For most of my career, I’ve been a designer. Not just in the visual sense, but in the broader sense of shaping things so they actually work in the real world. Products, systems, businesses, teams. How things connect, how they scale, how they hold up under pressure. That’s been the job for over two decades now. And if I’m honest, I’ve loved it. I like the messiness of it. I like figuring things out. I like the moments where things click into place and suddenly make sense.
But running alongside all of that has been something else. A constant backdrop that never really goes away.
The bit no one sees
Responsibility, pressure, and a brain that doesn’t have an off switch. When you’re the one ultimately responsible for keeping the lights on, it’s always there. You wake up with it, you go to sleep with it, and even when you’re technically “off”, you’re not really off at all. You’re just in a different location thinking about the same problems.
Some mornings it’s 6am and your brain’s already in full swing before you’ve even had a coffee. Other times it’s 2:30am and you’re staring at the ceiling because something’s clicked and now you’ve got a better way to structure a pitch, or rethink a process, or improve how something gets delivered. It’s not always a bad thing. A lot of the good ideas come from that space. But it does mean you’re never fully switching off, and over time, that starts to take its toll in ways you don’t always notice straight away.
The balance you don’t notice slipping
The bit that’s easy to miss is that you can build something successful and still quietly get the balance wrong. Not in a dramatic, everything-falls-apart kind of way. Just gradually, almost invisibly. Five-a-side football stops when the kids are born and somehow never quite starts again. Weekends become a bit more blurred. You’re physically there, but mentally still running through scenarios. Headspace gets tighter, patience gets shorter, and the lines between work and everything else get a bit too fuzzy.
Thirteen years can pass quicker than you expect. And at some point, you realise you’ve been very good at designing everything around you, but not particularly intentional about designing the life you’re actually living.
I thought I was good at empathy
What’s slightly ironic is that design thinking, the thing I’ve leaned on for most of my career, is rooted in empathy. And to be fair, I’ve always felt quite tuned into that. I could usually read a room, pick up on the little comments people make, notice when something’s slightly off with someone in the team. Those small signals that tell you something’s not quite right. Sometimes I acted on it, sometimes I didn’t, but I was aware of it. Or at least I thought I was.
The bit I missed
What I’ve realised over the last couple of years is that I wasn’t as in tune with the people closest to me as I believed. Not consistently, not deeply enough, and not in a way that really mattered day to day. And that shows up. Not in one big obvious moment, but in smaller bits of friction. Work creeping into spaces it probably shouldn’t. Being physically present but mentally elsewhere. Carrying a constant background load that spills over into home life whether you intend it to or not.
Nothing dramatic. Just enough to matter. Which, if anything, is worse, because it’s easy to ignore for longer than you should.
Designing life properly this time
So for the first time in a long time, I’ve started asking a slightly different question. Not what am I building next, or how do I scale this, or where’s the next opportunity. But what does a well-designed life actually look like now? Not just for me, but for the people around me. Because empathy isn’t something you selectively apply to customers, users or teams. It has to start a bit closer to home.
And this is where it gets interesting, because it turns out I’ve spent years architecting businesses with more intention than I’ve applied to my own life.
So I’m treating this like any other design brief. Slightly uncomfortable, a bit messy, but worth doing properly. What actually matters now? What does a good week look like, not in theory but in reality? Where am I overcomplicating things? Where am I avoiding the obvious fixes because they require a bit of change or a bit of honesty?
But the biggest shift is this. It’s not just about what I want anymore. It’s about properly factoring in the people around me. What do they need? Where haven’t I been fully present? What would better actually look like from their perspective, not just mine?
That’s the part that’s easy to say and harder to do.
The work behind what I thought just happened
One thing that’s really hit me as I’ve started looking at this properly is how much I took for granted. There are all these small, everyday things that just seemed to happen in the background of life, quietly keeping everything moving without me really questioning how or why.
The kids having new school uniforms ready at the start of term. Shoes being replaced as they grew out of them. Knowing what day PE kit was needed, what time pickup was, when school trips were coming up, what needed signing, what needed remembering. All the small details that, when added together, keep family life running smoothly.
If I’m honest, I assumed a lot of that just took care of itself. It doesn’t.
It takes effort, attention and consistency. It takes someone noticing, planning ahead, and staying on top of things in a way I wasn’t fully appreciating at the time. And that realisation has been a bit of a wake-up call, because it’s made me see the gap between what I thought was happening and what was actually required to make things work.
The reality is, I didn’t build everything on my own. I had the space to focus because my wife was carrying more than I realised at the time. I don’t think I ever properly acknowledged that. So now is the time to say it out loud, thank you, Claire Probert.
Structure isn’t the enemy
At the same time, it’s also made me reflect on something else. Whilst I might not be the most naturally organised person, I do understand systems. I’ve spent years building them, refining them, and helping others work more effectively within them. And part of that is recognising where you’re not naturally strong, and putting the right structure in place to support it.
Right now, if I’m honest, my life doesn’t have much structure. And I know from experience that I’m better when it does.
Earlier in my career, when I was contracting as a graphic designer, everything was structured. You’d get a stack of job bags, take one off the tray, do the work, put it back, then move on to the next. It was simple, clear and focused. I used to treat it almost like a game, seeing how quickly and well I could get through the work. At times I was probably the fastest in the room, to the point where I was told more than once to slow down if I wanted to be invited back.
That environment worked for me because it had clear boundaries and a clear flow. But at the same time, I’ve always valued autonomy as well. The freedom to think, to explore ideas, to follow threads and see where they go. And the challenge now is getting that balance right again, not just for me, but for the people around me as well.
Paying attention to what actually matters
Because if I’m honest, it’s very easy for me to get pulled towards the interesting, exciting problems in work. That’s where my energy naturally goes. But designing a better life means also paying attention to the quieter, less visible things that don’t shout for attention, but matter just as much.
I’m under no illusion that I’m going to design the perfect system. I’ve spent long enough in product to know that doesn’t exist. But I do know how to approach it. You think things through properly, make some deliberate changes, test them in the real world, and then adjust. Then you do it again.
In practical terms, that probably means getting back to five-a-side after 13 years and accepting I’m not quite the player I remember. It means structuring my days with a bit more intent rather than letting them drift. It means being more present at home without half my brain still wandering off into work. And more broadly, it means paying closer attention to how I show up as a dad, a partner, and just as a person outside of work.
There’s nothing particularly groundbreaking in any of that. But it’s about doing it properly this time, with a bit more awareness and a bit more intention than before.
Design. Develop. Deploy. Then iterate.
It’s slightly ironic really. After more than two decades designing systems, products and businesses for other people, the most important thing I’ve got to design next is my own life.
And this time, I’m trying to make sure everyone who matters is actually part of the brief.
Old habits die hard. I’ll naturally fall back into what I know.
Design.
Develop.
Deploy.
But I also know that’s never where it ends. You don’t just ship something and hope it turns into the next Netflix or Uber. The real work happens afterwards. Feedback, iteration, small adjustments, paying attention to what’s actually working and what isn’t.
So this time, it’s not just about doing what I think is right. It’s about asking the people around me, am I getting this right? Listening properly, adjusting, and going again.
Same process. Just applied somewhere that matters a bit more.
This isn’t a pause. It’s a more deliberate way of working. I’m now focused on a small number of opportunities where clarity, positioning and product thinking genuinely move the needle. You can read more here about the kind of opportunitioes I'm looking for.
