Introduction: The Narrow Path vs. the Wide World
There is a long-standing belief that mastery comes from choosing one passion and committing to it relentlessly. Pick a single craft, pour thousands of hours into it, and eventually you gain the kind of depth other people admire. The world loves specialists. We celebrate the climber who does nothing but climb, the skier who skis every day, the photographer who dedicates decades to one subject. There is nothing wrong with that path. Depth produces excellence. But it is only one way to live, and it has never been my way.
I have never felt drawn to the idea of anchoring myself to one activity, place, or identity. Maybe some people are built to focus on one pursuit for decades, but I have always felt a pull in the opposite direction, toward variation, change, and new terrain. I have never seen the point in confining myself to a single set of experiences when the world keeps offering more. As the Eagles wrote, “when you look up in the sky, you can see the stars and still not see the light.” That line has always stayed with me, because it captures what can happen when your world becomes too narrow. You can become so focused on one familiar point that you stop noticing everything else around you.
This is the story of how I came to prefer breadth over depth, and why moving through many worlds has shaped my life more than committing to one ever could.
Roots
I grew up in New Hampshire, moved to Cincinnati for school, then eventually landed in Seattle. Even before I had the language for it, I was already living in a way that reflected breadth rather than depth. I wasn’t intentionally seeking diversity of environment at the time. I simply felt drawn to whatever was new, different, and unfamiliar. Looking back, that pattern was already forming long before I owned a camera or took a single trip.
Even now, as someone who technically “lives” in Seattle, most of my free time is spent driving or flying hours away from it, chasing different landscapes, different climates, different ecosystems. I often joke that Seattle is just my storage unit. Being still for too long almost feels physically uncomfortable. If a psychiatrist ever tried to diagnose the way I move, I’m sure they could produce an official label for it, but to me it feels more like curiosity sprinting through the world and dragging me along like a dog who spotted something interesting in the distance.
Movement has never been something I forced. It’s always been the baseline.
The Case for Breadth: What Many Worlds Teach
People who argue for depth make a fair point. Specialization yields technical ability and efficiency. But breadth provides something just as valuable: layered experience. Not technical mastery of one craft, but a more complete understanding of yourself and the world because you’ve encountered such a wide range of it.
Alaska taught me patience and how to read wildlife behavior. Uganda taught me endurance and calm under effort. Borneo taught me stillness and slow observation. Winter camping above Baker taught me discipline and acceptance of discomfort. Skiing Silver Star taught me a similar awareness of conditions, even in a different season. Freediving with manta rays in Australia taught me to surrender control and move with the environment rather than against it. Shooting the Milky Way under the southern sky taught me attention to detail and scale.
None of these experiences replace each other. They accumulate. They stack. They teach skills that cross over in surprising ways. Breadth doesn’t scatter you. It strengthens you.
Why One World Was Never Enough
For people driven by depth, the idea of stepping outside their primary pursuit feels like dilution. They fear losing momentum or watering down progress. But for me, the idea of staying inside one lane feels like shrinking my life to a fraction of its potential size.
There are so many different ways to experience the world that it feels almost irresponsible to only choose one. There are mountains shaped by wind, coral walls that fall off into deep blue, forests dense with life, and skies where the Milky Way feels close enough to touch. Why would I choose one environment to define my life when each one offers something different to learn.
Breadth turns the world outward. Depth turns it inward. Both have value. But I feel more myself when my world expands rather than contracts.
Breadth as a Skill: Adaptation Over Specialization
There is a misconception that breadth means shallow skill in many areas. But breadth develops its own kind of mastery. It teaches adaptability. It trains you to learn quickly, to read environments fast, to adjust to conditions without panic, and to stay functional even when you are somewhere completely unfamiliar.
Most people are comfortable only when they know exactly what to expect. Breadth trains the opposite. You learn how to thrive in uncertainty. You become willing to be a beginner again and again. You learn how to break and rebuild your mental framework whenever necessary.
This is not weakness. This is one of the strongest skills a person can build.
Breadth Creates a Narrative Depth That Specialization Cannot
There is a quiet irony in choosing breadth. Even though it avoids specialization in the traditional sense, it creates depth in another way. The depth is not in a specific activity. It is in the accumulation of lived experience.
A specialist may know everything about one world. But breadth lets you weave together pieces from many worlds. That weaving creates a deeper narrative, a wider understanding, and a richer memory landscape.
When I scroll through my own work, what stands out is the range. Bears against cold rivers. Gorillas in green haze. Orangutans framed by vines. A manta ray slicing through blue water. Penguins on distant shores. Winter ridgelines sculpted by wind. And skies lit by the southern Milky Way.
One image does not define me. The tapestry does.
The Philosophy: Living Wide Instead of Deep
In the end, my philosophy is simple: the world is too large for me to build my life around one corner of it. I want to experience as many landscapes, species, climates, and challenges as I can in the time I have. I want to see the edges of what interests me rather than spend decades inside a single boundary.
Depth can create excellence. Breadth creates fullness. And fullness is what I want.
Why would I center my life on one aspect when the world is full of places I have not seen and experiences I have not had. To me, variety is not distraction. It is the point.
Conclusion: A Life Best Lived Expansively
Specialists chase precision. I chase possibility. Some people want to be known for one thing. I want to be shaped by many things. The more I move, the more I learn, and the more I feel a sense of belonging not to a single craft or community, but to the world itself.
Breadth is not a compromise. It is a philosophy. It is a way of saying that life is richer when you let it stretch.
And I have no intention of living any other way.
Thoughts – November 2025
Wild with Tyler 
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