The Flattening of Skill: A Professional Dilemma

The Dual-Industry Paradox

Working in two industries brings its own challenges. That part is obvious. What I think is far more easily ignored, depending on what you do, is what happens to the work itself over time. Not burnout, not exhaustion, but something quieter. For me, it has felt like a flattening of skill — an unintentional reduction rather than a loss. The work still functions, it still communicates, but the sharpness begins to soften. The edge dulls. Depth becomes harder to reach.

This kind of flattening is difficult to spot because it doesn’t announce itself as failure. It arrives slowly, disguised as balance, until I realise that operating in two professional lanes at once has compressed my focus and diluted the instinct that once felt automatic.

The Resume vs. The Reality

I know what I am good at — very good at. I studied design for a decade and worked professionally in that space for another ten years. Alongside that, I have been teaching myself photography since I was fifteen or sixteen, working consistently as a part-time freelance photographer for the past six years. Both disciplines are deeply familiar to me. Neither is experimental territory.

And yet, over the past two years, something has shifted. My consistency has suffered, not in output but in vision. The clarity of what I see — both conceptually and through the camera — has stagnated more than I am comfortable with. It isn’t because I lack discipline or ambition. It’s because my attention is constantly divided. I am switching lenses all the time, mentally and physically, and never remaining immersed in one long enough for real depth to accumulate.

The Comfort Trap

Alongside this professional shift, my internal sense of urgency has also reduced. I am more financially stable than I once was. My health is no longer a constant concern. I don’t wake up with the same fear about whether I am going to make it. By most measures, this is a good place to be.

But creative comfort is a complicated state. When survival stops being the driving force, the fire that once pushed me to create burns differently. Quieter. Less frantic. I am left wondering whether this calm is balance — or whether it is a trap that slowly dulls ambition without ever feeling dangerous.

Defining “Success”

When I talk about “making it,” I don’t mean success in the traditional sense. I am talking about growing up in poorer areas, even within London, where reaching for the stars was rarely encouraged unless you were an obvious outlier of talent, intelligence, or luck. For many of us, success simply meant making it out. Out of instability. Out of limitation. Out of the streets, as people often say.

By that definition, I have already succeeded. I am here, healthy, financially stable, and living a life that feels full. That matters. It reframes everything. Because when you have already done what wasn’t expected of you, ambition no longer comes from the same place.

The Existential Ceiling

I still want to aim higher, but the question has become: higher towards what? Money alone no longer motivates me. My life already feels rich in experiences and wonder. The old star I was chasing no longer pulls me forward.

This is the ceiling I have found myself under. Survival was the goal, and I survived. Now I am left needing a new reason to reach beyond where I am, one that isn’t rooted in fear or necessity, but in meaning.

The Leap Beyond Social Media

I have started to realise that part of this stagnation comes from the space I am operating within. Being both a graphic designer and a photographer inside the social media ecosystem imposes a creative ceiling. These platforms reward speed, repetition, and recognisable output. They do not reward depth, long-term focus, or slow evolution — especially when two disciplines are forced to coexist within the same framework.

Going for it fully on my own as a professional feels like the next real step. The idea of creating work that must exist within those limits no longer excites me, particularly when I know that outside of them the possibilities feel far larger. I am not enthusiastic about allowing my work to be defined by a system with such a narrow ceiling, when beyond it the limit feels closer to the stars.