Assembly Required.

What happens when experience starts to look like a closed door.

There's a moment—quiet, almost polite—when you realize you've started doing things the way you do them.

Not exploring. Not experimenting. Just executing with the confidence usually reserved for someone assembling IKEA furniture without the instructions. It works and all, but it's also a little terrifying.

I didn't have this feeling when I was younger. Back then, everything was negotiable. Every approach was up for debate, especially with my dad.

He was an architect and a builder, incredibly good at what he did. The kind of good where opinions aren't suggestions, they're conclusions. From framing a wall to spreading mayonnaise on bread, there was a right way. His way. Clean, efficient, ultra-utilitarian.

As a teenager, I pushed back constantly. Why that way? Why not this way? What if there's something better?

Fun conversations poured out. On occasion, loud ones. But here's the twist no one warns you about: stick around long enough, and you become the person you used to argue with.

Lately, I've caught myself defaulting. Reaching for the same methods, the same design approaches, the same mental shortcuts I've relied on.

To be fair, they do work.

And that's the problem.

Success has a way of hardening into belief. Belief into habit. Habit, if you're not careful, becomes doctrine.

The world doesn't sit still while you perfect your process. New tools show up, new aesthetics arise, new ways of thinking seep into our collective consciousness.

And if you're not paying attention, you end up designing like someone who's peaked stylistically and decided, right then and there: this is it, forever.

What gives me some comfort is awareness, catching the drift while it's happening. And maybe more importantly, surrounding myself with people willing to push back. People who'll show you something you don't immediately like.

Because sometimes the best work is the thing you resisted at first. The thing that didn't feel like "your way."

There's a balance here. You don't need to abandon everything that works. Some things are worth holding onto, like your favorite coffee mug.

But design isn't a morning routine. It's a conversation.

And when you're designing in a team environment, your fingerprint matters a lot less than your openness.