Yesterday's Yellow Brick Road post by Simone Silvestroni struck a chord. In it, he laments the downsides of choosing the path of a polymath, as people become quick to dismiss your capabilities as a jack of all trades, but master of none. On top of that, or perhaps partially because of that, Simone struggles to call himself a proper expert.

Sometimes, being a generalist in a specialist world sucks---I've noticed that too as you can read in an earlier article called The Downsides of Generalism, even though the many advantages are very clear and even supported by research. Employers would rather hire an expert to fix a specific problem. The self-proclaimed expert will more than likely do just that, but what if problem number two arises that doesn't look like problem one at all? Then you'll have to fire that expert and hire another one, specializing in another (very specific) subfield.

As said in the aforementioned article, I view myself as a Brain Baker---hence this site---not as a software engineer or researcher. And yet, when I'm introduced to people and they ask what I do, I usually say either "I'm a programmer" or "I work for the university". Why? Because I'm afraid of the reaction when I say "I'm a Brain Baker" and try to explain what it means. That doesn't neatly fit in any of their categories.

Currently, people think I'm a researcher, an academic. And that's not wrong: I'm currently doing exactly that. But that's not what I am. And now that my PhD is over, I need to choose: should I continue in academia or go back to the industry to "become the programmer" again? What if I apply for a few grants, get one, but after a few years decide it's not worth the uncertainty, and then want to go back? The longer I wait, the less likely I'll be welcomed there, as I "became" that academic and am no longer qualified or "fit" to be programming.

According to them, that is. As far as I'm concerned, that's complete bollocks: I still write code, I still learn new languages, I still tinker with open source projects, I still---albeit admittedly, much less frequently (what a relief!), follow the trendy JavaScript craziness called "(d)evolution of frameworks". I still teach software engineering principles. To me, it's like learning to ride a bicycle: I can't suddenly "unlearn" it.

People don't understand why I'd call myself a generalist when the very thing I've been doing the last five years is specializing as by definition that's what pursuing a PhD is. But I beg to differ: that highly depends on the subject, and it so happens to be that my subject is very much intertwined with my previous work. Would you call that a continuation---thus still a specialization? I don't know, but I don't care what you call it.

All I know is that I live only once and I have a lot of interests I like to pursue. I'm also a professional bread baker---even though I never opened a bakery, I have the degree and did an extensive internship. I'm also interested in philosophy and an avid reader of classic works. I still want to pick up sketching again (this time for real, I promise). I don't want to specialize in just a single thing.

This principle goes beyond having a few hobbies that have little to do with your work. There shouldn't be a difference: things I pick up after the obligatory working hours can be integrated in those very same hours. By reading philosophy and psychology, a lot of ideas bubbled up on how to combine that with my work, which directly resulted in unique introductions and approaches in my book The Creative Programmer. My ideas of bread baking translated directly in how I generate and approach ideas. My research and teaching work made me a better programming coach. Is that still specializing?

And yet, everyone keeps on bugging me with the what are you gonna do now after your PhD? question. They all expect a clear answer: either you become the academic expert, hoping to get a tenure track someday---which is not likely to happen since I'm running 11 years behind that could have been filled with lots of publications to up the numbers---or you take your knowledge back to the industry to specialize further there. But to be honest, I don't want to choose: why can't I do both?

Because the system won't let me, that's why.

Sometimes, proclaiming to be a generalist still makes you a specialist. You specialize in generalism. I could be called a serial specializer. Or, if you zoom out, I could just as well be called an ordinary specialist: my research was the direct result of my earlier work as a software engineer, and very probably, my future work will be based on both as well. And there's nothing wrong with that. Perhaps we should instead get rid of the terms generalist and specialist all-together and just approach people's capabilities in a holistic, but still contextual fashion.

I highly admire specialists. The famous Japanese chef Jiro Ono is called one of the greatest sushi "craftsmen" and devoted an entire career to preparing just one thing: sushi. Legendary nibmeister Nobuyoshi Nagahara of Sailor devoted an entire career to just one thing: perfecting fountain pen nibs. I love these stories just as much as anyone else, and afterwards, just like Simone, I wish I could be one of those true experts.

But after a good amount of years, just like Simone, I get burned out on a specialist job, and look for something else. Something very much related, which allows me to easily transfer my skills, but still: something else. I don't think I'll ever be the respected expert like Ono or Nagahara. And that's fine: as long as I'm having fun in doing what I do.