Making Sense of Life That Doesn’t
Life doesn't come with a clear map. Decisions pile up, branches fork; some doors close, others open unexpectedly. A few years ago, I found myself asking: how did I get here? What choices led me to this point? Were they intentional or reactive? Were there repeated patterns shaping my path—patterns worth leaning on, or ones I needed to break?
I wanted answers because I needed to know if I was on the right track, if the future I imagined was still reachable from where I stood. Questions kept circling: Asolutely no regrets, but why did I separate from the military after 11 years? What if I had gone straight to college after high school? Did I use all the resources available to me? Who opened doors when I couldn't open them myself? How did I come to know them?
Having pivoted my career to design research, I turned to the one method that came naturally: Brain dump.
When designers face problems too messy to define, we dump everything into a space where it can be seen, moved, and connected. That's what I did with my own life.
I built a board that is part diagram, part mind map, part journal. On it, I laid out decisions, turning points, people, and opportunities. Post-its stood for choices, arrows for consequences, colors for themes. I used icons for hobbies and wellness activities, and added organization logos to mark all the memberships I believed were consequential to my growth. I also recorded counterfactuals—"what if I stayed in longer?"—to examine what had blocked me from those paths. Were there patterns worth reflecting on?
The board grew over several days, weeks.
As I got things out of my head and onto the board, patterns started to appear. Questions were answered. New questions emerged.
Most importantly, looking at the board, I got to know myself at a deeper level. Two insights emerged clearly:
Who I am based on my past choices and actions
Someone who seeks growth through discomfort, who values community over comfort, who needs a sense of purpose beyond just showing up.
Meaningful relationships through which I grew
I saw clearly all the positive impact people around me have made in my life. They opened doors. There wasn't a single opportunity that appeared out of nowhere without someone else's help or their inspiration. Every significant turn had a name attached to it—a mentor, a friend, a colleague who saw something in me I hadn't yet seen in myself.
In addition to the insights above, I realized an underlying logic behind my consequential life decisions. I saw patterns of how I come to life changing decisions, including joining and leaving the military. In the diagrams, I saw change not as an isolated "exit," but part of a rhythm: whenever a community or an institution reached its limit for me, I sought a new one. Leaving wasn't failure; it was continuity.
This happened with the military. It happened when I left academia. It happened when I transitioned careers. Each time, I thought I was starting over. But the board showed me I was actually following a consistent design: when growth plateaus, find the next space where it can continue.
The point wasn't to label my past decisions as good or bad. The value was in seeing the architecture of how I decide—the grammar of my life. For me, the loop is clear: I choose an activity → that leads to a community → the community opens a door.
Running led to a running club. The running club led to friendships. The club attracted runners in tech, so I learned the Austin tech scene in our early morning runs. Volunteering at a nonprofit led to working alongside passionate people in government tech. Friends I met there led to resume building projects. Design internship in a government agency led to colleagues who became mentors and friends, but also references. Those references led to opportunities I didn't know existed.
The biggest gain from creating the board is that I understand why I make decisions the way I do and when I do. I understand what’s important to me, what I value, what I prioritize, and why. The specific what may change as my situation changes, but because I clearly understand the driving force that shapes the why of the that specific what, I can move forward without self-doubt. This understanding keeps me grounded in every decision I make and every action I take.
If life doesn't make sense, sometimes the first step is to put it where you can see it. Draw it out. Diagram it. Get a board, physical or digital. Start with your big questions. Dump out the decisions, the turning points, the people who mattered.
What feels random might turn out to be a pattern. What feels like failure might turn out to be transition. What feels like endings might turn out to be the same story, told in different chapters.
You might discover, as I did, that you've been designing your life with more intention than you realized. You just needed to see the whole map at once.
