Lately, I’ve started to properly use this camera—and it has, as a result of its form, affected how I shoot. The X10 feels “real,” like the film cameras I grew up with and used in art school. It’s also very understated, quiet, and discreet, allowing me to carry it anywhere and snap a few photos without disturbing anyone.

What I love about taking photos on the street is that it allows me to interact with all kinds of people. Some are happy just to have their photo taken; others start chatting and tell me about their lives. I’m a bit of an introvert, and am pleasantly surprised by how the camera can open up new conversations.

Additionally, taking photographs forces me to observe. I seem to pay more attention, see unique moments, and monitor for interesting people, instances, and compositions. Having not shot many photos for 20 years, I find myself trying to remember why I ever stopped.

Many of the photos I take are in Gastown—the community I’ve worked in for nearly a decade. This part of Vancouver is home to those living on the streets, wealthy newcomers, silly hipsters, and all in between. I try to keep the camera on me at all times and walk with it after work and on breaks. I also carry it with me on trips away from the city.

I’ve tossed some of the resulting photographs on tumblr. I acknowledge that the photos are amateurish. I am a novice, after all. With time, though, I hope to improve. You can take a look at the first few at karj.tumblr.com.

I wondered if others also felt burdened by things. The topic appeared ripe for exploration. I noted ideas for articles, and considered a new blog to house them. A year ago, we found time to bring this idea to life.

My wife says I have an “all or nothing” personality. I obsess over new topics and then create elaborate plans around them. I find extremes compelling. Why run a 10k, when you could do an ultra-marathon? Why doodle, when you could create an entire body of work? Why write a small blog, when you could create something more substantial?

Deliberatism held the promise of a movement: one in a series of voices that asked why we’re so consumed by stuff—and how to live better. Done well, these stories might change my habits, and encourage others to rethink their choices. I saw this as subversive environmentalism. Instead of treating conservation as a moral decision, we would talk about liberation through less.

Writing it as one person started to feel like a limitation, though. This led us to pause and rethink our approach: Why should it be come from only one voice? Could it be opened to others? This approach might reduce the time surrounding its production, and introduce new perspectives. The thinking seemed reasonable, and the site was retooled as a magazine.

We received good contributions and talked to interesting people. The new format was workable and readers responded positively. The pace was no less maddening. Through the day, the agency ran as it always did. We also eked out time to connect with contributors and interviewees, edit content, and create our own. At night, I’d work on illustrations (which I loved creating) to accompany posts, and review/shape any content left over from the day.

This took its toll, leaving me tired. Instead of being overwhelmed with one big project, I now had two. Work hours were out of control, leaving me unable to take a moment to breath. Deliberatism had become a comical paradox: a blog about balance that ruined any such notion in my life.

We pressed pause again.

This seemed foolish. I worried about letting down those who had worked on the project. This wasn’t the first time a plan hasn’t materialized, though, and it won’t be the last. We focused on studio work, I found more time to spend with family, and continued to collect post ideas. (I do this to get ideas out of my head—otherwise I can’t focus on what’s in front of me.)

I don’t want to return to Deliberatism. It was an experiment, and we learned from it. I do, however, need to write—even if no one is reading. I find the process a constructive way to organize ideas.

Lately, I’ve asked how to get away from this screen in front of me. It’s not that I dislike work. What we do at smashLAB is enjoyable—certain parts more than others. I also wonder why our work configuration is so ordinary when there’s little that ties us to any one location.

This is why I’m writing here, instead of ideasonideas or Deliberatism. The first contained essays about design; the second tried to be something big and became unmanageable. This blog is smaller, and more personal. It’s a catchall for ideas I want to understand. It’s a journal during a time of personal change.

Work could dry up, and force me to lay people off. My health could fail, leaving family in a tough position. Loved ones are getting older; meaning relationships that matter to me won’t always be there. These fears lead me to act old. I worry about eating badly, regret my lack of exercise, and work obscene hours to prevent slow-downs.

Eventually stress creeps in. When it does, it sneaks around my spine and then tightens like a vice. I can make it audible, by shifting my neck from side to side. This results in snaps and cracks that release the pressure—a reprieve lasting only moments. A day of stress is fine, but when my body nags at me like this for weeks, or months, I know that something’s not as it should be.

Our business always came with pressure, but this rarely resulted in lasting stress. There were ups and downs; the company got bigger, and then smaller. One opportunity slipped away, only to have another appear. We made good calls and bad ones. All of this is part of the gig.

This changed over the past last three years. Our agency grew a lot, clients were happy, and we were doing good work; nevertheless, I was experiencing a persistent stress that seemed inescapable. In spite of our success, I wasn’t having any fun at all. The work I loved had turned in to a job—with really shitty hours.

In January, I had an opportunity to hit pause. It wasn’t planned, but it did provide an insight into what my work-life could be like. I relaxed a little, and had time to think. I stopped pushing so hard for the things I had been, and my days became less frantic. This left me with more opportunities to just make design. The joy I used to find in my work returned. And the nagging in my back? Gone.

I think young and old are states of mind, affected heavily by how stuck you feel. I first got old in my early twenties, when I was stuck in a secure but pointless job. So, in spite of having no prospects or savings, I started smashLAB with Eric Shelkie. In spite of all the hard work it required, the opportunity proved enormously liberating. I soon regained a sense of joy and excitement I thought had long passed. In fact, I felt younger at 30 than I did at 20.

Some people are old in grade school; others are vibrant even as their lives come to an end. I think whether we feel one way or the other involves how stuck we are to a single direction. We expect our lives to follow a path, to be cumulative, or to at least afford the same opportunities previously available to us.

Life isn’t like that, though. It’s perpetually changing. We drive ourselves crazy by trying to hold on to old ideas of what our lives should be like. This gets in the way of the experiences we’re having right now. Meanwhile, even the best situations can turn into prisons if you let them. It’s up to you to change your circumstances when you feel this way. Sometimes all this takes is letting go of a few old ideas.

Recently, I’ve been on the other end of that equation. A prominent start-up guy has given me feedback on a project. Additionally, an editor and production team are helping me write a new book. In both instances, the advice received wasn’t exactly what I wanted to hear.

My knee-jerk response was to say, “No—you don’t get it…” and then explain what I had in mind. This soon gave way to realizing that they did “get it.” (And that they were generous enough to speak their minds.) So, I stopped talking and just did what they said I should. These people know more than me in their respective areas. It would be stupid to not follow their recommendations.

What’s strange about advice is that many ask for it, but don’t really want it. Instead, we’re looking for words of encouragement and a pat on the back. These are fake niceties that send us off in the wrong direction. Useful advice can sting. The question is whether you allow that momentary discomfort to shut you down or move you forward.

Technology has so much possibility, but it’s being overtaken by hucksters. Worse yet, I am one of those people. I use technology as a promotional tool. It’s my job to increase likes and follows for companies. I’m increasingly less able to see situations without imagining promotional opportunities. This bums me out and makes me wonder when I turned into such a bag of shit.

When I was a kid, my parents took us camping. At some point, they needed a break. (I think they wanted to hump in the camper.) Dad was clever. He asked who could run up a hill, fastest. Without even finishing his sentence, we were off—we never asked why.

The smart kids in The Valley have us doing the same. We chase follows, likes, and views, but fail to consider what to do upon getting them. While the value of these metrics may be questionable, achieving them is seen as a win. Few are wise enough to ask whether these numbers matter.

Having an audience can help you get paid and that’s good. Putting your focus solely on building a following is a fool’s game, though. This pursuit of recognition is boring, and a terribly crowded race.

While you have little control over others’ attention, you have full control of what you make. So, why not put your effort into building something beautiful? Doing so is infinitely more rewarding than bombarding friends with junk. The result may even be something you can promote—should you suffer the need to do so.

I know this post won’t change anything. But… if writing it saves us from even one more, “6 Steps to World-Class SEO” post, I’ll go to the grave having done my part.

Sometimes I bill improperly because I enjoy design. At others, it’s because we need work, to keep cash flow even. The most embarrassing reason I have for not treating my business like a business is that I feel guilty. I look at deliverables and think, “Those are just images and words; how can I charge that much?”

Of course, this is just anxiety. Pricing is simple: we charge by the time involved. Most jobs look easy until you know what it takes to complete them. This is even worse in design, as good solutions are often simple—which makes them seem like they required little time/effort. (Hah!) Regardless of your hesitations, prospective clients call because of the promise design holds. They don’t buy a commodity; they hire designers to remove obstacles.

They might want to increase sales, improve workflow, or build a connection with an audience. Each of these ends has greater value than the websites, advertisements, and identity systems created to facilitate them. Recognize this and look upon the service performed from a business standpoint. What’s it worth to a client to have these problems solved? See design as a commodity, and you’ll never be paid what you deserve. You become a professional when you commit to the greater business value you provide.

Most don’t realize what designers put into making projects a success. As our agency gained experience, I allowed stupid things to happen. A number of our clients paid less than 25% of our billable rate on projects that crept too far. On one job we wrote off over $100,000 in unbilled time. On others, I provided suggestions before locking down the gig, and gave away time that paying clients were entitled to.

Do you think a lawyer does this? Shit no! They bill when they’re on the bus thinking about the job. They bill for paper clips, postage stamps, and photocopying. Writing off time means taking a few percent off a job; not throwing away tens of hours. This is because they aren’t in it for the fun; they just perform a service. Don’t want to hire them? Then don’t. Otherwise, pay the bill.

So, instead of whining about not making enough dough, point the finger at yourself. The reason you aren’t properly paid is because you act like an amateur. You want work to be fun. You beg for clients’ praise. You fail to see the value in the process. You refuse to treat design as a service that requires compensation.

Today, you learn a new mantra. It is not about inspiration or passion. Instead, it is that of the fiscally-responsible designer. Please repeat: “I will bill for it.” I know… it sounds a little weird the first time. That’s just because designers have done it wrong for so long.

A prospective customer wants help planning a project to secure funding? Bill for it. A client calls to talk about a job? Bill for it. Project scope increases? Bill for it. Brainstorming solutions in the shower? Bill for it.

Get ruthless with your estimates and billing. Price accurately, identify scope creep, communicate points clearly, and bill for every moment worked. I don’t propose unethical behavior, but failing to bill for your time, cheats everyone.

To make up the slack, you work more hours than you should. This cheats loved ones of time together. As pressure increases, you get less efficient, cheating your clients. Your agency becomes financially weaker, risking the employment of colleagues, and cheating them of security. This trickles down to clients who’ve invested time, money, and trust in your studio. Get into financial trouble, and you cheat them of having access to a reliable design partner.

Clients are reasonable. If they knew you worked this way, they’d ask you to stop. They didn’t ask you to kill yourself for their projects, nor for the sake of “good design.” They can probably afford to pay a little more, relax on a couple of points, or change the scope of a project to make it more economically viable.

The benefits of billing fully are substantial. Having money in the bank lets you buy better equipment. This affords faster service, quicker turnaround, and higher value for clients. A positive bank balance allows you to be more selective with the jobs you take on, and find better fits. Not scrambling at every moment means you get adequate rest, making you present, clear-headed, and easy to collaborate with. (Honestly, no one wants you burnt out at 35.)

If you’re good, you have to take what’s yours. Otherwise, you only have yourself to blame for whatever crummy situation you might be in. Design is a service business. It pays neither dividends, nor any residuals. Get paid now, or you never will.

I’ve experienced this many times. This wavering has almost always led me to the same (wrong) decision: to change course. At the time, this approach has seemed entirely sensible. I had followed a path, met obstacles, learned from them, and could now make smarter choices. Why not regroup and move in a better direction?

This logic may apply with more standard problem-solving exercises (i.e. if you are working on the design of a product) but isn’t as workable when your life is involved. The way you feel this day, week, or month may be conditional, therefore, you can’t allow these moods to affect your bigger plans. Consider New Year’s resolutions: these hopeful goals are often abandoned when they come upon resistance. “Sure, I want to run a marathon, but the weather sucks, and Mad Men is on.”

I’ve been contemplating what needs to happen in order to get over the hump. You know what I mean: At what point does the schlepping end, and plans come to fruition? This might come in the form of new contracts being plentiful and profitable, or, an audience growing around your passion, or, having gained command of your craft.

I believe there are two obstacles that stand in the way of your success. The first is endurance. At the start of any journey, days are long. This only changes as you get more miles under your belt. When smashLAB began, three years seemed a long time. Upon hitting that mark, and not being a resounding success, I thought we had failed.

Impatience stops many from making progress. They spend years dreaming and planning, and then expect to master—and get praise for—their new pursuit, within days. Mastery isn’t achieved this way. Aside from the rare exception, you need time, practice, and discipline to become good. While this approach is less sensational than stories of overnight successes, it’s a common, and plausible, argument.

In a recent article, Louis C.K. said the same about comedy. Paraphrased: what stops others from getting where he has, is that they don’t put in the time. There’s a concept that plays on the same idea, called Helsinki Bus Station Theory. It proposes that many follow the same path for a few years, become frustrated, start over… and then repeat this pattern indefinitely. In doing so, they miss out on what’s waiting just a little further down the road.

Investigate, and you’ll bump into this same message again and again. You’ll find this argument in Malcolm Gladwell’s Outliers. Jim Collins also talks about the benefits of consistently directed effort in his book Good to Great. Ask friends who’ve found success and they’ll probably say the same: They got where they are by doing what they were doing. The reason you fail might not be that your idea or approach is bad. It’s that you quit too early.

Me? I’ve been working with @shelkie on smashLAB for over 13 years. Processes that we fought to understand are now obvious. Purpose has become increasingly clear. (Want to gain the same clarity around design process? Preorder my new book: The Design Method.) We get paid exponentially more than when we started. More importantly, for the first time in decades I’m planning long holidays that will take me out of the office for months at a time. I don’t mean to make our work sound easy, but it is becoming easier, and we’re just getting started. Where will we be, after another 5, 10, or 15 years?

Now comes the second obstacle: boredom. I never had a problem working hard—or even obsessively. What I struggle with is an almost overwhelming desire to create new things. Throughout the day I work on design and strategy. In the evenings I draw, take photos, and write books—in addition to spending time with my family. I maintain long lists of project ideas, and am always considering what to do next. While I enjoy all of these activities, I recognize the perils of my excitable mindset.

While exploring multiple interests can lead to empathy, excellence is a result of focus and discipline. Selecting a trajectory, and pushing toward it consistently requires self-control. You needn’t cut off all other activities, but changing course every time you get bored or frustrated will send you spinning. Find your way around obstacles and you’ll gain knowledge; push through boredom and you’ll make discoveries others will never achieve.

I’d fake the flu to get out of school, take the roundabout way home, and hide in the art room to avoid certain kids. Being an outcast was one issue; getting beaten, another. When hurt, I’d become belligerent, which made things worse.

One kid sticks with me more than others. Given a closed room and a pipe, I’d have put it to his head until there was nothing left. (I hadn’t thought myself violent, to that point.) Upon leaving home, I burned my high school annuals, and did my best to distance myself from the experience.

In the years that followed, I reconnected with the people I knew then. It surprised me to learn how many remembered being bullied. At the time, they appeared to have it so easy. I couldn’t imagine them experiencing what I had.

Childhood and adolescence can be tough. Sometimes it seems like life is taking a piece out of you. When you experience that, it’s easy to convince yourself that you’re allowed to be shitty.

What bugs me about today’s anti-bullying rhetoric is that it’s one-sided. All these adults moaning about the shit they suffered, with no one taking responsibility. Pointing fingers at “those guys,” without asking whether we might have been the same, accomplishes little.

Looking back, I realize that I was as guilty as anyone else: teasing others to deflect attention; uttering hurtful remarks, reasoning that others “deserved” these words.

We want to see the world in terms of “good guys” and “bad guys,” but it doesn’t work that way. Similarly, I don’t think there’s anything constructive in continuing to talk about bullies. Instead, we might ask why some of us act out in the ways we do.

Nearly half of the book is complete. It’s tightly structured, has a clear message, and the writing has been smooth. There haven’t been any hiccups, until yesterday, when I hit a wall. I’m not sure how this happened, but I started wondering whether my topic was “enough.” These doubts followed me home, where I ate Indian delivery and polished off two glasses of wine.

My stomach is rumbling this morning. This can be attributed to the food and a case of the “wobblies.” This is a familiar affliction. My projects all start with excitement (of the manic variety). Around mid-way, enthusiasm dwindles. Doubt arrives and I start to think what I’m doing isn’t good enough.

After this many years, I know better, but the emotions aren’t any less real. Most probably quit at this time because it would be easy to do so. Why work through the sludge, when you could start something else? A different project always seems more interesting, relevant, and problem-free.

Few of us can accurately see what we’re currently doing. Banal things can turn out to be interesting, and vice versa. Since I can’t gauge this now, I just need to put my head down, push through, and get the job done. Even if this thing ends up sucking, it’ll be better than abandoning a half made cake.

These can be great resources, as they give newcomers a glimpse into what it takes to go out on their own. Taken in too great a dose, though, they can become a bit of a quagmire. I often find myself reading posts on Hacker News, pretending that doing so constitutes research or work.

The problem is that while I’m reading about startups, I’m not doing the one thing I need to: building my company/product. While I love indulging in this sort of information, I need to treat it like dessert: a treat after the important stuff has been taken care of.