The System Behind the Simulation

There was a time I became obsessed with the idea that we were living in a simulation. Not in a sci-fi escapist way, but in a quiet, existential spiral, the kind you fall into at 2AM when you’re tired but can’t sleep. I didn’t stay there, but that question, “Does it matter if it’s real?”, never really left me. And neither did what I learned from it.

I had been thinking about Conway’s Game of Life, a cellular automaton created in the 1970s, where complex patterns emerge from a few simple rules. Once the initial configuration is set, the system runs itself. Watching it unfold feels strangely familiar: one event leads to another, a small decision becomes a pattern, and eventually, those patterns define the system itself.

That’s how life felt at the time. Pre-set configurations. Behaviours inherited from childhood. Learned reactions. Beliefs I didn’t even know I had. All just… running.

Boundaries as Pattern Interrupts

In design systems, we obsess over patterns, naming them, refining them, scaling them. But outside of work, I started to notice patterns I hadn’t designed. I had inherited them. And they weren’t scalable. They were draining me.

After finishing my book, I pushed myself so hard I started getting physically ill. I wrote the entire book alone. No publisher, no editor, no book designer. Just me. And when it was finally done, I didn’t feel triumphant. I felt sick. Sick with stress about what others would think. Because it wasn’t just a project, it was a piece of me. I wanted it to be perfect. But of course… I’m human.

People were constantly inviting me to speak at conferences, join podcasts, give webinars, and respond to every message. And every time I said no, I felt this deep, exhausting guilt. Like I was letting people down. Like I was wasting an opportunity.

That’s a pattern too. The idea that being good at your craft isn’t enough unless it’s performative. That visibility is the same as value. But what if saying no was the real skill? What if boundaries weren’t rejection, but redirection?

Choosing not to do conferences or other public speaking wasn’t a lack of ambition, it was one of the most human choices I’ve made. Not because I wasn’t capable, but because I finally realised I didn’t want to. That my energy had limits. That I wanted to connect in ways that felt like me, not like performance.

What Systems Teach Us (If We Let Them)

Working with systems taught me how to see the invisible logic behind the way things work. But learning to live with them taught me something deeper: sometimes you need to break a pattern to build a better one. Not just in Figma or documentation, but in yourself.

Over time, therapy helped me understand that some of my deepest struggles weren’t personal failures. They were learned behaviours. Subconscious patterns shaped by fear, trust, and early experiences. Naming them gave me the power to change them. Slowly. Gently. Intentionally.

Whether or not this is the ‘real’ world, it’s the only one I’m in right now. I get to decide how I participate in it. What I amplify. What I protect. What I choose to change.

The systems we create reflect who we are, but the systems we unlearn reveal who we’re becoming.