I scrolled past this image today and paused a second to gasp. I’ve forgotten how much I miss experiencing places in the built environment. I studied architecture in college and I think a part of me has always been tuned to the design of place, of space, and how people move around, view, and experience it.

I haven’t seen much architecture this year, other than through my screens.

But just seeing those epic proportions. Imagining walking among that structure, through those imposing legs of the building. To be put in one’s place. To realize the smallness of oneself. To experience what cooperation and collaboration can create with your full body and being.

Architecture has something that software can’t capture (yet). Richness of materials. Scale beyond a screen. Full immersion.

The user experience of a building isn’t straight forward, isn’t a journey. It’s a life. No one opens a piece of software and gasps. I have yet to have a life-altering experience via pixels. There’s opportunity in the future, but for now, I wish I could stroll through that plaza and run my fingers over the concrete as I take in the view.

That was a meditation and challenge from the Hurry Slowly podcast by Jocelyn K. Glei. I’ve been thinking about that on and off since I heard her say it more than a year ago. I’m accomplishment-driven. I have crazy amounts of discipline. That means I do a lot. I excel at work, I keep up with my 3 year old, I make stuff for fun, I write.

But what am I when I’m a human being, instead of a human doing?

I don’t know.

But I felt it today. At the beach. I sat facing the ocean, watching the waves and the birds scuttling by. And I was being. No semblance of doing, no desire to do anything in particular other than sit, watch, and listen. The waves crashed in a successive pattern. The seagulls and tiny running birds eyed me and went about their business. I was present without the need for accomplishment to validate my existence.

Those birds didn’t care if I excel at work. The waves don’t value my achievements. Nature does not give a shit about me and my life. Maybe that’s the key. Spending more time with nature to realize my place in it. To understand that people are so wrapped up in themselves that they don’t notice who I am or care about what I do. What I do can matter to me, but who I am matters to my family, my friends, to the ones I care about.

I hope by writing this down it will remind me to get to nature more often to feel the being, especially if I get too wrapped up in the doing. I’m doing enough. I do enough. (I actually do too much but I can’t help it.) but maybe with reminders, I can rein myself in and do just enough and spend the rest of the time being.

I’d like that.

Not the “hell yes, let’s catch up over coffee.” More of the, “HELL yes, let’s sell our house, pack all our things into storage, and move to New York City so I can go to grad school.” Wow, that sounds crazy just typing that. But that is literally what I did, and it was such an authentic truth for me that it didn’t sound crazy in the moment at all.

The first time I remember having this feeling was when I heard about a study abroad program my freshman year of college. I was studying architecture, and I heard about a program called World Tour where students spend an entire semester traveling around the world. It only occurred once every 3 years, you had to apply for it, and it cost a lot of money. And I instantly knew that I had to do whatever it took to go the next time it happened. I was meant to be part of that experience. Not in a “should” kind of way. It almost felt like I had come from the future, and I knew that I had already been part of it, so of course I would go.

And I did. It was a life changing, amazing experience. We visited 24 countries, over 50 cities, in 103 days. During that time, patterns emerged across continents and cultures. The world didn’t feel so vastly different or big; it felt smaller and more intimate, like we’re all in this together. It dramatically changed my political views and understanding, and made me a better, more empathetic person.

The next time I felt this pull was for graduate school in NYC. It feels so cliché writing that, but at the time I wasn’t looking for graduate schools nor had I every dreamed of living in New York. I happened upon multiple blog posts from influential designers who I followed, saying they would be teaching in this new MFA program. I looked into the program and the feeling hit. I was meant to be there. For the first cohort. With these people.

I was so nervous during the interview process because I wanted it so much. I never considered the risk of being the first class of a new program, with an untested new group of faculty and program chair; I only saw the opportunity to pioneer, give feedback, and forever be a part of the history of this program. I knew it would succeed. I knew I had to be there for it.

My husband was not as convinced, although he patiently listened and agreed that we could handle anything for 2 years. And with my acceptance letter in hand, most of our possessions stored in Indiana, a jam-packed Uhaul, and a drugged up corgi, we drove our way straight into Manhattan and set up shop for our 2 year stint.

Finally, my most recent hell yes was a bit more of a slow burn. After grad school I looked for jobs in Austin, TX, where we wanted to live next. I was instantly drawn to the IBM design studio, but I also noticed an announcement of a new design agency that had just started up, argodesign. It had a brand new website with a small crew of mostly guys, a portfolio of interesting projects, and the ethos of Think by Making. That last part is what resonated with me most. I’ve always been a maker, and there was something about that company that called to me, with a combination of digital and physical design, and actually making those designs real. But it wasn’t the right time.

I accepted the position with IBM, but I kept my eye on argo, what they were working on, how they grew, and I attended some of their events and got to know some of the designers who worked there. I even had some interesting overlaps, where I gave a talk at argo about physical prototyping with Arduino.

It felt like I was in the gravitational pull of a planet or star, slowly being pulled to the center. I had no idea the opportunity would arise 5 months after having my daughter, when I considered other options after maternity leave, and after working at IBM for 3.5 years. This time was a little different too. For this interview, I knew the risks of leaving a steady, in-house job for something unknown: agency life. But I didn’t feel as nervous about it. I was interviewing them for proper fit as much as they were interviewing me. Although I probably knew it was the right place for me, I still had to be sure. But after I accepted, I felt the deep ease, that I had made it to where I was meant to be.

As I get older, it’s harder to feel and accept a risky “hell yes.” I have a husband and daughter I love, a job and coworkers who keep me on my toes and challenged in the best way, a house that we’ve finally painted and settled into. It feels a bit like complacency, but not really. It actually feels like my whole life right now is one BIG hell yes, one that I’ve cultivated and created for myself. Now I try to tune in and see if there are small hell yes’s that might improve my life in smaller ways: making intuitive art, using my laser cutter, making crafts with my daughter.

But what other BIG hell yes’s might be in store for my life? I’m not sure, maybe there’s a finite number of them that a single person receives. Or maybe it’s an intuitive trait that I can continue to listen to and follow. I hope that I can stay open to those seemingly big risks and lean into the feeling that it’s meant to be. That makes it easier to follow through when I know I can do it.

And who knows, I have a little voice saying that my family and I are meant to live overseas at some point in time. Like in New Zealand, or Italy. Anything is a possibility. I just have to be open to it and ready to take action when it’s the proper time.

I don’t need to solve this on my own.

It took such a weight off my shoulders. I hadn’t realized it, but I put so much pressure on myself to figure out issues at work that were holding back my team. I had reached out and talked with another lead, and they had a great suggestion. That’s when I said this statement.

I took a moment and looked back across other recent stresses. Some of them could have been solved this way too: asking for help and looking to other people to figure out the issue together.

So I wrote it on a bright pink post-it, and I put it on the window, right next to where I work, so that every time I look outside (what I usually do to think through a problem), I get a reminder that I don’t have to do it alone.

As I continue to work at home, and deal with stresses beyond just work, more post-its have been added to my window.

It’s not my fault.

So that I don’t internalize problems that I didn’t create and blame myself for emergent issues that could not have been foreseen.

I’m doing enough. (Heck, I’m doing more than enough.)

To battle the constant voice in my head whispering “you’re not doing enough. you’re letting everyone down.” To remind me to delegate instead of taking on too much work because I don’t want to impose on my team.

I’m not here to please people. I’m here to build products.

To push back against my natural people-pleasing tendencies with clients, and to find self-esteem and confidence in the user-centric work our team is doing. We don’t need to shift with the whims of a stakeholder when it’s not in the best interest of the business or the user.

Introspection is a task I used to perform regularly pre-pandemic. Once a month or so, I would do a solo happy hour and reflect on how I’m doing, what energy I was wasting on unnecessary tasks, and where I wanted to put more energy instead. It’s like a personal retrospective, to use a work analogy.

I haven’t had a solo happy hour in 5+ months now. I’m feeling frayed and tired. Burned out and listless. These post-its are a first step to identify and address some of the underlying issues and sabotaging self-talk that’s happening internally. Only by taking the time to dig deep, look inward, and shine a light on those dark recesses can I begin to improve and get back to a healthy, non-burned-out state.

And, while continuing to be in this uncertain time, I need to make these realizations visible, physical, and memorable. They need to be part of my daily environment and at the top of my mind. To cement their meaning into my heart, so I can continue being while I’m hard at work doing.

I’m not sure how many post-its I’ll end up with, but I plan on continuing to make physical reminders of these moments of clarity on a regular basis as my way to reflect and apply what I’ve learned about myself.

I’ve borrowed that paragraph and switched all the mentions of “writing” to be “making art” so that I can revisit this in the future.

We make art because it’s the only option. We make art even when our art doesn’t get published. We take time away from friends and pets and partners and family and sit by ourselves and listen to the voices in our heads and make art and then look at it, hate it, remake it, change it, and hopefully get to share it with the world.

It’s a beautiful thing and we need to be grateful that we get to do it. The moment you lose track of that and start thinking that everyone needs to pay attention because you are doing what you love and they owe you that, the minute you start thinking people owe you their time and their focus and that the world is a better place thanks to the stories you “gift” it, then…well, you can go fuck yourself.

Gabino Iglesias (edited)

What’s good for me is: bubbles.

I have a 3 year old daughter, and we sit on our back porch, overlooking the sunset and beautiful live oak trees in our back yard, and we blow bubbles. Emma challenges me often to blow “a really big bubble” and I try my best to. Bubbles are beautiful and ephemeral. They force you to focus on the moment. You can’t think about global crises when you’re looking for the right angle and breath control to blow the perfect bubble. You have to be present.

And that’s what I do with my daughter. I sit on the porch, and I forget what’s happening and I try to blow the perfect bubble for her. And if I do, she pops it, and I start again.

That’s all.