Dear Steve Jobs Archive Fellows,

Advice, I have learned over the years, necessitates a process of self-reflection: a dialogue that, if done with real intention, can lead us to the how and the why. Given the honor of this position, I believe it important to start at the beginning: an attempt to offer a brief window into my formative years and their afterimage.

I was raised in Sydney, Australia in the 1960s and 1970s, where my mother, maternal uncle, and grandfather inspired a real sense of curiosity and freedom. From a young age, my grandfather’s garage workshop became a home away from home. I endlessly toyed, played, tinkered, experimented. That modest space felt like a place of promise: the ultimate library of possibility. I was at once inspired and somewhat dissatisfied by how things worked, looked or functioned. In this liberating environment, I was able to develop a critical, creative eye and, importantly, an ability to make: to use my hands and mind in tandem.

One could argue that the urgency we all feel to create—to add to the world rather than simply take from it—is fueled by a kind of optimism. Nurturing and directing this energy, recognizing how and why it serves us, is fundamental to the creative process, no matter the origin or end point. But my point of origin wasn’t rooted so much in a need to be creative, but rather a more pragmatic mindset: a child seeing both limitation and possibility operating in the same framework.

I have always seen design as something belonging to the future, and all the (joyful) uncertainty that comes with that. Architects build foundations: their “belief” in the future is tangible, habitable, protective—innately human. As designers, we too rely on the concept of longevity: the enduring perception and future “life” of our creations.

So how do we reconcile the idea of “belief” in an era seemingly consumed by doubt (both individual as self-critique, and collective, in shifting societal perceptions) with the value and nuance of human creativity? For me, the real joy still manifests in the creative process itself. More specifically, the process of problem-solving. The outcome, the physical thing, is (on some level) a by-product of this enriching process. I therefore urge you to immerse yourself in the process, whatever that may be for you. You will, without question, learn something every time.

I have always embraced the development of practical skills, and I would encourage you to do the same. You won’t regret acquiring an ability that enables you to express your ideas in a convincing, tangible way. Not only are your ideas no longer merely conceptual, but, once again, that process of making affords you an essential learning experience, enlivening your understanding of materials and processes. This also builds resilience, revealing self-limitation, which only serves to redirect your learning, and ultimately build your confidence and commitment to the work’s purpose. Ideas are always better-conceived—and, frankly, sold—if you have gone through the motions yourself. So ask questions, test the waters, push boundaries, and perceived limitations.

But we cannot do this alone. Collaborate and forge new connections. Not just with other like-minded people, but also with those who challenge your innate perceptions. If you have the opportunity, I encourage you to travel. I continue to be inspired by shifting visual cultures, how human narratives inform material expression. I cannot overstate the value of gathering knowledge from other cultures; seeing differing approaches to “problems” has been instrumental to my thinking. Travel has also enabled me to see design as something that exists in a place without boundaries: craft as a conduit for connectivity.

We all need to continually defy the fixity of our mindsets: We are all growing. There is always room to learn, to experience—to avoid myopic engagement. And, of course, the greatest ideas are born of challenge: We cannot progress without resistance. Without wishing to end on a sentimental note, this letter of advice also serves as an expression of gratitude, for the spectrum of experiences that have come, and continue to come, my way. One of the most extraordinarily serendipitous moments came in my early twenties in Tokyo, where—through a gesture of great kindness in the pouring rain—I met my most significant patron, mentor, and lifelong friend, Teruo Kurosaki. Embrace every opportunity; recognise what others see in you.

Indeed, perhaps my preoccupation with watches, a fascination that began at the age of nine and continues to this day, derives from an underlying sense of urgency: an awareness of the passing of time, and wanting to just jump in. There’s something about the formulation of timepieces—where engineering and design perfectly coexist—that seems to represent history and the future in microcosm: embedded in the past, yet forever pressing on.

Wishing you every success.