What Changed When I Stopped Trying to Be Just One Thing
It’s not a failure to specialize, but a different kind of strength.
For a long time, I thought being interested in so many things was a problem.
I’d get excited about an idea, go deep into it, then soon find myself pulled toward something else—a new topic, skill, or project. I wasn’t being lazy or flaky. I was curious. But after starting and stopping so many things, I started to wonder if something was wrong with me.
The world seemed to praise people who picked one path. One passion. One clear label. I was the person with a dozen ideas and no simple way to explain what I did.
I kept trying to force myself to focus. Pick a niche. Build a brand. Find my one thing. But every time I tried, it felt like I was shrinking myself to fit into something too small.
Then something changed.
I stopped seeing my curiosity as a flaw.
Instead of thinking, Why can’t I just stick to one thing?, I asked, What if this is how I’m meant to work?
I began to see that my shifting interests weren’t random. They were connected. I wasn’t just bouncing around—I was collecting ideas, insights, and patterns. I didn’t want to do just one thing. I wanted to explore how different things fit together.
That’s when I started to see myself as a creative generalist.
It’s not a failure to specialize, but a wide lens—and a different kind of strength.
I started building a life that fit me.
Instead of cutting out parts of myself to look more focused, I made space for more of me to belong.
I found a steady theme—helping people create lives that feel right for them—and let my ideas and projects shift around that center.
It felt more honest. More like me.
And to my surprise, my work actually improved.
It felt more real. More connected. I had more energy because I wasn’t spending it trying to be someone else. I stopped narrowing who I was and started building a path that could grow as I did.
Choosing less didn’t bring fulfillment. Trusting myself did.
I didn’t chase every new idea. But I stopped seeing my wide range as a problem.
I began to trust that following what felt alive—even if it didn’t all fit neatly together—wasn’t a mistake. It was a clue.
When I let go of needing to explain everything perfectly, and started trusting how I’m built, I finally felt like I was on a path that fit.
Not perfect. But honest, creative, and growing.
REFLECT:
Is there a part of you you've been trying to “fix” that might actually be a strength?
What might open up if you stopped fighting your nature—and started building with it instead?
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