The Year I Stopped Playing Small
Less noise. More taste.
This isn’t a story about quitting my job or reinventing myself.
Today is my last thirty-something birthday. And this is a reflection on the past year.
It’s about something slower — the subtle moment when you realize you’ve been quietly adapting for too long. For years, I prided myself on being flexible, responsive, able to fit into different roles and expectations. But somewhere along the way, I started noticing how much of that flexibility had come at the cost of creative direction.
Not in my family life — that’s always felt expansive. But in my work? I often shaped myself around the room, rather than shaping the room itself.
What changed?
Not a dramatic event. Just a growing sense of alignment:
A two-month family trip across New Zealand, Australia, and Hong Kong that pulled me into a slower rhythm
A few honest conversations that helped me see what I was actually craving
A renewed interest in building things I genuinely believe in — guided more by taste than tactics (the newsletter I started last year is one of them)
And beneath it all, one quiet realization — pretty obvious, but not always easy to act on:
You don’t have to wait for the perfect plan or a life event to give you permission. You can begin adjusting your life — gently, intentionally — to better reflect who you are now.
That doesn’t mean a big leap. I’m still in full-time work. But I’ve started to notice what energizes me. I’ve started making room for the kinds of projects and ideas that feel more mine.
It’s not about escape. It’s about calibration.
What follows are the learnings from that shift — not a blueprint, just a few honest notes from the road. Maybe they resonate with you too.
1. Small shifts beat big plans.
Most personal change doesn’t come with fireworks. It comes from nudging your life a little closer to what feels aligned. I didn’t reinvent anything. I just listened more carefully to what gives me clarity — and made more decisions from that place. Asked more questions and didn’t wait for the big “aha,” but instead for the quiet click.
2. Taste is a serious tool.
It always played an essential role in my life but in the last year, I started treating taste not as a finishing touch, but as the foundation. What feels right visually, structurally, emotionally. It’s what connects my work, my curiosity, and my creativity. In the end I believe that good taste is a deeply personal system of values. (And something that will also distinguish us humans from AI for the years to come.)
3. Generalists are just wide readers of the world.
I’ve often worried that I know a little about too much. This is not something new, but over the years I’ve started to see that as a feature, not a flaw. My curiosity doesn’t need to be narrowed — it needs to be integrated. And when I do that well, it leads to the most interesting work.
I stopped forcing focus — and started connecting the dots between the things I naturally care about.
4. Don’t shrink to fit. Design a better room.
Someone once said to me, “If you feel small, don’t assume it’s your fault. It might be the ceiling.” Adapting is easy. Too easy. I’ve done it so often that I forgot what it feels like to hold shape. This year, I started paying closer attention to which environments — work, relationships, even digital spaces — actually allow me to expand.
5. Surround yourself with honest mirrors.
The real breakthroughs came through people:
the honest ones who asked better questions
the creative ones who helped me zoom out
the ones who didn’t try to fix anything — just held space to reflect
This includes my wife, my kids, a few close friends and collaborators, and some unexpected conversations that felt more like coaching than work. I realized something simple but important: talking things through helps me see what’s already there. I used to try and find clarity by just “thinking it through”. Now I know — it mostly arrives in dialogue.
6. Travel isn’t escape. It’s alignment.
From January to March, we spent eight weeks traveling as a family. It wasn’t a luxury — it was a reset. There’s a perspective shift that only happens when you're far from your routines, in a new time zone, eating mangoes in the rain.
That trip reminded me:
how good it feels to live by rhythm, not rush
how many moments of joy are just presence, not planning
how priceless it is to spend real, slow time with your loved ones while they still want to travel with you
Don’t wait for someday. Go while the kids still fit in the backseat — and everyone still says yes to pancakes.
7. You can build quietly without announcing anything.
I’m still fully engaged in my current role — and grateful for the work I get to do. At the same time, I’ve started carving out quiet moments to explore ideas that light me up: design, aesthetics, hospitality, thoughtful brand thinking. Not with urgency, but with intention. What I’ve realized is this: you don’t need to make a big leap overnight. Sometimes, it’s enough to start nudging things in the direction that feels right.
8. Energy is the most honest metric.
Not revenue. Not reach. Not praise. What matters most: what gives energy, and what drains it? This year, I started taking energy seriously. As a filter, a compass, and a source of truth.
Follow the work that gives more than it takes.
This past year was quiet. But foundational.
I’m not becoming someone new. I’m just becoming more myself — with better questions, deeper focus, and stronger taste.
And if you’re in a similar season — where the surface looks calm but something inside is shifting — I’d say: keep going. There’s real power in moving just one degree closer to what feels true.
Thanks for being here.
What’s one quiet shift you’ve made? I’d love to hear it.