You Don’t Have to Pick Just One
“So what do you do?” One of the storytelling group members asked me this, and I had a loooong pause.
Not because I don’t do anything. Because I do too many things.
I’m a writer who doesn’t want to be an author. A graphic designer with a bachelor’s degree but I don’t feel good enough to claim. A photographer with 13 years of experience who stepped away from it. A self study philosopher. A storyteller without a clear medium.
“I do a lot,” I finally said. “And I love it all.”
The problem is, I can’t figure out which one should be my business. Or if I even have to pick.
The Weekly Shuffle
This is what my weeks look like:
Monday, I’m deep in a design project, thinking in grids and color theory.
Wednesday, I’m writing, trying to figure out what I actually think about something.
Friday, I’m editing photos from a shoot I did months ago.
Saturday, I’m reading philosophy and journaling about epistemology.
Sunday, doing my homework for my masters in communication.
It’s like cycling through high school class periods. English, art, photography, philosophy. Except there’s no bell to tell me when to switch, and no one’s handing out a diploma at the end.
People keep telling me to pick one thing. “You need a niche.” “What do you want to be known for?” “Focus on what you’re best at.”
But what if what makes me valuable is the intersection? What if the thing that makes me me is that I refuse to be just one thing?
The Renaissance Man Problem
I think about Leonardo da Vinci. We remember him for the Mona Lisa. But he was also an inventor, engineer, scientist, and writer. His notebooks are filled with sketches of flying machines next to studies of human anatomy next to philosophical writings.
He didn’t pick one thing. He was a Renaissance man, someone whose genius came from combining disciplines, not isolating them.
I’m not saying I’ll master all these fields like da Vinci did. But his willingness to pursue multiple interests at once, that’s what I’m after.
We don’t have a word for that anymore. Or maybe we do, but it sounds less impressive: Generalist. A Jack of all trades, master of none.
But here’s the full saying most people forget: “Jack of all trades, master of none, but oftentimes better than master of one.”
We Still Need Specialists (But Not ONLY Specialists)
I’m not saying specialization is bad. The world needs specialists. We need heart surgeons who’ve spent years mastering open heart surgery. We need engineers who know everything about one type of bridge.
But we also need people who see relationships across fields. People who can write and design. Who understand philosophy and storytelling. Who notice patterns that specialists miss because they’re looking too closely at one thing.
Perhaps the struggle isn’t that I can’t pick one thing. Maybe the struggle is that I’m trying to fit into a framework that was never built for people like me. Maybe I don’t need to escape frameworks entirely, I just need a different one. One built for people who refuse to be just one thing.
Collaborating Identities
Here’s what I’m learning to accept. I don’t have to choose between being a writer or a designer or a photographer or a philosopher. I can be all of them. Not perfectly. Not expertly in every single one. But authentically.
Because the truth is, my design work is better because I understand storytelling. My writing is stronger because I think visually. My philosophy practice deepens because I try to photograph ideas.
They’re not competing identities. They’re collaborating ones.
Maybe They’re All Real
If you’re reading this and you also feel like you’re cycling through different versions of yourself, trying to figure out which one is “real” maybe they all are.
Maybe you don’t have to pick your English class or your art class or your math class. Maybe you’re allowed to be someone who needs all of them to make sense of the world.
The Renaissance didn’t happen because people specialized. It happened because people refused to limit themselves to one field.
I’m not saying I’m da Vinci. But I am saying I’m done apologizing for not being just one thing.
And if that makes me harder to categorize, good. The best things usually are.
Next time someone asks what I do, I’ll tell them the truth: everything.
