Milly Tamati
Tamati · model: generalist

Milly Tamati

Founder of Generalist World. I build things that did not exist before: a 150,000-person global network, a 1,000-person paid community, events that volunteers in 40+ countries run, and, for funsies, a job board for weird jobs.

Occasionally available for contract gigs with orgs doing great work, and for talks on the future of work.

150,000+ network* 1,000 paid members volunteers in 40+ countries Lives in a tiny home

Milly Tamati, smiling, in a we are generalists T-shirt against a yellow background
Tamati / about / 1

I was never going to
pick one thing.

For about three decades I was fairly sure that was a flaw I would eventually fix.

I grew up believing I was supposed to become an expert at xxxxxxxxxx something. ONE thing. Studied and practised and polished until it fit on a business card and people nodded politely when I said it at parties. Being a jack of all trades was the warning. A no-no. Something you grow out of, like a fringe.

Which is where I would like to make a correction: jack of all trades, master of none master of quite a lot, actually.

So I tried. I squeezed myself into job titles that nearly fit, in a few different countries, and every single time I got restless and curious and started quietly doing the bits of everyone else's job that nobody had asked me to do. I was the person rewriting the onboarding doc nobody read. I was the person in the meeting going "sorry, but why?" The titles never fit. For years I assumed the problem was me.

It was not me.

Milly speaking into a microphone in a bright room with floor-to-ceiling windows, audience in the foreground
mid-sentence, as usual

It took me an embarrassingly long time to notice the obvious thing. The people who untangle the messy, ambiguous, nobody-owns-this problems are almost never the specialists. They are the ones holding five half-related things in their head at once, spotting where they join up. Usually in the shower, or in my case, on a longgg afternoon walk (if ya know, ya know).

A generalist isn't someone who couldn't choose. It's someone whose work happens in the gaps between everybody else's job description.

Three weeks, then no backup plan

Three weeks after the thought for Generalist World first turned up, I quit my full-time job. After careful consideration. On a Tuesday. No savings worth mentioning. No plan B. No co-founder to talk me out of it. You get maybe one or two of these in a whole career, and every bone in my body was going: THIS IS IT.

Reader, this was terrifying.

Three years on, that thought is a community, a newsletter, a podcast, a jobs board and a public holiday I made up.

  • 150k+global network
  • 1,000paid members
  • 40+countries
  • 500+events
  • 51,890quizzes taken
  • 1holiday invented
  • 0niches picked

What I actually do all day: run the community, write, host, hunt down gloriously strange jobs, and talk to a frankly unreasonable number of generalists about what they are actually good at. Part editor, part host, part matchmaker, part woman replying to DMs at 11pm. Which is the point, really. Nobody was ever going to hand me this job description, so I went away and typed it myself.

File under:
unclassifiable

And the rest of it

I'm from New Zealand. These days I live in a tiny home, which is exactly as small and as good as it sounds. It is nestled in twelve acres of woodland in Scotland, right next to an organic walled garden where I grow a lot of my own food.

I create, speak, write, read, advise, walk a lot, and LOVE fermenting the veg I grow. I built a whole job out of the one trait I used to apologise for, which still feels a bit like getting away with something.

Milly smiling outside her wooden tiny home, with an arched door and red window frames
home, these days

Looking for a speaker?

People usually book me when they want to inspire their audience. I shoot straight from the hip: telling my story and sharing the lessons in a transparent, funny, momentum-building way.

P.S. If you have read this far you are almost certainly a generalist. Sorry. There is no cure.

P.P.S. There is, however, a newsletter.

* Not all at once, thankfully.

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