The Case for Not Picking a Lane

I've always had a lot of things on the go.

For as long as I can remember, there's been a list — hobbies, interests, projects, things I'm learning, things I want to learn. It's never really shrunk. If anything it's grown. And honestly, I love that about my life.

Right now I'm Head of CRM at a rapidly growing global marketing agency, a drummer in an 80s tribute band, a street photographer, someone who shoots and edits video, and about 12 months ago I picked up piano again for the first time in years — and I'm completely absorbed in it. There will probably be something else by the end of the year. There usually is.

I'm writing this because I think more people should live this way — or at least give themselves permission to. Not because it makes you more productive, or because it'll help your career, or because there's some optimisation angle to it. Just because it's genuinely great. Learning new things is exciting. Going deep on something you care about is one of the better feelings going. And variety, in my experience, makes everything more interesting — including you.

This isn't a productivity post. It's more of a case for keeping the list long.

The Fork in the Road

I can remember specific moments growing up where I genuinely thought I'd have to make a choice. Do I keep playing music, or do I get serious about a career? Do I quit the band if I want a proper job? If I get into photography, does something else have to give?

These felt like real dilemmas at the time. The logic seemed sound — there are only so many hours in a day, and splitting your attention means you never get truly good at anything.

But here's what actually happened at almost every one of those crossroads: I didn't choose. I found a way to do both. And then both became three, and three became whatever the current count is.

None of that happened by accident. But it also didn't happen because I'm some rare breed of high-functioning superhuman. It happened because I stopped believing the fork in the road was real.

This Is Just How Some People Are Wired

I want to be clear: there's nothing wrong with being someone who does one thing. If you've found your thing, gone deep on it, and it brings you satisfaction and stability — that's genuinely great. It's just not me.

Some people are perfectly happy with one thing. I've just never been one of them — and I've come to think that's a personality type rather than a character flaw.

I've wondered occasionally whether there's an ADHD explanation in there somewhere. I'm not diagnosed, but the pattern fits — the novelty-seeking, the ability to go completely all-in on something new, the parallel obsessions. Maybe. Maybe it's just personality. Probably a bit of both.

What I do know is that the people I find most interesting tend to be built similarly. Side hustles that aren't really about the money. Learning something new for no particular reason. Able to talk about their job and their band and their weekend project without those feeling like separate identities. Entrepreneurial, curious, restless in a productive way. People who find the world interesting enough that one slice of it was never going to be enough.

If that sounds familiar, this is probably for you.

The Hidden Life Problem

Here's something I haven't really talked about before, but think is worth being honest about.

For most of my adult life, I've kept these different parts of myself surprisingly separate.

Colleagues at work have a fairly standard read on me as a marketing professional. Most of them don't know I spent years playing drums seriously, that I still gig regularly, or that music was a significant part of my life long before any career was.

My bandmates know me as the drummer. They don't have much visibility into the professional side — the strategy work, the teams I've managed, the career I've built.

And the photography and video work? I've got a modest following online, but it's something I've only really talked about openly with a handful of people.

Why? I've sat with that question a bit recently and I don't think the answer is entirely flattering. Part of it is probably a quiet fear of not being taken seriously — if work colleagues know you're also in a band, does that undermine the professional credibility? There's something uncomfortable about people being able to see the whole picture when you're not sure they'll know what to make of it.

There's also something else. When you do multiple things, people sometimes can't place you. And that unsettles some people. It's easier to be legible. Easier to just be the one thing in whatever room you're in.

The problem is that's a form of quiet self-editing that adds up over time.

Why That Changes Now

I'm turning 40 this year.

There's something that happens around this point — at least it's happening to me — where you stop feeling the need to manage other people's perception of you quite so carefully. Not recklessly. More a quiet realisation that you've actually figured out who you are, and you're comfortable with it.

The multiple things aren't a distraction from the real me. They are the real me. The drummer and the marketer and the photographer aren't competing identities — they're the same person, just in different rooms. And I'd rather just say that out loud now than keep each version of myself carefully contained to its correct audience.

There's also a practical angle to this. I'm starting to write and create more publicly — this being one example — and the whole point is to talk honestly about what it looks like to hold multiple things at once. You can't really do that while keeping the different compartments sealed off from each other.

So this is me, opening the door a bit.

The Case for Going Deep on Lots of Things

The "jack of all trades, master of none" line gets used as a put-down. Worth knowing it's actually an incomplete quote — the original ends: though oftentimes better than master of one. The point being that breadth isn't automatically a weakness. In the right context, someone who can operate across multiple disciplines is more valuable, more adaptable, and more interesting than someone who can only function in one.

I'd go further. Getting genuinely good at multiple things — not dabbling, but actually putting in the work — makes you better at all of them. The discipline you build through music transfers. The eye you develop through photography changes how you think about storytelling. The strategic thinking from a professional career shapes how you approach creative problems. These things don't sit in separate boxes. They bleed into each other.

There's also what it does to you as a person. Variety keeps you curious. Learning things properly — not just skimming — keeps your brain flexible and your perspective fresh. I'm never bored. Stretched, occasionally overwhelmed, regularly wondering where the hours went. But never bored.

If This Sounds Like You

If you've ever felt quietly guilty about not being able to commit to just one thing — the job, the hobby, the creative project — I'd push back on that guilt.

You're not unfocused. You might just be someone who needs more than one thing to feel fully engaged. And that's not a problem to solve.

Pick up the piano. Stay in the band. Keep the career. Do the photography on weekends.

You don't have to choose.