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During our entrepreneurial days, Landon and I used to joke that we were “jack and jill of all trades, and masters of none.” At the time, we envied our friends who had chosen more structured career paths, and had cultivated deep expertise in their fields. By contrast, we felt unimpressively generalist. I kind of understood design, kind of understood sales, kind of understood technology, but I was far from an authority in any of those areas. I am thinking now of a friend who, when asked whether she could help with a technical issue on my site, responded: “Sure. I mean, I know enough to be dangerous.” Ha! Like, I can do something that will either implode your site or catapult you to the next level — we’ll see.
I have so many thoughts on this now. First, I think that many people in their 20s and 30s, especially those who switch or shift career paths a few times, feel this way (“the unimpressive generalist”), and don’t yet see that they are building up a unique register of insights and experiences that will eventually serve them in surprising ways. For example, I am shocked by how much design thinking percolates my approach to my writing, to my business, to even the everyday administration of my life. Product design was a short chapter in my life, but it has touched almost everything that followed. The same is true of writing, of course, although it only occurred to me in the past few years that I could consider myself any kind of specialist, or tradesperson, in it. (It takes a long time to become.) And yet how I think about writing, how I practice it, conditions everything else I do. It startles me that everything — how I experience beauty, how I read, how I make my way through times of irresolution — is rooted in wordplay, and the patience required of drafting and editing, and the specific kind of listening that goes into writing a sharp line.
I also think that entrepreneurs must, as a matter of survival, be “practicing generalists” whether they want to or not. No one else is going to clean the toilets of your restaurant when staff is out sick; no one else is going to figure out that billing issue. You don’t have enough money to pay for a full-time CMO; you’ve got try something on your own.
And, finally, I think there’s merit to Elizabeth Gilbert’s “are you a jackhammer or hummingbird?” question — the notion that some of us are consumed by a singular passion, and others move from tree to tree, trying this and that. No one approach is better than the other. And the most surprising thing of all is that I have thought myself to be a hummingbird for all my life, but it turns out I’ve been jackhammering away at writing the entire time. I suppose that happens when you take a hobby and make it a career.
What about you, friend? Do you consider yourself a jackhammer or a hummingbird? A jill of all trades or a master of one? Has that evolved in your life?
It occurred to me the other day that you can experience “greatness” as a hummingbird or a jackhammer — that you can be great at a specific skill and also great across a career, or a lifetime. I know several people whose jobs have changed over time but who have consistently demonstrated what I would classify as “greatness” — talent, commitment, curiosity, leadership, ambition. I am thinking first of my dad. He is an attorney by trade but it’s not the first thing that comes to mind when I talk about him — it doesn’t define him. He bring intensity and passion to absolutely everything he does, whether it’s woodworking, flyfishing, philanthropy, casual mealtime conversations (my brothers-in-law used to joke that they’d read the WSJ cover to cover before meeting him for lunch). What does it mean to be “great”, after all? And what can we learn from it?
I’m realizing as I write this that I’ve made a lifelong, informal study of greatness. I mean, haven’t we all? Isn’t this the point of reading memoirs by the successful, subscribing to James Clear’s newsletter, tuning into the Olympics, listening to podcasts by experts, watching live performances by the most talented people on earth, studying your boss while she effortlessly runs a high-stakes phone call or your mother while she magically cares for everyone around her without seeming to notice she’s doing anything, all the while leaning forward and asking “how do they do it?” What have you learned from this reconnoitering?
Some of the lessons that have stood out to me:
There are no big breaks. In an interview, comedian Dana Carvey commented that people often ask him “what was your big break?” and he replied: “There was no big break. There were lots of micro-breaks — getting the interview, getting the callback, getting to be in my first skit on SNL, etc.” Don’t mistake the foothills for the mountains, and vice versa. Celebrate every small victory, but never get comfortable. Everything is an audition for the next step, and everything is also “a good break” on its own.
Make everything the most important thing. From actor Mads Mikkelsen: “My approach to what I do in my job — and it might even be the approach to my life — is that everything I do is the most important thing I do. Whether it’s a play or the next film. It is the most important thing. I know it’s not going to be the most important thing, and it might not be close to being the best, but I have to make it the most important thing. That means I will be ambitious with my job and not with my career. There’s a very big difference, because if I’m ambitious with my career, everything I do now is just stepping-stones leading to something — a goal I might never reach, and so everything will be disappointing. But if I make everything important, then eventually it will become a career. Big or small, we don’t know. But at least everything was important.”
When you lose, you learn. Failure is inevitable, but it also enables forward movement. Thomas Edison tested something like a thousand combinations of gas and filament before creating the light bulb. You grow when you’re out of your comfort zone. You improve when you’re running forensics on why something hasn’t worked.
How you do anything is how you do everything. Bourdain talked about “the bathroom test” — if you walk into a restaurant, and its bathroom is not clean, it sends a signal. If you can’t get the small things right, the big things will be impossible to pull off.
Inspiration will not always find you, so you must learn to be disciplined. Move the dirt! Malcolm Gladwell’s 10,000 hour rule applies here (according to research by Anders Ericsson, it takes approximately 10,000 hours of dedicated practice to become an expert in a given field).
The only thing standing between you and your goals is effort. Nothing changes if nothing changes; you are in the driver’s seat.
Get outside. Literally and figuratively! Sometimes the best way out of a creative problem is taking a huge step back, and looking for inspiration elsewhere. Cross-pollination is powerful. And on a literal level, I am thinking of Whitman, who wrote: “Now I see the secret of the making of the best persons, / It is to grow in the open air and to eat and sleep with the earth.”
Share your thoughts below! What have you learned while observing the great?
Post-Scripts.
+On shaking hands with the empty page.
+On falling in love with Landon. (Thrill of the chase.)
Shopping Break.
+I own these wide-leg crops in a brown wash from fall but I think I need them in this ecru. Run TTS but denim is very rigid, FYI. Look for less with these.
+I am loving (!) this top I got from Tuckernuck. (I took a size 0.) I wore to a girls dinner last weekend — she is so dramatic but still wearable. While you’re there, check out this pretty resortwear find.
+These adorable outdoor pillows from Target were just restocked!
+Great price for a chic and inexpensive coverup.
+This $65 dress is perfect for your daughter on Easter. It has the vibe of brands that cost 2x as much.
+My kids are obsessed with these reading lights. They are inexpensive but the battery lasts an eternity, and I love that it promotes bedtime reading!
+I really want to buy a pair of Le Monde Beryls for spring. You may have noticed that almost any time I’m putting together an outfit collage, I feature one of these two styles I’m torn between: these Lunas (look for less here) and these Mary Janes (OMG, the butter yellow…!; look for less here). I think the brown suede of the Luna would be actually a great transitional shoe — imagine with white jeans, spring blouses, etc. Kind of helps blur the season. But the Mary Janes!
+This style from Le Monde Beryl is usually the most difficult to find — they always sell out! — and I love them too but think they’d be less versatile because of the hardware. (You can get the look for less with these.) It depends on what you’re looking for, though. Sometimes a bold shoe just makes the entire outfit. Pair with jeans and a tee and you’re done. Other times you want something you can mold to the statement pieces in your wardrobe that aren’t quite as noisy.
+Chic Toteme pants, on sale! Pair with an oversized knit like this (look for less with this).
+Mr. Magpie is good about reusing baggies, especially for things that leave little residue or crumbs like bread — I found this baggy dispenser to contain them all!
+Really pretty pointelle cardigan for spring in an unexpected color. I love the idea of this with ecru, creams, whites!
+OMG these Roger Viviers…!
+Swooning over Danrie’s latest arrivals…this bubble! this romper! these hair clips!