Ich bin ganz alleine in meiner Wohnung. Ich koche Essen alleine, bete alleine, gucke TV-Serien alleine, und mache alles anders alleine. Es stört mich aber nicht alleine zu sein. Auf diese Weise kann ich mich wirklich auf mich selbst konzentrieren.

Research is a serious thing. Design is a serious thing. Life is a serious thing. But what good is any of it if you don’t love doing it? If you don’t enjoy practicing or living it? If you don’t show the fun in any of it? It can be so easy to get bogged down in the details, the seriousness of the task.

When is the right time to share work? I’ve struggled with this concept in the past, both as a designer and writer. Many blog posts and books have probably been written about this, I am sure. But nothing has resonated with me until I began asking myself: how present am I?

What qualities does it take to be a good user researcher? Empathy, curiosity, active listening, (re)framing, persuasion, patience, experimental-mindset, neutrality, and tenacity. The ability to be comfortable both when the data are unclear and when one must make solid recommendations.

I’m no Jan Chipchase, traveling to the far reaches of earth to discover unknown user behaviors. But over the years I’ve worked with midwives in Uganda, HIV/AIDS rights activists in Seattle, humanities scholars in Holland…

Take off those headphones. Be a part of the world. Connect with your friends and family. You have very little time with them left. Sing your heart out. Your voice is good enough…

Adult life can be difficult. So many responsibilities thrown our way, so much to do day to day. But how do you still manage to carve out your own play space?

As a 6 or 7 year old, I remember a relative pointing at a burning campfire and saying: "If you're not a good boy, you'll burn in there forever." I used to think God was a mean, punishing power. That if I cussed or didn't honor my parents or wore shorts above the knee (seriously!) I'd burn in hell for eternity.

Because she was here, in my home, at my work, in my Roman neighborhood. She was here, on the Venice canals, in Paris. I watched her every moment, looking at her eyes, watching her dazzled at what she was seeing.

I've kept a regular journal since 2001, when I went on an exchange to Germany as a high school student. I still have scraps of paper from as far back as 1994 - when I was ten years old - that tell me about the kind of person I was, what I felt, who I loved, hated, and how I thought about life…