The Mist — Part 1 of 4
Oct 23, 2025
Oct 23, 2025
Oct 23, 2025
Oct 23, 2025
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5 1/2 Minute Read
5 1/2 Minute Read
5 1/2 Minute Read
5 1/2 Minute Read
Part 1 of 4 — Collapse, confusion, and the first glimmer of design thinking applied to life
Last August, something massive happened in my life—big enough that everything I knew folded in on itself: relationships, sense of safety, sense of self. A few months later, the job went too—different events, same aftershock. Everything familiar dismantled.
The afternoons were the worst. Long, heavy, too quiet. I kept waiting for the rhythm to return, but it didn’t. I knew I had to start again; I just couldn’t see the blueprint yet. I kept clutching at the past while the future sat somewhere out there, blurry.
My therapist helped me start seeing the space between control and surrender. Some things had gone. But others were still mine—mainly choice. That word became the hinge. Choice meant agency.
So I made one. A hard one.
After twenty-five years in Albuquerque, I decided to move. Seattle looked good on paper—green, water, energy—a place to rebuild career and life in one go. I imagined opportunity, maybe even reinvention.
Then I visited. Great city, but too loud for the stage I was in. Albuquerque was a two on the intensity scale; Seattle was a nine. The jump was too big.
My daughter and a friend suggested Portland. I drove down, walked a few neighborhoods, and felt something ease. Same trees, same creativity, but a touch of weirdness I could breathe in. If Seattle were a nine, Portland would be a six. Manageable. Human.
So we moved.
Somewhere in that upheaval, I also shifted careers. I’d been the generalist—graphic design, web, marketing—but wanted something tighter, something that could scale. UX/UI design felt like the next iteration. I’d started studying it back in Albuquerque; Portland gave me a clean slate.
UX/UI grabbed me because it’s not just about goals. It’s about systems. Without the right system, every goal collapses under its own weight. Looking back, I’d spent most of adulthood drifting—more passenger than pilot. It was time to redesign my own life system, not keep hoping the current would steer me somewhere better.
That meant structure where there’d been reaction. Intention where there’d been impulse. Habits and environments that served clarity instead of confusion. The same principles I used in design—research, prototype, test, iterate—suddenly applied to my own life.
Clarity doesn’t arrive fully formed. It’s iterative. You build, test, and adjust. In design, you share your work, invite feedback, refine until something clicks—until users say, “yeah, this makes sense now.” Life, I realized, runs on the same loop.
In UX terms, this season doesn’t fit neatly into one phase. I’m deep in discovery and research, still defining, already ideating and prototyping—all at once. In theory, these stages should follow one another. In practice, they overlap—just like life. Eventually, there’ll be testing, iteration, and the slower work of implementation.
That’s what I’m building toward: the version of myself that designs, tests, and finally launches the life he’s been sketching.
This essay, this series, is me documenting that process. The Mist is the first chapter—the rough wireframes of a new existence. Not polished, not final, but there. Pencil marks showing where the structure might live.
And that’s where I am—still in the gray, sketching, adjusting, learning to design a life that actually makes sense.
Part 1 of 4 — Collapse, confusion, and the first glimmer of design thinking applied to life
Last August, something massive happened in my life—big enough that everything I knew folded in on itself: relationships, sense of safety, sense of self. A few months later, the job went too—different events, same aftershock. Everything familiar dismantled.
The afternoons were the worst. Long, heavy, too quiet. I kept waiting for the rhythm to return, but it didn’t. I knew I had to start again; I just couldn’t see the blueprint yet. I kept clutching at the past while the future sat somewhere out there, blurry.
My therapist helped me start seeing the space between control and surrender. Some things had gone. But others were still mine—mainly choice. That word became the hinge. Choice meant agency.
So I made one. A hard one.
After twenty-five years in Albuquerque, I decided to move. Seattle looked good on paper—green, water, energy—a place to rebuild career and life in one go. I imagined opportunity, maybe even reinvention.
Then I visited. Great city, but too loud for the stage I was in. Albuquerque was a two on the intensity scale; Seattle was a nine. The jump was too big.
My daughter and a friend suggested Portland. I drove down, walked a few neighborhoods, and felt something ease. Same trees, same creativity, but a touch of weirdness I could breathe in. If Seattle were a nine, Portland would be a six. Manageable. Human.
So we moved.
Somewhere in that upheaval, I also shifted careers. I’d been the generalist—graphic design, web, marketing—but wanted something tighter, something that could scale. UX/UI design felt like the next iteration. I’d started studying it back in Albuquerque; Portland gave me a clean slate.
UX/UI grabbed me because it’s not just about goals. It’s about systems. Without the right system, every goal collapses under its own weight. Looking back, I’d spent most of adulthood drifting—more passenger than pilot. It was time to redesign my own life system, not keep hoping the current would steer me somewhere better.
That meant structure where there’d been reaction. Intention where there’d been impulse. Habits and environments that served clarity instead of confusion. The same principles I used in design—research, prototype, test, iterate—suddenly applied to my own life.
Clarity doesn’t arrive fully formed. It’s iterative. You build, test, and adjust. In design, you share your work, invite feedback, refine until something clicks—until users say, “yeah, this makes sense now.” Life, I realized, runs on the same loop.
In UX terms, this season doesn’t fit neatly into one phase. I’m deep in discovery and research, still defining, already ideating and prototyping—all at once. In theory, these stages should follow one another. In practice, they overlap—just like life. Eventually, there’ll be testing, iteration, and the slower work of implementation.
That’s what I’m building toward: the version of myself that designs, tests, and finally launches the life he’s been sketching.
This essay, this series, is me documenting that process. The Mist is the first chapter—the rough wireframes of a new existence. Not polished, not final, but there. Pencil marks showing where the structure might live.
And that’s where I am—still in the gray, sketching, adjusting, learning to design a life that actually makes sense.
Part 1 of 4 — Collapse, confusion, and the first glimmer of design thinking applied to life
Last August, something massive happened in my life—big enough that everything I knew folded in on itself: relationships, sense of safety, sense of self. A few months later, the job went too—different events, same aftershock. Everything familiar dismantled.
The afternoons were the worst. Long, heavy, too quiet. I kept waiting for the rhythm to return, but it didn’t. I knew I had to start again; I just couldn’t see the blueprint yet. I kept clutching at the past while the future sat somewhere out there, blurry.
My therapist helped me start seeing the space between control and surrender. Some things had gone. But others were still mine—mainly choice. That word became the hinge. Choice meant agency.
So I made one. A hard one.
After twenty-five years in Albuquerque, I decided to move. Seattle looked good on paper—green, water, energy—a place to rebuild career and life in one go. I imagined opportunity, maybe even reinvention.
Then I visited. Great city, but too loud for the stage I was in. Albuquerque was a two on the intensity scale; Seattle was a nine. The jump was too big.
My daughter and a friend suggested Portland. I drove down, walked a few neighborhoods, and felt something ease. Same trees, same creativity, but a touch of weirdness I could breathe in. If Seattle were a nine, Portland would be a six. Manageable. Human.
So we moved.
Somewhere in that upheaval, I also shifted careers. I’d been the generalist—graphic design, web, marketing—but wanted something tighter, something that could scale. UX/UI design felt like the next iteration. I’d started studying it back in Albuquerque; Portland gave me a clean slate.
UX/UI grabbed me because it’s not just about goals. It’s about systems. Without the right system, every goal collapses under its own weight. Looking back, I’d spent most of adulthood drifting—more passenger than pilot. It was time to redesign my own life system, not keep hoping the current would steer me somewhere better.
That meant structure where there’d been reaction. Intention where there’d been impulse. Habits and environments that served clarity instead of confusion. The same principles I used in design—research, prototype, test, iterate—suddenly applied to my own life.
Clarity doesn’t arrive fully formed. It’s iterative. You build, test, and adjust. In design, you share your work, invite feedback, refine until something clicks—until users say, “yeah, this makes sense now.” Life, I realized, runs on the same loop.
In UX terms, this season doesn’t fit neatly into one phase. I’m deep in discovery and research, still defining, already ideating and prototyping—all at once. In theory, these stages should follow one another. In practice, they overlap—just like life. Eventually, there’ll be testing, iteration, and the slower work of implementation.
That’s what I’m building toward: the version of myself that designs, tests, and finally launches the life he’s been sketching.
This essay, this series, is me documenting that process. The Mist is the first chapter—the rough wireframes of a new existence. Not polished, not final, but there. Pencil marks showing where the structure might live.
And that’s where I am—still in the gray, sketching, adjusting, learning to design a life that actually makes sense.
Part 1 of 4 — Collapse, confusion, and the first glimmer of design thinking applied to life
Last August, something massive happened in my life—big enough that everything I knew folded in on itself: relationships, sense of safety, sense of self. A few months later, the job went too—different events, same aftershock. Everything familiar dismantled.
The afternoons were the worst. Long, heavy, too quiet. I kept waiting for the rhythm to return, but it didn’t. I knew I had to start again; I just couldn’t see the blueprint yet. I kept clutching at the past while the future sat somewhere out there, blurry.
My therapist helped me start seeing the space between control and surrender. Some things had gone. But others were still mine—mainly choice. That word became the hinge. Choice meant agency.
So I made one. A hard one.
After twenty-five years in Albuquerque, I decided to move. Seattle looked good on paper—green, water, energy—a place to rebuild career and life in one go. I imagined opportunity, maybe even reinvention.
Then I visited. Great city, but too loud for the stage I was in. Albuquerque was a two on the intensity scale; Seattle was a nine. The jump was too big.
My daughter and a friend suggested Portland. I drove down, walked a few neighborhoods, and felt something ease. Same trees, same creativity, but a touch of weirdness I could breathe in. If Seattle were a nine, Portland would be a six. Manageable. Human.
So we moved.
Somewhere in that upheaval, I also shifted careers. I’d been the generalist—graphic design, web, marketing—but wanted something tighter, something that could scale. UX/UI design felt like the next iteration. I’d started studying it back in Albuquerque; Portland gave me a clean slate.
UX/UI grabbed me because it’s not just about goals. It’s about systems. Without the right system, every goal collapses under its own weight. Looking back, I’d spent most of adulthood drifting—more passenger than pilot. It was time to redesign my own life system, not keep hoping the current would steer me somewhere better.
That meant structure where there’d been reaction. Intention where there’d been impulse. Habits and environments that served clarity instead of confusion. The same principles I used in design—research, prototype, test, iterate—suddenly applied to my own life.
Clarity doesn’t arrive fully formed. It’s iterative. You build, test, and adjust. In design, you share your work, invite feedback, refine until something clicks—until users say, “yeah, this makes sense now.” Life, I realized, runs on the same loop.
In UX terms, this season doesn’t fit neatly into one phase. I’m deep in discovery and research, still defining, already ideating and prototyping—all at once. In theory, these stages should follow one another. In practice, they overlap—just like life. Eventually, there’ll be testing, iteration, and the slower work of implementation.
That’s what I’m building toward: the version of myself that designs, tests, and finally launches the life he’s been sketching.
This essay, this series, is me documenting that process. The Mist is the first chapter—the rough wireframes of a new existence. Not polished, not final, but there. Pencil marks showing where the structure might live.
And that’s where I am—still in the gray, sketching, adjusting, learning to design a life that actually makes sense.
