Get out of your lane

Back in the early 2000s, I was building database-driven websites when the internet was still figuring itself out. Companies began to realize they needed a web presence. I'd spend weekends teaching myself PHP quirks, experimenting with CSS layouts that wouldn't break in Internet Explorer 6, writing Python scripts to automate tedious tasks. My non-technical friends thought I was wasting my time on nerdy hobbies.

I was building a foundation I didn't know I'd need.

That curiosity shaped everything that came after. When I transitioned into project management, I wasn't just managing timelines, I was also managing teams. I understood what developers were actually dealing with. I could spot when estimates were inflated or when technical debt was piling up. I spoke the language well enough to bridge the gap between business requirements and what was technically feasible.

Then I did something that seemed illogical: I left tech entirely for journalism in 2010.

People asked if I was throwing away my technical background. I didn't see it that way. Journalism taught me how to explain complex ideas to people who don't live and breathe technology. It taught me to ask better questions. To find the story underneath the jargon. To spot when someone's selling hype versus substance.

Those journalism years weren't a detour. They were an education I couldn't have gotten anywhere else.

When I came back to tech last year by joining Pluralsight, I worried I'd be too far behind. The landscape had completely transformed. The tools I used in the early 2000s were ancient history. Frameworks I'd never heard of were now considered legacy. AI was suddenly everywhere, transforming how people work.

But staying curious had given me something more valuable than knowing the latest framework. I'd learned how to learn. I'd built confidence that I could figure things out. I wasn't intimidated by change because I'd already navigated major career shifts.

I started small. I rebuilt my understanding of modern front-end development by building small projects. I'd see something interesting and think, “I wonder if I could build that.” Usually, I couldn't, at least not at first. But I'd learn something in the attempt.

I experimented with how AI tools could help with writing and research. Some experiments were dead ends. Others changed how I work. I'm still figuring out where these tools actually add value versus where they add complexity. The only way to know is to try things.

The Python I learned years ago became relevant again in unexpected ways. I'm not building production systems, but I can write scripts to analyze data or automate repetitive tasks. That skill compounds. Each small automation saves time that I can spend learning something else.

My journalism background turned into an unexpected advantage. Tech companies need people who can effectively communicate between technical teams and the broader organization. Who can explain why something matters without drowning people in implementation details? Who can spot the compelling story in a product launch or feature release?

None of this was strategic. I wasn't following some master plan. I remained curious about things that interested me and trusted that the skills would eventually connect.

They always do, just not in ways you can predict.

The tech industry loves to talk about specialization. Pick your lane, become an expert, optimize your career path. That works for some people. But I've found more value in being curious across boundaries, in understanding enough about different domains that I can connect ideas that don't obviously fit together.

This matters more now than ever. The pace of technological change is relentless. AI is disrupting workflows that seemed stable six months ago. Cybersecurity threats are evolving more rapidly than most companies can respond to. Cloud infrastructure continues to become more complex and abstracted at the same time.

Trying to keep up with everything feels impossible. The volume of new tools and approaches is overwhelming. I've had to get better at filtering signal from noise.

That's where Pluralsight's newsletters have been genuinely helpful for me. They break down what's happening in AI, cybersecurity, and cloud without assuming you're deep in the weeds. Since I work here, I'm obviously biased, but I actually read them. The summaries are substantial enough to be useful, but digestible enough that I can get through them while having my morning coffee. When something catches my attention, I can decide if it's worth exploring further.

But reading about tech only takes you so far. Real learning happens when you're hands-on. When you're trying to build something, and it's not working the way you expected, when you're debugging CSS that behaves differently across browsers (some things never change). When you're reading documentation that assumes knowledge you don't have, and working backwards to fill in the gaps.

This kind of learning feels inefficient. But there's something about struggling through problems yourself that makes the knowledge stick. You build intuition that only comes from failure.

I've watched people get stuck because they only learned what their current job required. They became experts in specific technologies that eventually stopped mattering. They never developed the habit of continuous exploration, so when the industry shifted, they were unable to adapt to it.

The people who thrive are the ones who stay curious about what they might need next year. Who explores adjacent skills even when there's no immediate application. Those who aren't afraid to look stupid while learning something new.

Coming back to tech after a decade away could have been intimidating. In some ways, it was. But I'd already proven to myself that I could learn new domains. That I could combine different types of expertise in useful ways. That career pivots aren't dead ends, they're expansions.

My years in journalism made me a better communicator. My project management experience helps me understand organizational dynamics. My early development work gave me technical credibility. None of these skills replaced the others. They layered.

This kind of growth requires permitting yourself to explore without immediate justification. We're trained to optimize every hour, to show clear ROI for our time. However, some of the most valuable learning occurs when you're simply experimenting. When you're building something, it doesn't matter whether you can.

I block out time for this now. Not as much as I'd like, but enough to keep that muscle active. Sometimes I'm rebuilding something I already know how to make, but with new tools. Sometimes I'm reading about technologies I'll probably never use professionally. Sometimes I'm just curious about how something works.

That freedom to explore has kept me engaged. Technology is interesting because it is constantly evolving. Because there's always something new to figure out. Because the problems evolve faster than the solutions.

The best career investment I've made was staying curious when I didn't have to be. It was trusting that seemingly unrelated skills would eventually connect. It was being willing to look like a beginner again.

Start wherever you are. Pick something adjacent to what you already know. Permit yourself to experiment without a clear goal. Build something that doesn't matter. See where your curiosity leads.

The path isn't linear. That's what makes it interesting.