Designing a simpler life

For years, I've been drawn to minimalism in my work. Clean layouts. Spacious compositions. Direct messaging. I believe that when we say less, we say it louder. Every element on a page should earn its place, and everything else? It's just noise.

Lately, I've been thinking about minimalism beyond the screen.

Next spring, Tom and I are hitting the road for 6-8 months, driving through BC, Yukon, and Alaska in our truck and camper. It's a trip we've been dreaming about for some time, and now it's actually happening. And as we prepare – building out our camper, sorting through what comes with us and what stays behind – I'm realizing this journey is going to be an exercise in living the principles I've always applied to my design work.

Less noise, more clarity

In branding and design, I strip away everything that doesn't serve the message. The goal is clarity. Focus. Breathing room. When there's less competing for attention, what remains becomes more powerful.

Life on the road will demand the same approach. We'll be living in a small space with only what we can fit. The same few pieces of clothing worn on rotation. Simple meals cooked on a camp stove. No excess. Less clutter. Just what we need, and nothing more.

I'm genuinely excited about this – the idea of having fewer options. Fewer decisions about what to wear, what to eat, what to buy. There's a kind of freedom in limitation. When the choices narrow, the mind quiets. And in that quiet, I think there's space for something deeper.

Here's the interesting tension, though: while our daily life will be stripped down to the essentials, our days themselves will be wide open. No schedule. No fixed destination. Just the road ahead and all the time in the world to explore it.

It's a strange juxtaposition. Minimal possessions, but infinite possibility. Fewer choices in the small things, but endless options in the big things – where to go, how long to stay, when to move on.

I don't know yet how this will feel. It's both thrilling and a little unsettling. But I suspect that's exactly the point.

Getting back to what matters

The truth is, I'm craving simplicity. Not just in my physical surroundings, but in how I spend my time and energy. I want to wake up without an alarm. Set up camp somewhere remote. Watch the light change over a landscape. Sit in silence with Tom and not feel the need to fill it.

I want to strip everything back and see what's left.

Over the last year, work has slowed down for me. At first, it felt unsettling – that familiar anxiety of "what's next?" creeping in. But as the weeks passed, something shifted. The slower pace gave me space I didn't know I needed. Space to think. Space to question. Space to realize that maybe I've been moving too fast to notice whether I'm still moving in the right direction.

I've been asking myself bigger questions lately. Questions I've been too busy to sit with before. What else is out there for me? What other purposes might I explore – whether that's a new direction in my career, or something else entirely? I don't have answers yet. But I've started to feel a pull toward something different, something new, and I'm learning to trust that feeling rather than dismiss it.

In design, minimalism isn't about removing things for the sake of it. It's about removing what doesn't matter so you can see what does. I think the same is true for life. And I'm hoping that by stepping away from the noise – the notifications, the obligations, the constant hum of modern life – I'll find clarity about what I actually value. About what comes next.

Maybe this trip will help me see it. Maybe it won't give me answers but better questions. Either way, I need the space to find out.

It's not just about nature or adventure, though those things matter. It's about creating the conditions for clarity. Time to think. Time to be present. Time to reflect without distraction. Time to listen to what's been quietly asking for my attention.

Here’s to less

I'll still be working while we travel – staying connected through Starlink, keeping my design projects moving forward. But even that feels different. There's something grounding about the idea of working remotely in the truest sense. Not from a coffee shop in the city, but from the middle of nowhere. Creating from a place of stillness rather than stimulation.

I think it will change how I work. Maybe even what I create.

So here we are. Six months into preparation, and the trip is starting to feel real. We're trading square footage for open skies. Trading routines for roads. Trading the noise for something quieter.

I don't know exactly what we'll find out there. But I'm ready to find out.

Here's to minimalism – in design, in life, and on the road ahead.