There’s a very good chance this place is going to feel real lonely, real soon. Most people will see the price action, the red markets, and get disillusioned, heartbroken, maybe even unwilling to stick around.

“How could I have wasted my time?” they’ll say.

Some will capitulate and sell at a loss.

“I’d rather lose a finger than my whole hand,” they’ll claim.

Listen, I get it—things are rough. I feel it too; I’m not made of stone. But it’s also worth getting some historical context. So, pour yourself some coffee, and let’s dig in.

Have we been here before?

In the eight years I’ve been hammering away at this blockchain with my thoughts, I’ve lived through a few winters. I skipped the worst one, or so I’m told. Hive (back when it was Steem) took its biggest dive ever, right after bursting onto the scene.

At SteemFest 2018 in Poland, I got into a chat with a veteran who remembered those days well.

“The place felt dead. Only a few people posted here and there. Even the whales went quiet. I stopped checking it, figured it’d die soon. I’d put a few bitcoins in myself and refused to sell at a loss, so I just let it ride…”

The speed of Steem’s fall from the top 20 tokens was wild. From $4.21 at its peak, it crashed to $0.07, with about half a million bucks in trade volume. Basically a token with no liquidity and a community that barely existed.

I joined later that year as Steem was pulling out of its coma. By the time I got deep into it, I was lucky enough to ride a crazy pump. I even thought about quitting my job—imagine that—making thousands of dollars just writing about life on a blog.

But all good things end. The crypto bull run fizzled out, Bitcoin and the altcoins started bleeding, and drama took over again. We even had a DRAMA token floating around. A slow bleed followed, and people started jumping ship. The once-buzzing blockchain—full of communities, games, and stuff like a dog rescue—began to fall asleep, slipping back into a coma.

Scarcity kicked our ass.

It’s not fun to admit, but a lot of us started fighting. What else could we do? The place was broken. Steemit, the big corporation, gaslit us into thinking everything was fine, all part of the plan.

Looking back, it’s fascinating. At one point, @ned even threw @elipowell —remember her?— out as a punching bag for Steemit. He got tired of the insults, the “incompetent” and “scammer” labels, and ducked back into the shadows.

By then, my wife and I had packed up and left the country. We’d had enough of the American dream, it seems. I kept posting and curating with a great little community, but that faded too.

When Justin entered the chat, @ned was just trying to dump his bags. It was undeniable by then—all the promises, the upgrades, smart media tokens, communities—it was vaporware.

When Steemit announced its “partnership” with Tron, those of us still here quit holding back and let @ned and the crew have it. That giant stake, meant only for development, was sold to a Chinese millionaire like it was @ned’s personal stash all along.

The birth of Hive.

This was our phoenix moment. If anything was going to kill this experiment, it’d have been Justin. The fact that Hive rose from that mess is why I don’t sweat today’s prices.

The Tron saga’s well-documented—I won’t bore you with details, though we can chat about it if you want. But up until then, I’d never felt so proud of this place. People put aside their differences and fought together to claw back our dignity, our efforts.

Hive was dirt cheap then. When the dust settled, it hovered around 9 cents. Instead of panicking or breaking down, I felt the urge to buy tokens. Hive had proven it was unkillable. What more did I need to know?

So, what now?

If I’ve learned anything from riding these waves, it’s that discipline gets you through the fog. Keep a long-term vision. Keep posting, curating, commenting—whatever. Do that, and you’ll be one of the few reaping the rewards when the good weather rolls in.

I’ll say this too: I remember being a minnow in this vast pond, with a dust vote, staring at dolphin, orca, and whale accounts like they were unreachable. I thought, “If I ever get ten thousand tokens, I’ll be golden.”

And here’s the thing—I don’t want to forget that feeling. I don’t want to lose the drive that made me a better writer, a better communicator.

So, I’m going to do the only sensible thing there is to do. I'm going to not sweat this down slope and keep on keeping on.

MenO