trying to be everything. will i become nothing?
I always think of the saying "Jack of all trades, master of none." Its earliest appearance in print dates from 1785. (Akin to popular adages, the phrase has been mangled into a continuation of ". . .but often times better than a master of one," for a more nuanced sentiment, but that's beside the point. I just thought it was an interesting variant.)
I was always propelled with a strange (delusional? notional?) zealousness to be someone who is exceptionally good at everything I do. I intentionally say exceptionally good to not be misconstrued with perfect. Perfectionism is an unattainable ideal and will never fall under my aspirations. I wanted to work hard, to build myself piece by piece, into a master, an expert into the things I invest my time to. Is it a stupid thing to admit? Maybe. But I am not here to half-ass things.
What got me contemplating that saying is this weird - and, frankly, terrifying - thought I had: If I invest my time into various aspects, can I become an expert in all of them? If I am trying to be everything, will I end up being nothing?
There’s a tension I incessantly carry: the pull between curiosity and mastery. I want to write beautifully till I run my own magazine. I want to draw till my pieces are installed in galleries. I want to understand the intricacies of chemical engineering till I become distinguishable in the industry. I don’t want to just dabble in these disciplines. No, I want to know them in depth, in profundity.
But what happens if I keep stretching myself across too many directions? Will I dilute my potential? Is there a point where breadth undermines depth?
This is where that old phrase imposes a nonsensical quandary: Jack of all trades, master of none. An unspoken accusation: I am spread too thin. I will never be exceptional because I am just too unfocused. (I find this quite funny, because the original phrase was never intended as derogatory.)
From what I understand, the path to mastery is ostensibly perceived as being so utterly, exhaustively invested in one specific discipline to the point of expertise and rarity. For so long, I targeted that precise definition in my life.
I am trying to rework this perception, though, even if it's not applicable to everyone, with this: Mastery is not claiming expertise, but in staying committed. In showing up again and again to each craft, even if progress feels slow with each, even if I am unsure where it will all lead.
(I wasn't sure how to end this, but I had a thought: I wonder if, perhaps, instead of mastering each thing in isolation - engineering, writing, drawing - I can weave a larger net, one that forms nuance and connections among all of which, till it becomes something uniquely my own? Could that be its own kind of mastery? Well, only time will tell.)