Last year, on UX coffee hours, I spoke with 59 senior User Experience practitioners to pick their brains on how to improve my craft. Mentors I spoke with included Design Leads at Google, Facebook, LinkedIn, SAP, Quora, and Fjord, and User Researchers at Facebook, Mozilla, and Quora. Throughout the process, I was overwhelmed by everyone’s kindness and openness to share their experiences, and cannot be more thankful for their insights. I’d like to share my top 8 insights below.

Design requires time and focus. Instead of reacting to new projects, it’s helpful to take time to plan out your week…

Photo by Kid Circus on Unsplash

I walked home late last night.
London was dusted with a layer of velvet,
a soft shine covering the hustles
and bustles of the day.

Every few steps, seemingly
out of nowhere,
a clock appears above and behind,
left then centre right it takes the stage,
giving chase to my shadow
at every corner.

Monumental and majestic, each
clock in ancient columns stood
tall and proud, bearing witness to
centuries of follies.

Pay us no heed, the clocks say.
We are the chasers, not the chased.
Some try and slice us into
neat little boxes, packing each second
to dainty picnic sandwiches;
and some decree…

Photo by Adam Thomas on Unsplash

I need a muse, I said,
nothing’s inspiring me to write.

Though poetry is here, here
in the bitter wind as it clashes and gnaws at your jaw.

In the tilting of vowels and consonants as they explode
like popping candy in your mouth.

In the silence between your ankles as they
anchor and arch themselves into reality.

In the sunlight criss-crossing the leaves,
in the softness of touch, the twirling of textures.

In my heartbeat, as it presses itself against yours,
Earth’s beats ringing as they have done for
centuries and dynasties past.

Wonder, even if the world’s tides try
to succumb you into submission. Believe
in your heartbeat’s constant rhythm,
believe that poetry lives
in the world’s core.

Photo by Almos Bechtold on Unsplash

You revel in fire.
Fire is your birthplace,
hammered from a smith’s fists.

I hear you.
Sizzling. Noisy. A prelude
to the flavours to come.

Textures, a melting of
iron and bones, skin and flesh.

Don’t play with fire,
you said.

I’m not afraid,
I said.

In fire I arrived,
and in fire I’m reborn,
repeating in the callouses of time.
Stronger, softer, steadier,
till the day in ashes
I return. Peacefully.
Dancing home.

Cee Cee Biddlecombe

Londoner. Amateur poet. Designer.

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