On Rediscovering Inspiration
Before I ever wrote software, I studied architecture in New Zealand.
During that time, I worked in the Architecture Library, which was honestly one of the best jobs I’ve ever had. It was like having a backstage pass to the most interesting minds in the school. I could see exactly what the top students and the “cool kids” were borrowing, what they were reading, what they were researching, what was shaping their thinking. It felt like a cheat sheet to great ideas.
I was surrounded by creative people. Most of my friends were in art school. We spent weekends wandering through galleries, flipping through design magazines, talking endlessly about buildings, typography, furniture, photography — anything that sparked curiosity. I was constantly feeding that part of myself without even thinking about it.
Then life happened.
As my career shifted into software and building companies, I slowly stopped doing that. I got busy. I got practical. I got efficient. Somewhere along the way, I forgot that creativity isn’t a trait you have, it’s something you maintain. And without realizing it, I started living on a pretty thin creative diet. Lots of screens, lots of tasks, lots of very North American consumer noise. Less wonder. Less exploration.
Last spring, Christine and I went to Japan. And something in me woke up.
The design. The attention to detail. The craftsmanship. The quiet intentionality in everything from packaging to architecture to everyday objects. It reminded me of a version of myself I hadn’t visited in a long time, the one who actively seeks inspiration, not just productivity.
Since then, I’ve been trying to feed that part of my life again. Magazines. YouTube rabbit holes. Art galleries. Films. Books. Travel. Even just wandering through a neighbourhood with no agenda. And every time I do, I feel my mindset shift. I think more clearly. I build better things. I feel more like myself.
Rediscovering this has been surprisingly emotional. I can’t believe I ever let myself forget how important it was. Creativity isn’t a luxury — it’s fuel. And when I neglect it, everything gets flatter, heavier, duller.
It’s been wonderful finding my way back to that sense of curiosity and inspiration. And this time, I’m trying to treat it not as a phase, but as something essential. Something worth protecting. Something I don’t want to forget again.
