Essay

I run four practices. My business model is that I refuse to specialise.

A lawyer who builds software, a producer who reads Friston, a writer nobody has read yet. The orthodoxy says pick one. The numbers say something else.

25 May 2026 · 9 min · 4 cited works

There is a story you have heard. It goes: pick a lane. Become the best in that lane. Compound for ten years. The wealth, the reputation, the audience, all of it follows from depth.

The story is correct, with a single asterisk that nobody quite wants to read out loud.

The asterisk is this: depth is most valuable when nobody else is willing to do the depth. When everybody has access to a depth-on-demand engine, which is roughly where we are now, depth becomes more like running water in a flat; assumed, undifferentiated, and only noticeable when it is missing.

Naval is right. He is also right about a different thing than the one he is taken to be.

Naval Ravikant's specific-knowledge thesis is the standard articulation: 'specific knowledge is found by pursuing your genuine curiosity'. It is correct. The curiosity has to be real. The depth has to be earned. You cannot fake your way into specific knowledge by reading a single book.

The bit that gets quietly dropped from the popular retelling is that Naval explicitly describes specific knowledge as something that cannot be taught. By implication, it cannot be replicated by a model that has read every book. By further implication, the species of specific knowledge most valuable in 2026 is the kind that lives at the intersection of two or three fields that no single training set has integrated.

Cross-domain combinatorics, not vertical depth, is the moat.

The four-practices stack

I am an advocate and solicitor of the High Court of Malaya. I run a law firm. I also run a software company that builds AI products small businesses pay for and keep using. I produce dance music for an underground imprint I also run; that is a deliberate structure, not a vanity credit. I write books that have no audience yet. If you have ever kept serious work private for years, you know the shape of that decision.

By the orthodoxy this is professional malpractice. I should pick one. I should compound. The intersections are not legible to my LinkedIn audience and not legible to my booking page and not legible to my mother.

The intersections are exactly the thing that makes the work possible.

Court documents are a software product because I am a lawyer and a software engineer at once. AI in WhatsApp is a viable channel-partner business because I am both an operator who runs the bots and a lawyer who can write the indemnity contract. Personality assessment becomes a paid product instead of an academic curiosity because I can wire the Hogan-grade science to a Stripe checkout the same afternoon. The label survives because I treat the contracts and the masters as the same artefact instead of two separate professions trading invoices.

What the literature actually says about deep work

Cal Newport's Deep Work is the other side of the specialisation orthodoxy, and it is correctly read as a defence of long, uninterrupted blocks on a single problem. It is sometimes incorrectly read as a defence of long, uninterrupted blocks on a single profession. Newport's actual claim is about the structure of an hour, not the structure of a career.

You can practice deep work across four practices. Each session is single-focus. The switching cost between sessions is real and worth measuring. The combinatoric advantage of having four problem spaces feeding each other is also real, and is generally larger than the switching cost; unless you are doing the switching badly, which is a separate problem with a separate fix.

What the labour economics says, post-AI

Daron Acemoglu's 2024 NBER paper on the macroeconomics of AI is deliberately unexcited: modest aggregate gains, concentrated in tasks that are cheap for a model to learn because the context is contained and success is easy to measure. The tasks that stay expensive are the ones where the context is scattered across domains and nobody can write down the metric. That second category is where cross-domain work lives.

Translation: the parts of a profession that are contained and measurable are exactly the parts a model learns first. The lawyer who only does the contained parts gets cheaper every year. The lawyer who can also build the product the firm needs is selling scattered-context work, and that price holds. The producer who understands the publishing contract under the master license gets a bigger cut and the legal letter is not a separate procurement.

Patrick McKenzie calls it 'aspirational pricing': set the price high and build the value to support it. The four-practices corollary: the price sits on the combination, not the line items. The line items can be commoditised; the combination cannot.

Three objections, each correct, none fatal

The first objection is that this requires being above-average at all four practices, and being above-average at any one is already hard. True. The answer is to be properly good at the intersections, where the bar is lower because the field is newer, instead of trying to be the best in the field for each one.

The second objection is that this is a story told by people who happen to have made it work, and the field is littered with people who tried it and ended up as four mediocre practitioners. Also true. The honest version of the four-practices thesis is that the practices have to feed each other; if they don't, you are not running four practices, you are running four hobbies.

The third objection is that 'refuse to specialise' is a slogan rather than a strategy. Correct. The strategy is: pick two or three fields that genuinely talk to each other, become operationally competent in each, and let the intersection be your specific knowledge. The slogan is a side-effect of the strategy working.

What this looks like in practice

The useful question is not how many practices to run. It is whether the practice you are tempted by passes one test: does it produce something an existing practice of yours can sell, or sell something an existing practice produces? If the answer is neither, it is a hobby. Keep it; hobbies are good for you. Just account for it as one.

The second rule is sequencing. A practice earns the right to a sibling only once it can survive a month of neglect. Two fragile practices do not stabilise each other; they synchronise their collapse. Get the first to where it holds its shape unattended, then open the second inside the first's distribution: the clients, the trust, the referral channel you already have. A second practice that has to build its own audience from zero is a first practice with worse odds.

The orthodoxy will keep saying pick a lane. The orthodoxy is correct, with that one asterisk. Pick the lane that is wide enough to hold two professions.

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