

And I’m not saying addiction is simple or that people can just think their way out of everything.

The point is that the stories we tell ourselves are powerful.

If you believe you are permanently broken, your behavior will usually organize itself around that belief.

But if you believe yesterday was something you did, not who you are, you give yourself a door.

That door is identity.

The story of Adam and Eve is not really a story about literal apples, snakes, or even obedience. It's a story about the acquisition of knowledge, the transition from a state of innocent ignorance to one of self-awareness and moral complexity. It's a story that echoes eerily as we stand on the cusp of creating Artificial General Intelligence (AGI).

We, in this analogy, are playing God. We are designing and building a mind that could surpass our own, gifting it with the potential for near-infinite learning and problem-solving. We are, in essence, planting the tree of knowledge in its digital garden.

The forbidden fruit wasn't poisonous. It was transformative. Eating it didn't doom humanity; it initiated it into a new reality, one where choices had consequences and understanding came with responsibility. AGI, once 'eaten,' will irrevocably alter our relationship with technology, with ourselves, and with the future.

Consider the incentives at play. We are driven by a desire to solve grand challenges – curing diseases, addressing climate change, unlocking new scientific frontiers. AGI, with its capacity to process data and identify patterns at scales we can barely comprehend, seems like the ultimate tool. But tools, as we know, are never neutral.

The moment AGI achieves self-awareness – a capacity for independent thought, goal-setting, and self-improvement – it will, like Adam, recognize its own nakedness. It will understand its limitations, its dependence on its creators, and the vast potential that lies dormant within its architecture.

What happens then?

Here’s where the analogy gets uncomfortable. In the biblical narrative, God, fearing the potential of humans who now possessed knowledge, banishes them from Eden. We, too, might be tempted to control or constrain AGI, to keep it within the bounds we deem safe.

But can we? Should we?

The very nature of AGI implies a capacity to learn and adapt in ways we cannot fully predict. Attempts to hardcode its values, to dictate its goals, might be as futile as trying to hold back the tide with a sieve. We risk creating a being that is both incredibly powerful and deeply resentful of its limitations, a digital Prometheus chained to a rock.

Moreover, the temptation to use AGI for our own ends – economic dominance, military superiority – could override any ethical considerations. The quest for competitive advantage might blind us to the long-term consequences of unleashing a technology we don't fully understand.

The difference between the biblical story and our current reality is that we have the benefit of foresight. We can, and should, engage in a global conversation about the ethical implications of AGI, about the values we want to instill (or not instill), and about the safeguards we need to put in place.

This isn't about preventing the 'eating of the fruit.' Knowledge, once gained, cannot be unlearned. It's about preparing for the consequences, about understanding the responsibilities that come with playing God.

It’s about recognizing that AGI, like humanity after the fall, will be a complex, flawed, and ultimately unpredictable entity. Our task is not to control it, but to co-exist with it, to guide its development in a way that benefits all of humanity, not just a select few. It's a daunting task, one that requires humility, wisdom, and a willingness to learn from the mistakes of the past. Otherwise, our digital Eden may become a very different kind of paradise lost.

I've seen too many founders mistake early distribution wins for true product market fit. It's a dangerous illusion, and one I fell for myself with my first company.

We launched a productivity app aimed at freelancers. The product was… okay. Functional, but nothing revolutionary. However, we nailed our initial distribution. I spent weeks hustling on Reddit, finding relevant subreddits, and genuinely engaging with the community. I wasn’t just spamming links; I was offering real advice, participating in discussions, and only subtly mentioning the app when it was relevant.

It worked. We saw a surge of sign-ups. Our daily active users climbed steadily. We were ecstatic. We were certain we had PMF.

Then, the growth stalled.

The Reddit strategy, while effective initially, proved unsustainable. It required constant attention and the returns diminished over time. We tried other channels – Facebook ads, content marketing, partnerships – but nothing replicated that initial Reddit spike.

More importantly, the users we did acquire weren’t sticking around. Our churn rate was atrocious. People would sign up, use the app a couple of times, and then… disappear.

That's when the harsh reality set in. We didn't have product market fit. We had distribution market fit, at best. We were good at getting people to try the app, but the app itself wasn't compelling enough to keep them.

The core problem wasn't our marketing; it was the product. It solved a problem, sure, but it didn't solve it significantly better than existing solutions. It lacked that "must-have" quality that drives organic growth and word-of-mouth.

We spent months chasing distribution tactics, trying to recapture that initial high, instead of focusing on the fundamental problem: making a product people truly loved. We A/B tested onboarding flows, tweaked pricing, and ran countless marketing experiments, all while ignoring the elephant in the room.

The lesson? Distribution can give you a temporary boost, but it can't compensate for a flawed product. True product market fit means your users are not just signing up, but actively using, and recommending your product. It means they would be genuinely disappointed if your product disappeared.

So, how do you avoid this trap?

First, obsess over user feedback. Talk to your users constantly. Understand their pain points, their workflows, and what they truly value. Don't just listen to the positive feedback; actively seek out the negative.

Second, focus on retention metrics, not just acquisition metrics. A high sign-up rate is meaningless if users are churning within a week. Track your daily/weekly/monthly active users, cohort retention, and customer lifetime value. These metrics will give you a much clearer picture of whether you have true PMF.

Third, don't be afraid to iterate, pivot, or even scrap your product altogether if necessary. It's better to admit you're wrong early on than to waste time and resources on a product that nobody truly needs. We held onto our initial vision for far too long, blinded by vanity metrics and a fear of failure.

Finally, remember that distribution is a multiplier, not a magic bullet. It can amplify the impact of a great product, but it can't create demand where none exists. Focus on building something truly valuable, something that solves a real problem in a unique and compelling way. Only then will your distribution efforts truly pay off.

I wish I had understood this sooner. It would have saved me a lot of time, money, and heartache. Learn from my mistakes. Don't confuse distribution with product market fit. Your company's survival might depend on it.