Generalists: don't reject yourself.

Everything you think is wrong, is right.

I’ve always known I was never meant to be one thing.

The mere thought of pursuing one vocation—to be forced to choose—makes my blood boil. My chest tightens up. My brain races faster than normal, carving crackles of embers in streets of mental asphalt. My hands itch for my keyboard, to type out the internal screaming that rebels, revokes, and resents the idea that anyone must be forced to take one path in this one beautiful life we get to live.

The more I write my thoughts without restrictions, the more in touch I become with the person I want to be.

The little girl who daydreamed about worlds she’s never been to while ignoring her geometry lecture. The little girl who watched films with the urgent desire to create because of how they made her think and feel, not to just observe. The little girl who fell in love with sports but didn’t want tennis to be the only thing that painted her future. The little girl who wrote, wrote, and wrote, and broke her own heart one too many times in order to conform to rules she never wanted to obey.

It’s not surprising to me that Substack is home to many generalists. It feels tailored to the open minds and wandering souls. I love that about it.

As a ghostwriter and brand advisor who built a personal brand on LinkedIn—a typically “professional” platform, and arguably the most powerful networking resource on the planet—my venturing into writing for myself on a public forum with no niche was not an ideal concept.

I had been educated by people I really respect to pursue niched services. To serve only one person. To write for only one reader.

There is immense power in this education. I understand marketing and branding principles very well. I’ve been a professional copywriter for a long time, and one of the most timeless lessons I learned in the early days was this:

Your message becomes muddled when it lacks specificity.

This is an objective and highly proven truth. I won’t pretend it isn’t.

(For example, this newsletter is targeting generalists. Even with who I am and who I’m writing for, I’m thinking of one person on the other side of the screen who needs this message, and trying to solve their problems)

However, because of my all-or-nothing mentality, I’ve picked dangerous ways of trying to build a personal brand while internally resisting and externally—begrudgingly—accepting the “rules” of niching down.

I read many newsletters about niching down as a generalist. I read many emails that told me: “I know it’s hard, but we generalists have to specialize in order to succeed.”

This message crushed me.

I wasn’t just trying to build a business.

I’ve had a very messy history with trying to niche down and follow “best practices” in order to get there.

I had run my own marketing and copywriting consultancy in the past, and burned it all to the ground a mere year later. I moved on from that to content design and UX writing, which I did find genuinely interesting—as I do with all of my many vocations—but I grew tired of working for others after serving at companies like Nike and Meta. I pursued wedding photography because I’ve always loved photography and could not ignore that “urge” anymore, but the experience of constantly networking, socializing, and photographing massive celebrations made me feel dead inside.

These experiences taught me three crucial truths:

1. Writing and storytelling were my constants

2. I loved writing, branding, art, and photography

3. I was fucking exhausted

And then, in a period of desperation and many changes, big and small, I landed a job at a startup. I was excited for it, as I would be leading copywriting, messaging, and more systems using the power of words, for a company that gravely needed help.

(I knew this was temporary, too; I hated working for others, but I was always open to learning, and I was tired of this cycle of survival)

This job almost killed me.

It wasn’t the workload, but the politics. The psychological mind games. The false expectations and gaslighting. I would never wish this place on anyone.

My depression returned after years of being dormant. I had daily fits of anxiety and panic. I had significant nosebleeds that occurred from stress and pressure, and often cried before every meeting.

The most regular occurrence was sitting in the parking lot—hours before anyone else walked into the office—hyperventilating until I got all the energy out. Sometimes sobbing. Sometimes screaming. All the time, numb.

This period was extremely challenging. I won’t exhaust you with further details, but I was more desperate than ever to get out of there.

I eventually learned the art and science of ghostwriting. I read two books on the subject and grew obsessed with the idea. The inner spark of transitioning from copywriting—which I grew to hate, and you can find multiple areas of blame for that—to modern digital ghostwriting was appealing. Attractive.

I invested all I had in a mentor and his program—a highly reputable and valuable education—to learn everything I needed to know about this new venture.

Once again, I felt isolated within a community. This was a normal feeling for me. Even with very supportive and successful people around me, everyone was content with niching down and dedicating their entire personality to building a service business, scaling that business, and being known only for that one thing.

I had zero desire to follow in those footsteps. I didn’t care at the time. I just wanted to learn. I needed to learn.

Ghostwriting is just a fancier term for a more personal approach to copywriting. I had transferrable skills. Easy adaptation, easy mindset shift. The work and education was an easy lift for me as well, and I was going to do everything I possibly could to get out of a job that was ripping me into pieces, physically and mentally.

So, at that time, my desire to avoid niching down and build multiple projects on my terms was on the wayside.

Once again, in order to survive.

Long story short:

• I decided LinkedIn would be my platform of choice

• I spent mornings and nights networking, posting, and practicing

• I changed my service niche twice

• I changed my client niche eight times

• I then publicly announced I was done

• I started writing my brand my way

• I changed my personal brand overnight

• I started gaining traction and insane engagement for my tiny account

• I onboarded more clients, and wrote LinkedIn posts for them

• I deeply missed photography

• I missed loving writing…

I made it work for me in a business sense.

But, I had still chosen a niche. For a few months, I pivoted to write 80% about personal branding for yourself—something no one else had done at that point (that I’m aware of—and 20% about how venture capitalists and angel investors could build personal brands by owning their honest, lived stories.

I was going to do whatever it took to make money on my terms.

And, I did.

Fast-forward to today, and I’ve worked with some incredibly cool people. I’ve learned a lot. I still ghostwrite and work with meaningful venture brands and the most interesting minds I’ve ever talked to.

Then… I found—well, returned—Substack.

Something within me opened up.

(To be transparent, I tried Substack once, maybe for only a few days, and was turned off by the “social community” aspect of it and the atrocious UX—I’m a very private person, and the idea of commenting and engaging more made me want to hibernate)

I saw people write what they wanted to write.

I noticed the social posts were breaking all the “rules” I had come to know.

I realized the humans on this platform were multifaceted, interested in many different things, and were building impactful presences by embracing all of those sides.

Within a few weeks, I’ve fallen madly in love with the platform.

I wrote a note about generalists—a love letter to the mindset—that went viral. This opened my eyes.

People wanted—needed—to hear this message.

People who thought similarly to me needed permission to do what they wanted to do, with reckless abandon, and even more reckless adaptation.

My fellow multi-hyphenates. Generalists.

As a generalist, I’ve had to give myself permission to open up my heart and spill all the thoughts, feelings, and unbridled education I can into this platform.

I feel, for the first time, that I’m finally allowed to be free.

I’ve always been about making my own rules.

I built a LinkedIn personal brand by embracing the facets of me that no one else was doing. I was criticizing dated practices that made everyone look the same. I challenge AI-created work on a daily basis. I challenge my readers to get messy, get creative, and get rebellious.

I dare everyone—including me—to be who they truly are.

I stopped caring what everyone thinks of me a long time ago. I stopped caring about what the world “decides” is acceptable, and what’s not.

People who judge, point fingers, and tout that generalists don’t have a place in the professional or creative market have never done anything meaningful. Their opinions simply don’t matter.

The future of creative work is in the hands of generalists.

People with multiple skillsets, passions, and methods of monetization. We are not meant to be put in a box, and that mindset gives us the resilience of cockroaches and the longevity of statues.

I’m on a mission to build a portfolio career on all the vocations, and turn those vocations into an ecosystem of my own making: writing novels and short stories, building brands for myself and others, taking photographs of artists in love, and writing, writing, writing. Always writing.

If you’re a generalist, you’re not at a disadvantage.

It’s the opposite.

Your underlying advantage is woven into your many perspectives, experiences, passions, and dedications. These are the fabric of interesting people who will survive long after the integration of new and uncertain technologies, AI included.

If you don’t believe you have an advantage, that’s a mindset issue. Tap into what you love. There is a connective thread between everything you do. There might even be one significant passion that overrides the others, but supports your daily actions, thoughts, and dreams.

Be patient with yourself as you unleash the person within that’s been trapped behind the iron bars of society, social expectations, and envious specialists.

You are meant to be yourself.

And life is way too fucking short to play everyone else’s game.

---

If you’re new here, welcome. I’m Taylor, a writer, generalist, and photographer dedicated to unraveling the art and philosophy of personal branding for people breaking the rules.

---