What if you had a really successful career, but nobody knew about it? That's Ken Gaebler's quandary.

As one of the founders of Vream, a maker of virtual-reality software in Chicago, he sold products, wrote business plans, handled financing, accounting, production and anything else that was needed. But when the company was sold, he found that, despite working 18-hour days, he was largely unknown outside the company.

His charismatic partner, Ed LaHood, who made the slick presentations to trade shows and venture capitalists, got most of the credit for the company's success.

"If anyone called our venture capitalists now, I don't know if they could describe what I did," Mr. Gaebler says. Now, the 34-year-old Mr. Gaebler wrestles with what to do next. After the exhilaration of a start-up, he doesn't think he'd be happy as a corporate manager. He'd like to recruit another management team for a new venture, but lacks a sizable pool of industry contacts. Besides, after several years as an ensemble player, he wonders if he can lead the orchestra.

Mr. Gaebler's career is a lesson in the importance of getting yourself known. In hindsight, he says, he should have spent more time writing articles, giving speeches and rubbing shoulders with venture capitalists and other career-makers. Beyond that, he etches a sometimes disturbing portrait of how the overheated Internet world is shaping the careers of a generation, perhaps encouraging the isolation of entrepreneurs.

After graduating from the Yale School of Management in 1994, Mr. Gaebler joined Mr. LaHood, who had once worked for him at a consulting firm, to form Vream. Kept alive partly by the founders' credit cards, Vream got hot when it switched from computer to Web-based software. The company was still in the red, but in the wacky Web world, where money-losing companies are worth billions, it hardly mattered.

Vream succeeded by marketing itself more than its products. "Because we were smart enough to focus early on exit strategy, we were able to sell out just before the hype died," Mr. Gaebler says.

In 1996, Platinum Technology bought Vream for $10 million. But after the venture capitalists, lawyers, employees and Mr. LaHood took their cuts, Mr. Gaebler had a "decent," but not imposing payoff, much of it in Platinum stock that has since plunged from $30 a share to as low as $10. Mr. Gaebler stayed with Platinum for 18 months to ensure a smooth transition and left in August. Now, he wants to find work before he starts eating into the retirement and college funds he set up with his Vream proceeds.

What should he do? He dreams of becoming a "serial entrepreneur" with Mr. LaHood, each successive company producing a bigger jackpot. But Mr. LaHood wants to take time off; he is currently traveling around the world.

Mr. Gaebler ponders launching his own company or joining a team that is starting one. He talks about his broad experience in software and building organizations. "I was a very good generalist," he says.

But he wrestles with self-doubt. Without Mr. LaHood's technical acumen, charisma and capital, he wonders, can he succeed? He's having trouble recruiting a team, for example. "After five years of nose-to-the-grindstone work, I find that I am not nearly as well connected or as well known as I ought to be," he says.

Still, he seems stuck on finding "the next big thing," an obsession, he admits, that prevents him from considering a "9 to 5 job with a decent salary." While he admires Platinum, he was frustrated working at that larger company, where he didn't have as much autonomy.

It isn't the money, he says, pointing out that he hasn't traded in his Saturn for a Porsche yet. The money just represents freedom -- freedom to fulfill old dreams of becoming a grade-school teacher or of running an inner-city charity. What he misses is the adrenaline rush.

"It's totally addictive," he says. "I don't think there's another period in our history where there's been such opportunities for people to come out of nowhere and become captains of industry."

That world has its dark side, he concedes. "Any idea you come up with, the Internet spreads it and you end up with a lot of knockoffs," he explains. Such intense competition can corrupt. He tells of promising product delivery dates he knew the company couldn't meet and slowing down customer refunds to preserve capital. "You do whatever you have to do to succeed," he says.

Now he is searching for the next big thing and figuring out how to make himself more visible. He has taken office space and a short-term consulting job researching business ideas for a new media company. His duties will allow him to see what is out there for himself as well.

Mr. Gaebler knows he must stop comparing himself unfavorably with Mr. LaHood and concentrate on what he does best: working as part of a team. He has to do the nitty-gritty contact-building work he neglected for so long. To that end, he has been scheduling more lunches with colleagues and attending more industry meetings. He even contacted a popular industry newsletter, which subsequently published an item about him.

He reminds other would-be entrepreneurs to avoid career myopia. "As you're throwing yourself into your work," he advises, "don't forget there will be a next journey."