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Building a Brain That Can Do Everything (But Not All at Once)

10 min read
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Ever since I can remember, I’ve been curious about everything.

One day I want to master the guitar. The next, I’m obsessively adding completely unnecessary features to my personal site—just because I can. Then I’ll find myself watching a video about the mysteries of black holes, watching explainer videos on how relativity actually works, or dreaming about building my own product that solves a problem no one’s even thought of yet. I’m a software engineer by profession and by passion, but that’s just one slice of the pie. My interests branch into singing (when I’m broke or too happy), messing around with my guitar just for the vibes, sketching people I secretly like, dabbling into ethical hacking or learning random networking commands after watching a couple of spy movies, solo bike rides through some forest trails, diving into some random physics concepts out of curiousity, penning down my thoughts, reading books or random articles, and even collecting the most unnecessary and random facts that most people would ignore. I love asking questions. I love understanding how things work. I want to know the 'why' behind everything.

In short, I want to be a polymath—whatever that means in this messy, tab-switching, curiosity-driven life.

But it’s not exactly a straight path.

Sometimes I’m hyper-focused - lost in code, oblivious to the world, solving bugs that felt impossible just an hour ago. Other times, I’m scattered—half-reading five books, switching between twenty tabs, dabbling in things that don’t seem to connect, and feeling like I’ve accomplished nothing substantial. I want to do everything, but I often end up half-doing a dozen things instead. This constant switching between obsessive focus and chaotic curiosity leaves me exhausted. Sometimes inspired. But often…unfulfilled.

So I’ve started diving deep into this question, not as someone who’s figured it all out, but as someone genuinely trying to. I’m reading books, following studies, collecting techniques, and testing strategies on myself. What follows isn’t advice - it’s field notes. My attempt to make sense of what it means to want to do everything without completely burning out.

The Polymath Paradox

The desire to learn everything isn’t new. Leonardo da Vinci was an artist, engineer, scientist, and philosopher. Richard Feynman wasn’t just a Nobel-winning physicist - he was a safe-cracker, an artist, and a bongo player. Benjamin Franklin was a writer, inventor, scientist, and statesman. They didn’t just dabble - they mastered. And yet they didn’t master everything at once.

That’s the paradox I keep running into: polymathy is not multitasking. It’s sequential, not simultaneous. It’s about zooming into one domain deeply, emerging with insight, and then moving to the next with discipline and intent.

So the goal isn’t to tame curiosity. It’s to schedule it.

Why Our Brains Struggle with “Doing Everything”

From what I’ve read, our brains are great at focusing-but terrible at constant switching. The prefrontal cortex, which is responsible for attention and goal-setting, can only hold a handful of items at once. When I switch from writing to checking Twitter to debugging code to learning about space-time, it creates what the American Psychological Association calls a "switching cost." These costs aren’t trivial—studies show we can lose up to 40% of productive time.

Add to that the dopamine effect. Every new idea, notification, or tab triggers a reward response. This creates a feedback loop that rewards exploration over execution. According to Dr. Anna Lembke in Dopamine Nation, we’re wired to pursue what’s novel even if it sabotages our long-term goals.

This hit me hard. It explains why I often abandon my deepest interests at the shallowest moment: I chase the feeling of “starting” rather than the discomfort of finishing.

What I’ve Learned (So Far)

I’m now experimenting with frameworks that balance exploration with execution. Here are some that resonated with me-not because I’ve mastered them, but because they’ve helped bring some order to the chaos.

1. Deep Work & Focus Blocks

Cal Newport's Deep Work changed how I think about concentration. The idea is simple: pick one thing and do it without any distractions for 90 minutes. No phone, no tabs, no notifications. Just you and the work.

My go-to Pomodoro timer app is Session. When I'm about to deep work, I'll set it for 60 minutes or 90 minutes or even sometimes 30 minutes of session, choose one task—coding, writing, or even practicing guitar—and just start. The first 20 minutes suck because your brain keeps wanting to check something. But once you push through, you enter this flow state where time disappears and you actually get stuff done.

The timer acts like a gentle prison guard. When I want to open Twitter or check my phone, I see that countdown and remember: I committed to this block. It's like the difference between scattered 10-minute bursts throughout the day versus one focused 90-minute session—same total time, but the quality of work is completely different.

2. Ultradian Rhythm Breaks

I picked this up from The Power of Full Engagement. Our bodies operate in 90-minute focus cycles. Pushing past that leads to mental fatigue. So after each 90-minute sprint, I take a walk, nap, or just stare at the ceiling. Oddly, this makes me sharper for the next block. Again, I use Session to schedule my breaks too.

3. Daily Highlights (Make Time)

From Make Time by Jake Knapp and John Zeratsky, I learned to choose just one highlight for the day. That becomes my “win,” no matter what else happens. It gives structure without pressure.

4. Building a Second Brain

I use Obsidian to dump every random thought, insight, quote, and project idea. It's like having an external hard drive for my brain. The key insight comes from How to Take Smart Notes—instead of acting on every impulse, I capture it and move on.

So when I'm deep in a coding session and suddenly think "wait, what if I built a tool that tracks my learning streaks across different subjects," I don't start sketching wireframes. I write it down in Obsidian with a few quick notes about the idea. My brain relaxes because the idea is safely stored, and I can actually think it through properly later during my curiosity slots.

5. Curiosity Slots

This is my favorite hack. I schedule time for rabbit holes. Saturday afternoons might be for prototyping that random travel storytelling app idea that's been bouncing around my head. Random Wednesday nights could be learning different strumming patterns on guitar or watching videos about Theory of Relativity.

The magic is that it's scheduled chaos. My brain knows it gets to explore, so it doesn't hijack my focus blocks. It's like telling a kid they can have candy after dinner—suddenly they stop asking for it every five minutes.

6. The Feynman Method

Feynman kept a dozen important problems constantly in the back of his mind. Whenever he encountered something new—a conversation, a paper, a random observation-he'd ask: "Does this help with any of my problems?" Most of the time, the answer was no, so he could ignore it guilt-free. But occasionally, something would click.

I've started doing this with my own list of questions I actually want to solve: How do I build better habits? What makes code truly maintainable? How do I stay creative without burning out? When I stumble across something interesting now, I run it through this filter. If it doesn't connect to one of my core problems, I bookmark it and move on. If it does connect, I dive deeper.

It's basically a way to stay curious without getting completely derailed. I got this from Surely You're Joking, Mr. Feynman! and it's been surprisingly effective at keeping me focused on what actually matters.

Enter the Age of GPTs: The Game-Changer for Polymaths

Here’s the part that excites me the most: we’re living in a time where GPTs and large language models exist. That changes the game for people like me—people who want to explore, connect dots, and execute ideas faster than ever.

These days, when I’m feeling stuck or my mind’s all over the place, I just type straight into GPT like it’s a blank notepad that talks back. It’s way better than juggling twenty open tabs or falling into a YouTube rabbit hole for hours.

Some things I’ve actually asked recently:

  • I have 2 hours today. What’s the fastest way to learn how zod works with tRPC?
  • Give me some short exercises to test if I’ve really understood what I read in Deep Work.
  • Why does my useEffect sometimes run twice in development, and how does React’s rendering behavior actually work under the hood?
  • Help me reflect: Why do I always abandon books halfway?
  • I want to build a new learning habit. Suggest a 30-day challenge based on spaced repetition.
  • Can you explain how cache: 'force-cache' and revalidate work with fetch in Next.js? And when should I not use them?
  • Can you turn this inner chaos I feel into a poetic 3-liner?
  • What’s a common strumming pattern in Coke Studio-style songs?
  • What’s the difference between major and minor scales—explain in emotion terms.
  • I’ve always wanted to understand relativity—but through the lens of intuition and analogies. Can you walk me through the basics like Feynman would?

What used to take days or weeks now happens in minutes. It’s like carrying a tutor, a co-founder, a sounding board, and a research assistant in your pocket.

But even here—discipline matters. It’s easy to get caught up using GPT for shallow things. The real magic happens when you pair it with intentional curiosity and deep structure.

For example:

  • I use GPT to help me generate writing prompts, then go offline to write uninterrupted.
  • When I have a half-formed project idea, I'll brainstorm with GPT to flesh out the structure, then block out focused time to actually build it.

It’s not a shortcut—it’s a scaffold. GPT accelerates learning, but only if you’re willing to do the focused follow-up.

Reality Check: It’s Messy

Despite all this, I still struggle. I still go on binge-learning sprees. I still drop books halfway. I still feel like I’m doing too much and not enough at the same time. But I now recognize that part of the polymath journey is pattern-building over time. These small tools, books, and rhythms are helping me stitch together a system that honors both my obsession with doing everything—and my desire to actually finish something.

Also, I’ve realized that curiosity isn’t the enemy. It’s raw fuel. But just like any fuel, it needs containment. It needs structure. That structure doesn’t have to be rigid, but it has to exist.

Conclusion: Polymathy as a Process, Not an Identity

I used to think being a polymath meant being good at everything. Now, I think it means staying in love with learning, while gradually deepening your craft across domains.

I haven’t figured it out. I’m still learning how to organize my days, control my dopamine, fight distraction, and move with intention. But this essay, in a way, is part of the practice. It’s a snapshot of the journey—not the destination.

So no, this isn’t a guide. It’s a dispatch from the field.

And if you’re like me—curious, distracted, overly ambitious—you’re not alone.

We’re all trying to build a brain that can do everything.

Just not all at once.