I’m living in a time where anyone with an idea can broadcast, publish, or distribute whatever pops into their head. The barriers are lower than ever—technology has made creativity and distribution accessible to the masses. I don’t need a huge investment to start a business or launch a product. The tools and networks are right at my fingertips. The only thing standing in my way? Myself.

My first, own company. My first client

At 23, I received an email from my first client. They were launching a new apparel brand and needed an e-commerce site. I could sense their skepticism—could this kid really pull it off? But I was affordable, and that made the risk worth taking. That was my first lesson as a young entrepreneur: people might not trust your experience, but if you’re cheap, you become a bet worth making.

Looking back now, I realise how fortunate I was that they gave me a chance. My portfolio was embarrassingly thin, filled with mediocre magazine design work that even I wasn’t proud of. Yet, I had the reckless confidence of a 23-year-old. The brand was already established in several countries, and that scared the hell out of me. I had never built a full-scale e-commerce site before. How would I manage payments? Should I hire someone? But I didn’t have the money for that. What about the backend?

I was the only “technical” person in a two-person team. So, I did the only thing I could: I googled everything. Six months of relentless work later, we were behind schedule, but we delivered. This is when I learned one of the most important lessons in my career: “Fuck it, let’s do it.”

The real cost of experience

That project became a stepping stone. Over time, I gained more clients, built more websites, and learned the harsh realities of business—the rat race for clients, the endless cheques, the legal headaches. But I also lost things. I lost friendships, communication, and a bit of my humanity as I became more “industry ready.”

Here’s something I don’t hear enough: experience is valuable, but it can also be limiting. From an early age, we’re conditioned to specialise. In school, I had to choose between Arts, Commerce, or Science, which supposedly defined my future. Study biology, become a doctor. Study computers, become a software engineer. But this mindset completely underestimates human potential.

Imagine telling Leonardo da Vinci to only paint—no science, no inventions, no writing. Just paint. We’d have lost one of the greatest minds in history. Specialisation in just one area is great if you want to fit into a narrow box. But if I want to explore what I’m truly capable of, I need to break out of that box. I want to do a lot of things. Might be a native thing to tell myself now, but we'll see in 20 years from now.

Cross-disciplinary skills

When I’m hired based on the first thing I become good at, I risk getting stuck. Sure, I might be the best coder in the room, but if I don’t stay curious and learn new things, I’ll plateau. I started my career as a programmer, working on WordPress and PHP. But over time, I shifted my focus to UI design, then client relations, and eventually project management. Every job I took on added a new skill to my toolbox, making me more adaptable and valuable.

That’s the beauty of cross-disciplinary skills—they're making me agile. I don’t have to be pigeon-holed into one role or skillset. With the tools we have today, I can learn almost anything for free or for cheap. One Google search away, and I’m learning how to code, design, or market my idea. The more I diversify my skills, the more irreplaceable I become.

The safety trap

Routine is the enemy of growth. The safety of a steady pay check and a predictable job might feel comforting, but I’ve seen how it can kill my desire to learn. Our brains aren’t wired to operate on autopilot, yet that’s exactly what happens when I do the same thing over and over. Without new challenges, I start coasting through my days, uninspired, running on habits. If I let that go on long enough, I burn out and lose the spark that drove me in the first place.

I owe it to my future self to resist that temptation. I need to look beyond the safety net. Cross-disciplinary skills don’t just make me more adaptable; they keep me engaged. I don’t have to wait for permission to explore something new—I can start right now. Sure, I’ll fail at first, but that’s part of the process. That’s how I grow.

The cost of ambition: Isolation

There’s a price to pay for wanting more. When I dedicate myself to learning new skills and pushing boundaries, I inevitably isolate myself. Friends and family might not understand why I spend hours in front of my computer reading blogs, watching tutorials, or building prototypes. It can be lonely, but that’s the cost of growth.

At the end of the day, the future me will ask, “What did you do today to make it worth it?” Did I push my team to do their best work? Did I skip the office ping-pong game to polish my portfolio? Did I use my time wisely, or did I settle for routine?

I’m hoping to build something bigger than myself

As I grow, I want the organisations I’m part of to grow too. I don’t want to just focus on profits or deliverables—I want to create a culture where creativity and collaboration thrive. I want to encourage the people around me to explore new skills, even if they don’t align perfectly with their job titles.

My goal isn’t just to build a company—it’s to build a community of people who are constantly learning and evolving. I want the workplace to feel like home, a place where people can invest in both their personal and professional growth. If I can create that kind of environment, I know the company will not just survive, but thrive.

I’m investing in myself

So, what can I do to stand out? I’m investing time in honing my skills, but I’m not stopping there. I’m focusing on the finer details—whether it’s design, code, culture, or brand value. The more I invest in differentiation, the more I’ll grow as a person and as a professional. Yes, I’ll lose some people along the way, but I hope there will be different folks later.

I hope the future will reward the risks taken, discomfort, and continuous learning.