I Am Very Good at Self Delusion!

I’m approaching 50. It has crept up on me, and it sounds strange to say I didn’t see it coming.

Here’s the thing about getting older — you get really good at blocking out the things you don’t want to hear, like turning 50! Instead, I like to spend my time with self-delusions about the next chapter of my life as a writer and an academic. Sure, I have a reality often connected to a dedication to surrounding myself with the expanders, the big thinkers, and the people who dream a little larger than I do — also known as my family and my friends!

In my almost 50s, I learned that it was, in fact, my own self-delusion that got me here (really close to where think I wanted to be).

Let me explain!

In my 49th year, I’ve finally started taking meditation and breath-work seriously. Before, I was way too revved up to worry about that stuff. Why would I need my health on my way to conquer the planet when no one could stop me (did I mention this is about self-delusion)? The problem with that thinking is that no one can stop you except yourself. It’s usually our thinking and limiting beliefs that stand in our way.

I’ve spent almost 15 years trying to build a company that I’m proud of, one that inspires me (even if it was a delusion to think I could). My delusion of writing my book on creativity, “Inhabitus,” at 46 has forced me to reflect on that journey. And let me tell you, sometimes we don’t always like what we see when we look back. But 15 years of trying to build a company tells me a lot, but one lesson stands out: creating a company is hard. Super fucking hard (yes, I was delusional).

Along the way, I’ve learned new processes, skills, and ways of thinking that have significantly enhanced my ability to build a successful little creative company. This wasn’t just a hopeful illusion (although it was a delusion) but a tangible reality. Interestingly, much of what I considered ‘new’ thinking was actually very familiar in the design world. Concepts like Design Thinking, Human-Centered Design, and Service Design have been around long before I discovered them. A reminder that ‘new’ is often relative.

I dove in without question and embraced the journey. Fueled by innovative processes, I built a company rooted in creativity and design — a venture that fills me with pride. But this narrative isn’t just about my company. It’s about the relentless pursuit of goals, the realisation that we often don’t fully understand what we’re chasing, and the comforting acknowledgment that, sometimes, not knowing is entirely ok.

Imagine a hunter sprinting towards a battle, spear in hand. Now imagine a modern-day writer, hunched over a keyboard, determined to finish their debut novel. At first glance, these scenarios couldn’t be more different. But dig a little deeper, and you’ll find a common thread — a powerful evolutionary trick that pushes us to chase seemingly impossible goals. It’s not courage or skill that drives them, but something far more primal: the self-delusion that we can succeed against all odds.

Think about it. What motivates a person to write a book while juggling a company, three kids (home from time to time), a few board positions and all the other responsibilities of adulting? It’s simple: They just believe they can do it — even if they lie to themselves about it (like I did). Our optimism and a healthy dose of naivety create an unwavering faith in our abilities to push ourselves forward.

Imagine if they were to be “real” with themselves about forging into a battle with a spear or writing a book ( like I wasn’t). They’d look at the saturated market ( like I didn’t), the high failure rate of new authors (like I am learning), the chaos of publishing (which is true), and the gruelling labour of writing a book (four years later). They’d take a second look at their packed calendar and priorities, consult with their concerned partner (like I didn’t), and then, like any rational person, say, “Not now.”

Our hunter charged into battle where death was a possible outcome (and I don’t think they had a choice). I’ve never done that, and I have no intention to. My delusions are different, like books and companies. I imagine that survival in those experiences is based on an inflated self-belief. A delusion that they would survive. There was no room for doubt or overthinking, just blind confidence that fueled survival. Over time, they bolstered their self-delusion with rituals like war paint, feasts, and battle drums — all in service of the story they told themselves.

A creative life is no different. The belief that you could build something new to the market or create a work-challenging culture and academic thinking requires tunnel vision, an element of self-delusion. Strangely, it helps me assess reality more clearly. Look at the people leading companies through unpredictable times with optimism and unity. They’re driven by self-delusion. Leaders need to believe they can, that things will improve, or that they have a fighting chance.

While self-delusion might sound like a dirty word, it’s vital for human hardwiring. In the book “You Are Now Less Dumb”, David McRaney explores what psychologists call the self-enhancement bias. It’s exactly what it sounds like: a bias that enhances one’s narrative, thinking, and behaviour in a favourable light.

McRaney says, “Your wildly inaccurate self-evaluations get you through rough times and help motivate you when times are good. Research shows that people who are brutally honest with themselves are not as happy daily as people with unrealistic assumptions about their abilities”. Our self-enhancement bias helps us to maintain happiness.

Your body won’t let you hold your breath until you faint because of self-preservation. In the same way, our minds won’t let us dwell on our failures or disappointments for too long. We convert them into “life lessons,” traversing the windy path of self-justification (or, in my case, writing a book about them).

In exploring design thinking for my book, I started to see issues with the process I’d been practising for over 15 years. If Design Thinking is the answer, why are 80% of the world’s climate challenges we face today started at the design phase of a product? We are designing for now and for people, not the future or the planet.

Human-centred and service design’s sole purpose often becomes saving money or raising revenue above delivering value to users or redesigning the future. Its objectives are always short-term, focusing quickly on what’s within reach, ignoring the medium to long term. What we need now sometimes comes at the cost of what we need tomorrow.

But at 49, I am trying to remember what design was before design thinking and human-centred design took hold. I was doing something else back then: selling things designers made. Apparently, there was a time when there was money for user research and strategy. There was time and space to think about the future, and that future was something we wanted to talk about. Cost and risk reduction was part of our work, but it wasn’t the only part. We were also there to design new products and services, consider their longevity and scale, and create new organisational strategies to develop new audiences. Our work was diverse. It still is, and I am proud of our work.

In researching for “Inhabitus,” when I realised that Design Thinking was broken or fractured, I quickly learned that I wasn’t alone in my thinking. Designers all over the planet were popping up with their views on why the process was broken. It was fascinating. Had I been living under a rock or just confirmation bias? It’s a bit of both!

While working on a unique project involving the garment dyeing of Gore-Tex with CP Company in Milan, I began to reassess everything. CP Company, renowned for its style and enduring influence, became a source of inspiration. This experience sparked my fascination with Gore-Tex as a company, not only for its innovative products but also for its organisational structure. I discovered their lattice approach to management, which deviates from the traditional top-down decision-making model. Instead, they employ a dynamic “anywhere” decision tree, where ideas and decisions can originate from any level within the organisation.

This revelation made me reflect on applying similar principles within design frameworks, especially design thinking. Motivated by this model, I experimented with Systemic Design Foundations, my very own variant for designing things. This approach embraces the notion that great ideas are not confined to specific origins; they can emerge from any direction or from anywhere. This philosophy champions the notion that creativity and innovation can flourish in an environment where everyone has the voice and agency to contribute, transforming how we approach design and problem-solving. I once designed a mobile app for McDonald’s on the back of a napkin. No Post-its, no whiteboards — just me, 20 McNuggets, and some sweet and sour sauce. And you know what? They built it. It was a moment of pure clarity in Sydney Airport McDonalds, and no, I don’t eat Maccas often.

Motivated to refine and improve existing design methodologies, I contacted the Institute of Design in Chicago. Their insights confirmed my suspicions: well-established processes like Human-Centered Design needed reevaluation and enhancement.

During this exploration, I encountered alternatives such as “Humanity-Centered Design.” Although intriguing, these approaches often felt like familiar concepts in new terminology. The Design Council in London’s “Systemic Design Frameworks” presented a similar case, offering an end-to-end solution that seemed more like a reiteration than a revolution.

This dialogue with the Institute of Design was invaluable. It highlighted a broader consensus in the design community about the necessity for change. However, finding true breakthroughs proved challenging, as many ideas circled back to established practices. It became clear that if we foster real change, we must be willing to think radically and embrace approaches that extend well beyond conventional boundaries.

When you learn to sail, you’re taught how to manage a crisis. The first step is to slow down, take deep breaths, and not panic. When you panic, you lose 20% of your ability to think. You want your whole brain to function in a crisis, but this is precisely what I am struggling to re-imagine design right now. Panicking, we've got it wrong, and there is no path for a better way—at least not yet.

The problem with cost-saving is that it’s a vicious cycle. Short deadlines, spending reviews, and having to do more with less cause us to panic, which leads to worse decisions. Short-term decisions after short-term choices lead to more problems. If you combine that with high staff churn and lack of investment in learning and community development, you end up with an ever-increasing pile of issues you can’t fix, leading to panic.

So, what happened after speaking with the Institute of Design?

Well, that conversation opened up my mind to endless possibilities. If no one is solving this, why can’t I (Self-Delusion)? Sure, I’m writing a book, I run a company, I have three kids (who are all almost grown-up), and I have one daughter skiing for Great Britain lviingin Europe and USA, one son playing basketball in the USA, and one daughter in Australia about to become a senior in high school. As I write this, my wife is in London (yes, we are still together and in love despite the geographical challenges). So, with little on (ha!), is it time to research this (self-delusion)? Is there a PhD in this? Yes, can I do it?

I am not an academic. But I love to write and research, and I’ve had a lifelong obsession with academics. I was a deliberate “just do what you can do” student and no more. I wanted Cs because Cs were easy to get. I skipped class to play sports, but I love to read books, and that filled a few gaps for me. My life was always filled with self-doubt and self-delusion. I give my kids a bit of that self-delusion, encouraging them to turn up to things we know they’re not ready for. It stretches them.

Reading taught me that I wasn’t alone and that my problems weren’t special or unique. Self-delusion is human, and most of the world’s best athletes still harbour doubts and often find themselves in the places they exist through the self-delusion that they could, in fact, make the Super Bowl (Self-delusion).

My self-delusions were simpler: to see something and think I could build it, to read something and think I could do it. I’ve always been visual. I saw IDEO when I started my company and wanted to build it. Turns out, fuck no, way too hard; I wouldn’t even know where to start, but what my self-delusion got me was close — not really close, but closer than never starting. And that’s something!

In Meredith Moran’s book “Why We Write”, she interviews writers on one question: Why write? Michael Lewis says, “Many of my best decisions were made in a state of self-delusion. A little delusional thinking goes a long way when creating a writing career.”

My wild dreams often loomed larger than my nagging doubts. Forging a life in the creative field requires a healthy dose of self-delusion. It’s like running a marathon — you’ve got to keep your chin up for the long haul. Each time I face a blank screen, it feels like I’m staring at Everest. But at the end of the day, what keeps me going is the tale I spin in my head and the grit to show up, day after day, come hell or high water.

So, my practice, research, and book all led me to this moment of new thinking, this idea that maybe I have a PhD in me — at least, my self-delusion thinks I do.

Before I turned 49, I got my first tattoo. It’s on my hand, right above my thumb. It’s the word “Ikigai.” When I shake people’s hands, it stares right back at me and them. It’s a reminder to ensure that whatever I’m about to do is valuable to the world, is what people need, is valuable to me, and will pay me what I’m worth. It has changed my life in so many ways. It is a constant reminder of my value to the world, a way to connect my delusional self with the reality of my choices, and a way to bring what I can to the world.

The world doesn’t need you to be realistic about your work. It requires your imagination and creativity (creative confidence) to solve problems and push boundaries. Being overly practical about your chances will hold you back. Instead, find ways to motivate yourself to think creatively, with the confidence that, even when things are tough, every outcome is unknown, so you may as well dive in.

There’s value in acting as if you can achieve your goals, even if they seem far-fetched. For me, that means believing I can contribute to academia, write a meaningful book, or build a unique design company. I’m not trying to be the next IDEO — that’s not the point. The point is to create something that’s genuinely my own.

The path forward isn’t about ignoring challenges but believing you can despite them. Your beliefs shape your actions, and our actions shape our reality. One day, you might find that those aspirations you once thought were just delusions become achievements — not because you ignored reality but simply because you dared to imagine a different one.

Now, if only I had the time to do that PhD.