Alli Adams
Editor’s Note: All opinion section content reflects the views of the individual author only and does not represent a stance taken by The Collegian or its editorial board.
“A jack of all trades is a master of none, but oftentimes better than a master of one.”
It’s a cute, lovely saying, embroidered onto a pillow or written in Instagram bios in looping cursive. But somewhere along the way, we twisted that sentiment into an expectation: If you’re not doing everything all at once at an impossibly high level, then you’re not doing enough. The phrase meant to celebrate versatility has morphed into a demand for perpetual performance.
We talk a big game about being “multifaceted” as if humans haven’t always been that way. In reality, we have always contained multitudes. People are naturally complex, with messy interests, unfinished hobbies and contradictory traits. Humanity is inherently multifaceted.
But being human does not require us to display every facet simultaneously as if we were a museum exhibit.
At what point did having a specialty, a passion or a lane become negative? When did deep investment turn into evidence of being “limited?” And who decided that our personalities, skills and values should be assessed by the number of activities we’ve accumulated rather than the depth of commitment we’ve given to the important ones?
This cultural pressure is especially stark in the world of college and job applications. The modern resume reads like a far too lengthy list: president of 10 clubs, volunteer on six continents, fluent in four languages, founder of a microbusiness, varsity athlete and maybe also a part-time astrophysicist if there’s room. The expectations are absurd.
Studies from Challenge Success, a Stanford University-affiliated education initiative, show that overscheduling and constant pressure to do everything lead to chronic stress, a lack of coping skills and reduced deep learning in teens.
But here’s the lost truth: When we do too much, we don’t do anything particularly well.
The pressure doesn’t stop at academics; it shows up, arguably even louder, in the social justice world. A large portion of Generation Z cares deeply about justice, identity and systemic issues, but we also treat activism like a test you can fail. There’s this unspoken expectation to know about every issue, and if you don’t, then you’re uninformed, uncommitted or part of the problem. It becomes a moral performance instead of pursuing actual impact.
Pew Research studies show Generation Z feels a heightened expectation to respond to every social and political issue instantly, particularly through social media. That mindset doesn’t create change — it creates burnout and a shallow understanding. It creates a culture in which people feel pressured to find immediate, perfect solutions to every global crisis, rather than investing in work to make long-term progress.
This isn’t just anecdotal. A study on youth activism found that when young activists spread themselves across too many causes, burnout rates spike and long-term impact decreases. It concluded that sustained, focused engagement is far more effective than broad, unfocused involvement.
Martin Luther King Jr. didn’t divide his energy evenly between the civil rights movement, climate change, women’s rights and international conflict. Greta Thunberg doesn’t simultaneously lead climate change initiatives and gun reform movements. Malala doesn’t split her focus between global girls’ education, policing reform and housing crises.
Their impacts happened because they chose a lane and committed their lives to it.
“Prioritizing collective models of leadership is about sharing the power of decision-making and building leader-full, aligned and committed organizations and movements,” said Sujatha Jesudason, a professor at The New School, in an article for Convergence Magazine. “… Small groups are the secret to scale, as the ‘crucible where people can rehearse behaving differently with each other,’ and where their agency and strategies drive their work.”
Other issues still matter, as everything is interconnected. Systems of oppression don’t exist in isolation; they reinforce and compound each other. But solving everything requires something far more practical than omnidirectional awareness: It requires people willing to specialize.
There’s a reason you don’t major in five fields. You pick one — two if you’re ambitious; three if you’re misguided — and you build depth, immersing yourself. You develop a point of view and gain competence. That’s the power of focus: Not narrowing yourself, but deepening yourself.
And it’s worth asking why our culture keeps pushing the opposite message. Why are we so afraid to let people have a passion? Why have we convinced ourselves that worth is measured vertically with bullet points rather than horizontally with deeply pursuing what we care about?
There is value in choosing your thing and committing to it, and in choosing your impact. Maybe that doesn’t look like having 10 extracurriculars; it looks like pouring yourself into two. Maybe it looks like choosing a cause and fighting for it instead of stretching yourself thin across 12.
If we spent less time trying to be universally impressive and invested in our passions, we might actually get something done. It’s time our expectations for students, applicants, activists and ourselves reflected that. Embrace being excellent.
Reach Maci Lesh at letters@collegian.com or on social media @RMCollegian.