GROWN UP
When grown-ups used to ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I said:
"First an inventor, then a teacher, maybe a tiger, and also a painter..."
They’d laugh and tell me I’d have to choose just one.
One? That didn’t seem right. So I told them:
"When I grow up, I just want to be happy."
Now I know—what makes me happy is doing everything.
Everything? Well, at least anything you’ll find on this website.
THE CLOSET
For a long time, I didn’t talk much about this. Not because it was shameful, but because it was hard to explain. The world seemed to prefer people who were clear, single-minded, easy to pin down. I tried to emulate that kind of person. Not by lying—but by trimming the edges of who I was. Making myself more legible. “Creative,” I’d say. “Multidisciplinary,” maybe.
But the truth is simpler, and wilder. I love doing everything. Not dabbling—doing. Deep diving into one thing, then another. Living fully in each interest until it has saturated and a new one rises. This post is, in a way, a coming out. Not around sexuality, but around identity. I’m coming out as someone who does anything.
There’s a particular fatigue that comes from hiding something others don’t even see as hidden. Like you’re constantly translating yourself into a single sentence when you’re really a book with too many chapters still unwritten.
HARD TO OWN
It wasn’t always like this—for the world, I mean. I read a book once that described “seekers,” people who move from one fascination to another like bees between flowers. The book traced how, after World War II, Western culture began to favour specialization. It made sense: economies needed experts, workers for the line, clarity and focus. The idea of being “a jack of all trades” became suspicious, immoral, and even dangerous.
But it wasn’t always so. In earlier times, generalists were honoured. Leonardo da Vinci (who else) was an artist, scientist, inventor, dreamer. Hildegard of Bingen was a mystic, healer, composer, and abbess. The list is endless. Try asking any of them to fill out a LinkedIn profile and you’ll see how impossible the demand for one clear identity can be.
We’ve inherited a culture that worships depth and treats breadth like a distraction. But what if that’s just a side effect of industrial logic? What if curiosity is not chaos, but a different kind of intelligence?
IT CLICKED
The saying we all know goes: “Jack of all trades, master of none.” But the full version is rarely quoted:
Jack of all trades, master of none, though oftentimes better than master of one.
That’s the line that opened a window in me. I realised I wasn’t failing at focus—I was succeeding at breadth. That deep curiosity is not the opposite of commitment. It is a kind of commitment—just one with many doors.
There’s a rhythm to it. Something grabs hold of me—a problem, a craft, a form—and I go in fully. I don’t skim. I submerge. And when the tide changes, I come up changed. Not restless—renewed.
GIVE IT A SHOT
Here’s a scene I’ve come back to many times:
Someone wants something unusual done—an idea, a blend of forms, a new connection, a tricky problem. They go to a specialist, and the specialist says, “Impossible, it won’t work, I can't do that.”
Then they go to someone else, a generalist. That person gets the spark and says, “I’ve never done it before, but I’ll give it a shot.”
And often, no one asks. No one commissions. I just notice something broken, strange, half-formed—and I begin. I make the tool I need. I follow the crack. I fix what I can’t accept and build what doesn’t exist. It’s not service. It’s instinct. It’s how I stay alive.
That’s the energy I live by. I won’t always get it right, but I’ll try. My work is built on that kind of willingness. Not a promise of perfection, but a promise of presence. Of showing up where new things want to emerge.
FOLLOW ME IF YOU'RE CURIOUS
This website is the unfolding of that life. A many-threaded practice. It won’t always be coherent. It won’t always fit into categories. But it will be alive.
If something in you recognizes this way of being—or if it makes you curious—you’re warmly invited to follow along. Maybe you’re a seeker too. Or maybe you just want to see what one looks like up close.
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