Designing in and for a world we don’t yet know
How can we practice creativity and conversation to enhance futures literacy and co-creation efforts?Still from my design research project, Maybe We’re Creative. Partial quote from artist, educator and interview participant, Jason Lujan.Last year, I completed my major research project for my Master’s of Design in Strategic Foresight and Innovation, titled "Maybe We’re Creative: What I Learned about Co-Creation in Design by Dancing with My Dad." The project was a short documentary and a corresponding research report. Last month, several themes from my work were explored during a workshop with Riel Miller, the former Head of Futures Literacy at UNESCO in Paris, France. I’m still finding the right words to sum up the depth of theory and the ongoing experiences that guide my research, but I decided this was a good moment to publicly expand on and share some of the process that went into my project last year and the outcomes.Ultimately, Maybe We’re Creative brought me closer to my belief that being creative is not just an act for artists or those with a knack for a craft; it’s a practice that allows us to perceive and hold complexity in relationships and the world around us. Creativity is a deeply human practice that can take many shapes and connect us with genuine feelings inside of us that we might otherwise overlook. In systems design, we are constantly trying to make sense, organize, and somewhat solve, but creativity, in practice with others, reorients the designer and generates possibilities of getting to know complexity in a different way, in seemingly simple, innocent yet deeply intentional and meaningful ways. Creativity offers a way out of old patterns and a way back into possibility.Still from my design research project, Maybe We’re Creative.The power of changing imaginationsIn a 2016 On Being interview, Remembering Nikki Giovanni — ‘We Go Forward With a Sanity and a Love’, host Krista Tippett said that Giovanni’s imagination has always changed as she ages. Giovanni responded,“Everyone’s does, the only difference is I’m not afraid to talk about it”Giovanni’s words reminded me of what I heard again and again in my interviews for Maybe We’re Creative. Participants shared that imagination isn’t a fixed trait but something personal that we can nurture and be curious about over time, given the environment to do so.I chose to focus my research project on creativity because it’s a practice that accepts I change; in fact, it relies on it. Every time I write or dance, I deepen my relationship and awareness with where I’m at that moment, knowing how I arrive at the page or studio will be different in some way, shape, or form from the day before. Because I can better expect and welcome change in myself, I can better expect change in others. Thus, when I dance and write, I build my capacity to engage with change and differences in the world. I can better move through internal conflicts and external uncertainty, not by solving anything, but by accepting change as a constant truth. To an outsider, it might seem like a cop out, framing my design approach not to solve but to better live amongst change, but in practice, I’ve learned that the simplest statements, i.e. change is truth, are some of the hardest to design with effectively. The temptation to convert change into a variable I can control, instead of a constant state I can’t, never dies. My project reinforced this learning, and further reinforced that some of the most important experiences in our lives, relationships with ourselves and others, are prime examples of complexity that we can only hope to exist within more fully; they’re not to be solved.The current challenge of changing imaginationsAccepting change holds a deep tension with the limits built into public spaces and policy. Humans love to control, place structure on, or push back against the reality of change. Specifically, in various public gatherings, I’m sensing a waning disconnect between people and, notably, our ability to imagine a future other than ones already played out. It seems that no information about our collective history, no exposure to harm or progress, changes our ability to make different decisions that would bring about new current states and futures. This reckoning is sometimes making for many collective, melancholic moments as of late. Many academics have noted this disconnect throughout the last century. Toni Morrison, in The War on Error, wrote,“Oddly enough it is in the West — where advance, progress and change have been signatory features — where confidence in an enduring future is at its slightest.”Despite our communal resources in the West, specifically Toronto, where I am based, I’m sensing this lack of confidence as most palpable.Sentiments such as Giovanni’s instill hope in me that much imagination, innovation, and life exist in all of us, but might be settled or hidden beneath our surface. In Maybe We’re Creative, I chose to expand on all forms of creativity, and dance, specifically between my dad and me, as a practice to potentially bring us back to the present, as a starting point, and expose some of that buried life.Still from Maybe We’re Creative.Building a relationship with the unknownFour years ago, my dad came to me acknowledging for the first time in our relationship that things could have been different if he had acted differently. He had recently returned home from what would be his last military deployment, was released from the military as he was now undeployable due to various reasons, mental health included, and from what I could see, he was taking a long look at the reflection of his past self.Reflecting on our relationship and the impact of his choices exposed a humility in my dad that I had never seen before. He freed himself from the singular narrative he had been glued to previously. This old narrative only had room for his experience, which prevented my experience from being seen and prevented me from participating in our relationship in a way that felt true to me. It was interesting; in that moment, my dad simply, and not-so-simply, acknowledged that things could have been different, the trajectory for our relationship as I had known it, almost immediately, changed.Last year, when I began my research journey in my last year of school, he asked if we could learn a dance together as a way of reconnecting and in an attempt to make up for time he was absent from my life. This moment marks something I now understand as essential to building alternative futures: not only do we have to recognize a shared history, but if we can genuinely recognize that the past could have been different, the future, somewhat suddenly, can be too.Until then, I had been clinging to the idea that our relationship would be somewhat tainted forever because my dad always said that the past “was what it was.” This approach, from us both, locked us in place. But when he, sitting on my couch during a visit I initially thought would be a quick hi and bye, said that if he knew then what he understood of the repercussions of his actions now, he would have done it all differently, something shifted.Co-creating futures through storyThis reframing of the past was an important moment for me. I had to confront that my dad’s new perspective on our past meant I no longer knew what our future held. This was terrifying at times. What we imagined, or failed to imagine, would shape what was possible for us. I was scared of my dad falling back into his old narrative, I was scared of being hurt or abandoned again, I was scared of how my changing relationship with my dad would change my relationships with the rest of my family, and the list goes on. Part of what motivated me to move through these fears is the underlying, I think natural, truth that no matter the rupture in our relationships, there are always pieces of what's left over in our bodies that we hope we might one day repair.I always wanted a relationship with my dad, but I wasn’t willing to sacrifice myself to have one. Now that he was proposing a genuine relationship, one I could show up in, I had to confront my fears and ask myself: Am I ready for this relationship? I’d love to say it was easy to step into a joyful new chapter with my dad. In reality, I had to let go of a version of myself I had been training for a long time, who believed love to be a struggle, one-sided, or that people you love will leave. Those thoughts were painful for me to hold onto, but they also kept me safe in a repeating pattern that I could predict.I saw this experience as my dad offering me an opportunity to grow and deepen my understanding of him and myself. My commitment to honouring growth in relationship and in the unknown outweighed all of the fear I was experiencing. I also had been doing a lot of work on myself, and something told me that not only did this feel different, but I was different. I didn’t want to act out of fear or old narratives; I was open to something new.Why include my personal life in my professional life?None of the challenges my dad and I experienced were exclusive to our relationship alone. People navigate interpersonal conflicts in every facet of their lives, whether or not they want to address them as such. Our survival instincts don’t discriminate between our relationships. These modes show up with work colleagues with whom we don’t get along, our boss who doesn’t listen to us, the reaction we have to the passive-aggressive stranger at the grocery store, our inability to have conversations with those who disagree with us without it erupting into an argument, and the list goes on. We write off these relationships, claiming to know that they “just won’t work” or we “just don’t vibe.” We fill in the blanks of the stories that haven’t yet happened because “we know what’s going to happen.” Sometimes, we’re right, but what about the times we’re wrong? What if things could go differently? When do our predictions or assumptions not protect but actually prevent change?Zooming in on the process of co-creating futures through storyMy dad and I’s relationship was ripe with opposition, politically, professionally, and personally. I could have clung to the idea that I knew this journey would end the same way all my previous experiences with him had. However, we had one vital ingredient that propelled our relationship forward that had never been present before: we were both open to being vulnerable together and letting that vulnerability and honesty guide our direction into an unknown place. We had a mutual desire to be seen by the other, and in turn, whether we knew it or not at the time, we were open to seeing ourselves in a new way, too. We both let go of control to the extent we needed to, and this dance project gave us a blueprint for moving forward.The beginner mindsetDance allowed us to confront our differences and vulnerabilities through movement, a kind we were not specialized in, making us both beginners. House Dance was also my dad’s idea. He had been repeatedly listening to some songs during his morning workouts, the time he admittedly ruminated about the past, and felt a connection with a couple of house tracks. He wanted to explore a response, a feeling that came up in him. We were both willing to be seen making mistakes and exposing our amateur selves.The willingness to try something new in an unknown area translates into relationships just the same. This is another vital ingredient to foster new future possibilities. When we are exposed as beginners to something, we have no choice but to surrender to only the possibility of progress with active practice. You don’t know if you’ll be “good” at something when you first start. We have to let go of the fear of being perceived a certain way, a way we can control. For better or worse, when we feel confident and comfortable in our environment, we tend to live self-fulfilling prophecies and relive what we already know. Feeling unsure, insecure, and fearful is all human. What’s beautiful about this process in a relationship is when we witness someone else in those vulnerable feelings that mirror our own. We have the opportunity to say “me too” and courageously move through fear and transform it into something else. We create possible futures in these moments versus remaining stuck in the same place.A dance reflection from myself, included in my final report of Maybe We’re Creative.Trust and futures literacyThis brings me to the futures literacy workshop with Miller from last month. About 20 of uswere separated into smaller groups and asked to discuss the future of trust in 2100, the probable future and our desired future. We were then asked to consider a scenario in which, by 2100, every time a person lied, their nose would grow longer, and everyone would have telepathy. How does trust function if everyone is exposed in one way or another? How does truth function? We built sculptures in our groups to represent what we considered, and presented them to the room. Miller encouraged a beginner mindset here, as none of us could know what 2100 will be like. We were equally, collectively, looking into the unknown.Miller noted that when we collectively discuss and contemplate designing the future, we’re confronting a process intertwined with something deep: people’s hopes and fears. Our assumptions are brought to the surface in these collective exercises, our survival mechanisms, and, if we’re willing, our imaginations. Building capacity for futures literacy can be emotionally charged for those open to being moved by it. This realization reshaped how I saw my work, not just as a designer, but as someone making space for others to feel, imagine, and respond in real time.What is the imaginary, and why is it useful?We discussed ‘futures literacy’ as a practice of the imaginary in relation to the world around us. Miller noted that the imaginary does not exist. I don’t imagine a 5% increase in wealth over the next x number of years when I imagine a future. What exists are our images of the future and what those images allow, or do not allow, us to perceive in the present. I found this identification useful as I began to see and understand my relationship with the imaginary not as a fantasy, but as a perceptual frame, a way to hold what hasn’t yet materialized but is shaping our actions in the present. When my dad and I expanded our perception and imagination of what was possible between us by reframing our past, our relationship, in the present, changed, which meant our relationship in the future could inevitably be different, too, if we kept imagining or believing it could.When I envision the future, I generally feel hopeful that what we do matters, and this hope expands when I’m in the presence of others. However, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t concerned and scared about the many people I know who are unhappy and struggling in their day-to-day lives. I feel concerned about the lack of trust people have in themselves to navigate difficult times. I’m seeing people shut down and push others away, being unkind, isolating, and saying “it’s fine” when truthfully, it isn't.These feelings, hopes and fears are not inherent to me, and futures literacy, specifically this workshop, helped me uncover where my mind pulls from when they reach the surface. Through the collective and in contrast to group members, I uncovered how I’ve been managing fear or anticipation, specifically regarding uncertainty and complexity. I’ve come to understand that futures literacy, like creativity, begins not with certainty but with the courage to enter unfamiliar terrain together. It isn’t as simple as “being courageous”, of course. Getting to that place of courage isn’t easy, especially in a capitalist society based on a collective acceptance of scarcity.Still from Maybe We’re Creative. Partial quote from interview participant, Chris Wilson.Ancestry and designIn the interviews I conducted for my research, trauma came up multiple times, as well as the tension between wanting to be creative but living in a structure that doesn’t support creation, but rather consumption. This is another space where I found Miller’s framing of the imaginary particularly useful. When we feel limited, like we can’t make anything new, or that what we make isn’t valued, we tend to surrender or outsource our imagination and creation to others. In our society, creation is increasingly outsourced to those with power, wealth, or at the top of the hierarchy. Creation and imagination in the hands of only a few limit collective future possibilities.When my dad came to me in earnest, I felt the hierarchy between us dissolve. Again, I find it important to note that nothing had to change about the past events we lived through physically, and my dad didn’t know how things could have been different, but just that they could have been. He imagined previously unimagined possibilities, which were not easy. This came with regret, sadness, and shame he never fully confronted, but, instead of being in his own, isolated narrative, the narrative we both knew quite well, it opened a complex, relational reality.A dance reflection from my Dad, included in my final report of Maybe We’re CreativeI never wanted my dad to be perfect, but I sometimes wished he would change, be different. By shifting his perceptual framing of the past and courageously wondering, “what if”, he may not have changed the past or himself, but he confronted the past and the spectrum of experiences that existed there, not only his own. As a result of this reframing, what I, in turn, valued in our relationship changed. I wasn’t fixated on my dad changing as a person, but refocused on how our relationship functioned and how it could change moving forward, thus healing and shaping each of us as individuals. I could accept and love my dad in a new way because he, just like me, was exposing himself as an imperfect, changing human being trying his best in a world that, despite us wanting it to, doesn’t have any instructions.Complexity is a state, not a variableI don’t think, as designers, we fully grasp how complex things are, and I don’t say this to suggest we can or should. But perhaps accepting complexity as a state, that we can’t funnel into something simpler, is our true starting point, befriending humility and a desire to build capacity for complexity, not simplicity. For example, if health is being able to experience the spectrum of emotions, not just one emotion, maybe a desirable future could be designed with the capacity to welcome the same. I read the other day that the opposite of depression is not joy or happiness, which one might assume, but the opposite of depression is expression. I want a future that is not focused on chasing singular emotions or goals but one where we all feel capable of moving through our expressions, even when those expressions are at odds with others, perhaps especially then. A designer-as-human can be with complexity instead of a human-centred design, simplifying or solving complexity.I think what we’re witnessing and experiencing in society is the downfall of simplifying for speed or “productivity,” and what I keep asking myself about this process, in the simplest way, is, what are we racing towards? I wonder how varied our answers would be. I’m also wondering how much of our imagination we are losing by continuously speeding up.I wanted a relationship so badly with my dad so many times before this experience, but each time he came to me, I knew in my heart that nothing had changed. I knew this because when I shared my experiences with him, he couldn’t incorporate them into his version of our story. If I had tried a relationship in those moments, we would have forced his narrative on something far more complex. If I had rushed it, we would have replayed the same future we were already playing. I’ve heard this pattern referred to as remembering the future just as we remember the past. When we act in a way that is so intertwined with what we already know, we aren’t creating something new; we are reinforcing something old.Miller shared that complexity is a state, not a variable. This phrase keeps echoing throughout my thinking, not as a metaphor, but as a reframing of how we live, relate, and design. It resonated particularly strongly as I reflected on my experience with my dad, my interviews on creativity, and the corresponding conceptual model I began last year, trying to map out what the complexity of lived experiences looks like in groups.Seeing possibility in the complexity of the pastAs the problems we’re facing, locally and globally, arguably, continue to worsen, I wonder if we might consider pausing to adjust how our previous approaches to problems might not be creating new results and instead reinforcing the problems themselves. If we pause to ask ourselves where these approaches are rooted, we might unravel a new way of seeing and approaching problems altogether. We might not even see previous problems as problems; perhaps they were just evidence of complexity, and perhaps the problem has more to do with our capacity to be present in them. Miller added that when we uncover that the universe can continually surprise us, for better or worse, complexity might become something we welcome.I’ve been exploring the space of creation and complexity through building a tool called Lived Experience Cartography. This dialogic framework maps stories, emotions, and relationships to help groups make meaning together. It doesn’t seek immediate convergence or simplicity. Instead, it asks: What becomes possible when we deepen our awareness of ourselves and others and linger in complexity together?The current state of co-design: static story sharingCo-design is often celebrated for its ability to include many voices. But we know from experience that inclusion alone isn’t enough. The complexity of individual designers multiplies when co-designing, and this reality of difference demands more than the idea of inclusion or a check-box approach in our work. It calls for a deliberate practice. As I previously mentioned, when my dad came to me before, I could feel there still wasn’t room for him to incorporate my story into his lived reality. If I took him up on his previous offers, I was afraid I would be living his reality, not a shared reality. I also didn’t want to force my reality onto him or erase his experiences. I wanted us both to acknowledge that we co-existed, that our actions and expressions were interconnected, and that we had impacted each other’s experiences. In his previous state, his offers meant my voice might have been present in our relationship, but not included.Static and dynamic story sharingIdeas remain static when group work focuses on ideas stacking up without interaction and engagement. Bartels et al.compare this to a kaleidoscope with many colours, but the cylinder doesn’t turn. Technically, the pieces are there, but the magic of seeing interwoven colours change as they move together never happens. Complexity is the magic. Engagement with complexity is the magic. When more people are present, more information might be present, but if it can’t be meaningfully engaged with, it will not mean change or new possibilities.We can feel the contrasts between static and dynamic group work in society today. Baharak Yousefi in the essay, “On the Disparity Between What We Say And What We Do In Libraries,” described this beautifullywhen she wrote about the growing disconnect between professional value statements and what is being done or not done in our public institutions. She cites academic Keller Easterling’s spatial analysis of object and active forms to aid the differentiation. To be able to examine both our words and actions/character is derived from taking stock of the interconnections and totality of our activities, both the influential buildings, strategic plans, and value statementsand undeclared movements, rules, and activitiesthat create our societal infrastructure.On the surface, many people are involved in changing laws, value statements, and policies for the public good; however, as we know, just because society appears to apply those changes in writing, it does not mean that our underlying beliefs also change throughout that process. This is sadly understood when a law changes back, and we revert to old patterns, or when a new value statement is plastered on every document in an institution, but it results in few meaningful cultural shifts. Despite this disconnect, we still highly believe in and value the object form. This back-and-forth begs a question: Does the appearance of new information stacking on top of old information effectively disguise and eradicate the fact that there is more work to be done beneath the surface? Are some of us genuinely satisfied with appearing one way and acting another? Or perhaps more worrisome, do some not even recognize the disconnect? Our increasing ability to dissociate ourselves personally and professionally, individually and collectively, is, as Yousefi describes, disconcerting.With Lived Experience Cartography and creativity, I want to explore how we can build a capacity to merge stories and lived experiences, to better articulate an interconnection in groups while preserving individuals’ sense of self. Could we develop our listening skills to be present with others’ experiences while still being connected to our own? Or further, could we allow our relationship to our own experiences to change through engagement with another, and vice versa? If this is a mutual understanding, meaningful co-design becomes more possible, as well as closing the gap between what we say and do, combining our object and active forms.A curriculum of conversation and listeningA way forward, I believe, lies in embedding active conversational engagement at the heart of design processes. In my current work, I use conversation-activated reflection as a powerful mode of learning, unlearning and engagement.Similarly, Alia Weston and Miguel Imas describe a “dialogical imagination” in Communities of Art-Spaces, Imaginations and Resistances, as a kind of exploration where people construct meaning together in an in-between space, a conversation. Easterling also notes that talking is a tool for decentering power and creating alternative narratives. In my work, creativity acts as another form of dialogue. It's practice is about deep, meaningful sharing, getting as close as possible to complexity and remaining open to an unknown path forward.Still from Maybe We’re Creative. Partial quote from interview participant, Cami Boyko.This need for dialogue and a curriculum of conversation extends beyond design and into every area of society. Rising polarity and binaries in the media are shaping our opinions and social circles, making conversation and maintaining deep social interactions feel more difficult now than ever before. One participant in my thesis research, Cami Boyko, an elementary school teacher, captured this beautifully:“You really have to look at this idea of extremism, and talk to kids about how it’s their role to take a step towards the centre, at least far enough to hear what’s going on. I think I’m convincing myself that we need this sort of curriculum of conversation and listening. Because it’s been interesting how thatshut down some things in the classroom where it should be about being able to talk.”To echo Cami’s insight, design schools and workplaces alike have an opportunity to become sites of openness, play, and collective sensemaking. The cost of ignoring the complexity of thoughts and opinions and our lived experiences is not just creative disconnection; it’s social fragmentation and power imbalances. As Audre Lorde wrote,“Unacknowledged difference robs all of us of each other’s energy and creative insight, and creates a false hierarchy.”Not only are we increasing the distance between one another when we resist interacting with differences, but we unknowingly reinforce a hierarchical system. This, perhaps subconscious, moral superiority further disconnects our relationships, making it harder to step towards the centre.Conversation as a tool to move beyond survivalObviously, dialogue as a tool for learning is not new. Throughout history, the act of asking sincere, open-ended questions has been viewed as liberatory and, as such, dangerous to some leadership. In May 2024, researcher Dr. Julie Schwartz Gottman shared that the United Nations had recently reached out to her and her husband, Dr. John Gottman, desperate, begging for a simple way for their organization to discuss and navigate problems. She reminded us of the power of dialogue and its historical roots, citing the 300 BC philosopher, Socrates, who introduced dialogue to the youth to encourage critical thinking. Authorities saw the power it wielded when people were thinking for themselves, and they threatened to condemn him to death if he didn’t stop teaching.Emily Wood, a Toronto organizer and poet, and another participant in my thesis research, reflected on how our culture resists creativity, in conversation or otherwise:“I just don’t think that we live in a culture currently that wants people to even be creative… It’s challenging for people to be around unconventional thinkers… that’s uncomfortable and challenging to the status quo. If you are creative and you’re trying to see things differently and you imagine a way something could be versus like what it currently is, then that’s kind of bad to more powerful entities.”Remembering that elites have suppressed the power of dialogue since 300 BC helps explain why today’s monopolies sell every new tool, technological or otherwise, as somewhat of a substitute for conversation. Today, in AI and the age of the internet, algorithms create a world where our surroundings are affirmed and validated. Contrary to the plurality of human differences outside, the world we make online can coincide with the singular world in our head. This isn’t just about efficiency, it’s about control. When conversation is inconvenient or unpredictable, it threatens centralized systems of power that prefer scripted interactions and outcomes. Algorithms in the hands of big tech encourage our longing for comfort, convenience and control. The more we battle the complexities of life outside algorithms, the more we’re tempted to rely on and trust institutions that promise to simplify and solve the complexity.Why do we resist difference?Algorithms and corporations only emphasize a pre-existing trait of the human psyche. The Gottmans describe a biological tendency toward a ‘symbiotic consciousness’, the deep, often unconscious desire to feel seen and understood by others in the exact way we see ourselves. Confronted with difference, we grow anxious, defensive, and frequently default to survival instincts. They describe this as a tragic dimension to human consciousness: we struggle to fully accept the reality that others may experience the world in radically different ways. Ancestral trauma and the absence of healing only deepen this resistance.This would be fine and dandy if connection were something we did, but undoubtedly, connection makes us who we are. Without interrupting this symbiotic reflex or doomscrolling, we miss the gifts that connection offers: wonder, growth and the ability to embrace and create life rather than passively react through it with isolation and control mechanisms. This internal conflict or tension often emerges in group settings or relationships where we long for connection but resist what makes it real, turning to comfort in the face of discomfort and disconnection on the brink of unconditional love. In many professional settings, moments ripe for deeper conversation are dismissed. We rush past uncertainty, clinging to agendas, outcomes, and the often invisible guest, fear.Still from Maybe We’re Creative. Partial quote from inverview participant, Dr. Bhandari.Designing for differences is designing capacity for discomfortTo design for true inclusion, we must understand how to manage conflict, not erase it. Examples lie in co-op housing initiatives or public senior housing. Individuals might not get along or align politically in either structure. Still, everyone’s basic needs are met, allowing them to disagree and co-exist as one individual does not wield power over another. Everyone has their own space in the collective structure. These systems remind us that it isn’t the absence of conflict that enables safety, but the security of all participants’ basic needs.As Lorde reminds us,“there is no separate survival.”We cannot begin to live differently, beyond theory, without being in relationship with the individuals and communities around us. The Gottmans say that we are born into relationships, are wounded in relationships, and heal in relationships. None of this happens in isolation. It’s in relationships, in creating safety and in regulating our fears and anxiety, where possibility dissolves the limiting narratives of the past and allows us the freedom to create something new with each other. Again, this is an active practice of working together.Lived Experience Cartography in practiceLived Experience Cartography is not a linear tool or checklist, but a conversation starter that helps designers and communities explore how their memories, identities, perceptions, translations, etc. inform their ideas, needs, and fears, how they remember and frame their lived experiences and, in turn, what they can remember or create in the future. This Cartography can be explored individually as self-exploration work or in collectives. In groups, the outside categories of lived experiences stack on top of each other to emphasize our need to preserve individual experiences and our sense of self. These individual parts merge in the centre area of collective expression.Conceptual model: Lived Experience CartographyThe idea is not to solve but to explore and acknowledge the existence of differences. This sounds simpler than it is, but it is not the number of outside experiences or the fact that experiences are constantly changing that pose the main challenge for group work. It is in the denial of the existence of parts that disconnects groups. Designers need to acknowledge their full selves and others if they want to collaborate in productive, holistic ways and design systems that express the same.UX designer and researcher, Florence Okoye, asks a powerful question:“How can one envision the needs of the other when one doesn’t even realize the other exists?”The model encourages a shift from extraction to exploration, from gathering data to building shared meaning. It slows down the process so a group’s social, dynamic, embodied presence can emerge. If designers recognize that each person in a co-design effort comes with various lived experiences that are in relationship with how they express themselves, groups might be able to start co-creation projects from a more open place of understanding. It won’t form a perfect equation, but mapping experience and expression systems enable designers to make the invisible more visible, and this process alone is worthwhile. Nikki Giovanni nodded towards this when she said everyone’s imagination changes as they grow. Those changes remain unknown when we don’t engage in ongoing awareness of those changes, and in turn, share them.Giovanni had a deep knowing of the importance of sharing her changing imagination with us. Through sharing, poems, speeches, or otherwise, she facilitates experiences that invite individuals to share parts of themselves they have not acknowledged for whatever reason, fear or otherwise. Modelling vulnerability with the invitation to join in is a courageous, powerful way of showing the rest of the world that being human is okay. Most importantly, Giovanni exemplified that there is no other way for us to be.Embracing our imperfect humannessInvesting in ways of conversing and developing our capacity for dialogue in practice is one way to remind us of the generative potential that fumbling through the unknown with another can bring about. Starting the conversational process, knowing it might be imperfect and expecting it to be, softens the expectations and pressure we place on ourselves. When navigating conversations, we might start to feel uncomfortable, but it isn’t a sign we’re going in the wrong direction; it can be a sign we’re getting at something real.As researcher Legacy Russell so powerfully describes in Glitch Feminism, when we feel discomfort in a society that works very hard to disguise the disturbances it houses, it’s a sign of us returning to ourselves. Discomfort is our body attempting to correct the underlying error: our inherited, not chosen, default programming. Through curiosity, we begin to see more. Through listening, we begin to know more. Through conversation, we can grow and change in ways we might not yet know exist.Some conversation offeringsBelow are possible considerations for each outer experience of Lived Experience Cartography, in the form of questions. There are no strict definitions of each category, so not every question might make exact “sense” to the reader.If the sentiment doesn’t make sense in the part identified, explore why, and ask where the question makes more sense. Compare and converse with others.Lived Experience Cartography category breakdownDesigners can break down these questions by asking themselves about the different facets of their lives and the parts of their experiences explored above. Lived experiences are powerful knowledge. Through reflective work, Professor Natalie Loveless writes,“we seriously attend to and recognize the constitutive power of the stories through which we come to understand the world.”When designers become more aware of their lived experiences and all of the parts of themselves, we can start to map how parts change over time, in different contexts, and in relationship to others. Further, through developing this self-knowledge, designers can explore what is limiting them or what they want to adjust when working alongside others with different experiences.The purpose of this Cartography is not to have an answer to every question or share every question’s answers. It was built by my acknowledgement of the reality that there is so much that we don’t know about the people and places that we design with and for, and there is much we don’t know about ourselves as designers. It emphasizes some glitches and discomfort necessary to explore if we want the future to be different from our past. It emphasizes the abundance of newness and unanswered questions that are right below the surface of most of us.Quote from Interview Participant, Chris Wilson. Included in my final report of Maybe We’re CreativeLearning to listen to create a new futureI now know that my previous choice to disengage with my dad wasn’t just about him. It was about all the things I had absorbed and survived and how those things had narrowed what felt imaginable to me. To my knowledge, no amount of positive thinking or design thinking could change my dad, so I stopped thinking about change. I effectively controlled my future by setting a boundary. I still believe this boundary was necessary for a time, but equally necessary was my willingness to acknowledge when holding onto control was no longer protecting me but rather preventing change and growth. I stopped focusing on a singular outcome of my dad changing, instead building a relationship around noticing, naming, and existing in real-time space together. Our future shifted from being about a solution to strengthening, building, and feeling through a relationship. This relationship is ongoing and ever-changing.This whole experience caused me to ask, what if we saw failure, slowness, and discomfort not as risks to avoid, but as signals that we are in the presence of a departure from what we already know? What if these are signs of life, or, as Russell notes, a positive departure?Dr. Bhandari, Chair of Surgery at McMaster University, and another participant in my thesis research, described the energy of conversation like this:“Talking, like we’re doing now, energizes you, it does…That has to happen every day. And we don’t do that. I think … we don’t allow ourselves tobecause we feel that’s not a productive use of our time. And that is really where I think the shift has to happen.”In this moment of fragmentation, what we design will inevitably reflect how well we relate. What do your relationships say about our designs? And what do our designs say about our relationships? Are we engaged in processes creating new relationships and futures, or are we remembering and re-living old patterns in real time?Conversation, imagination and complexity are not entities outside ourselves that need to be managed; they are survival tools for collective transformation. Once we recognize them as such, we can see the possibilities of how we might use them differently.This, I’ve come to understand, is the heart of co-creation and futures literacy: not predicting what comes next but learning to stay present with what is, truly present, so that the path ahead disappears, and something new can then emerge.Designing in and for a world we don’t yet know was originally published in UX Collective on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.
#designing #world #dont #yet #knowDesigning in and for a world we don’t yet know
How can we practice creativity and conversation to enhance futures literacy and co-creation efforts?Still from my design research project, Maybe We’re Creative. Partial quote from artist, educator and interview participant, Jason Lujan.Last year, I completed my major research project for my Master’s of Design in Strategic Foresight and Innovation, titled "Maybe We’re Creative: What I Learned about Co-Creation in Design by Dancing with My Dad." The project was a short documentary and a corresponding research report. Last month, several themes from my work were explored during a workshop with Riel Miller, the former Head of Futures Literacy at UNESCO in Paris, France. I’m still finding the right words to sum up the depth of theory and the ongoing experiences that guide my research, but I decided this was a good moment to publicly expand on and share some of the process that went into my project last year and the outcomes.Ultimately, Maybe We’re Creative brought me closer to my belief that being creative is not just an act for artists or those with a knack for a craft; it’s a practice that allows us to perceive and hold complexity in relationships and the world around us. Creativity is a deeply human practice that can take many shapes and connect us with genuine feelings inside of us that we might otherwise overlook. In systems design, we are constantly trying to make sense, organize, and somewhat solve, but creativity, in practice with others, reorients the designer and generates possibilities of getting to know complexity in a different way, in seemingly simple, innocent yet deeply intentional and meaningful ways. Creativity offers a way out of old patterns and a way back into possibility.Still from my design research project, Maybe We’re Creative.The power of changing imaginationsIn a 2016 On Being interview, Remembering Nikki Giovanni — ‘We Go Forward With a Sanity and a Love’, host Krista Tippett said that Giovanni’s imagination has always changed as she ages. Giovanni responded,“Everyone’s does, the only difference is I’m not afraid to talk about it”Giovanni’s words reminded me of what I heard again and again in my interviews for Maybe We’re Creative. Participants shared that imagination isn’t a fixed trait but something personal that we can nurture and be curious about over time, given the environment to do so.I chose to focus my research project on creativity because it’s a practice that accepts I change; in fact, it relies on it. Every time I write or dance, I deepen my relationship and awareness with where I’m at that moment, knowing how I arrive at the page or studio will be different in some way, shape, or form from the day before. Because I can better expect and welcome change in myself, I can better expect change in others. Thus, when I dance and write, I build my capacity to engage with change and differences in the world. I can better move through internal conflicts and external uncertainty, not by solving anything, but by accepting change as a constant truth. To an outsider, it might seem like a cop out, framing my design approach not to solve but to better live amongst change, but in practice, I’ve learned that the simplest statements, i.e. change is truth, are some of the hardest to design with effectively. The temptation to convert change into a variable I can control, instead of a constant state I can’t, never dies. My project reinforced this learning, and further reinforced that some of the most important experiences in our lives, relationships with ourselves and others, are prime examples of complexity that we can only hope to exist within more fully; they’re not to be solved.The current challenge of changing imaginationsAccepting change holds a deep tension with the limits built into public spaces and policy. Humans love to control, place structure on, or push back against the reality of change. Specifically, in various public gatherings, I’m sensing a waning disconnect between people and, notably, our ability to imagine a future other than ones already played out. It seems that no information about our collective history, no exposure to harm or progress, changes our ability to make different decisions that would bring about new current states and futures. This reckoning is sometimes making for many collective, melancholic moments as of late. Many academics have noted this disconnect throughout the last century. Toni Morrison, in The War on Error, wrote,“Oddly enough it is in the West — where advance, progress and change have been signatory features — where confidence in an enduring future is at its slightest.”Despite our communal resources in the West, specifically Toronto, where I am based, I’m sensing this lack of confidence as most palpable.Sentiments such as Giovanni’s instill hope in me that much imagination, innovation, and life exist in all of us, but might be settled or hidden beneath our surface. In Maybe We’re Creative, I chose to expand on all forms of creativity, and dance, specifically between my dad and me, as a practice to potentially bring us back to the present, as a starting point, and expose some of that buried life.Still from Maybe We’re Creative.Building a relationship with the unknownFour years ago, my dad came to me acknowledging for the first time in our relationship that things could have been different if he had acted differently. He had recently returned home from what would be his last military deployment, was released from the military as he was now undeployable due to various reasons, mental health included, and from what I could see, he was taking a long look at the reflection of his past self.Reflecting on our relationship and the impact of his choices exposed a humility in my dad that I had never seen before. He freed himself from the singular narrative he had been glued to previously. This old narrative only had room for his experience, which prevented my experience from being seen and prevented me from participating in our relationship in a way that felt true to me. It was interesting; in that moment, my dad simply, and not-so-simply, acknowledged that things could have been different, the trajectory for our relationship as I had known it, almost immediately, changed.Last year, when I began my research journey in my last year of school, he asked if we could learn a dance together as a way of reconnecting and in an attempt to make up for time he was absent from my life. This moment marks something I now understand as essential to building alternative futures: not only do we have to recognize a shared history, but if we can genuinely recognize that the past could have been different, the future, somewhat suddenly, can be too.Until then, I had been clinging to the idea that our relationship would be somewhat tainted forever because my dad always said that the past “was what it was.” This approach, from us both, locked us in place. But when he, sitting on my couch during a visit I initially thought would be a quick hi and bye, said that if he knew then what he understood of the repercussions of his actions now, he would have done it all differently, something shifted.Co-creating futures through storyThis reframing of the past was an important moment for me. I had to confront that my dad’s new perspective on our past meant I no longer knew what our future held. This was terrifying at times. What we imagined, or failed to imagine, would shape what was possible for us. I was scared of my dad falling back into his old narrative, I was scared of being hurt or abandoned again, I was scared of how my changing relationship with my dad would change my relationships with the rest of my family, and the list goes on. Part of what motivated me to move through these fears is the underlying, I think natural, truth that no matter the rupture in our relationships, there are always pieces of what's left over in our bodies that we hope we might one day repair.I always wanted a relationship with my dad, but I wasn’t willing to sacrifice myself to have one. Now that he was proposing a genuine relationship, one I could show up in, I had to confront my fears and ask myself: Am I ready for this relationship? I’d love to say it was easy to step into a joyful new chapter with my dad. In reality, I had to let go of a version of myself I had been training for a long time, who believed love to be a struggle, one-sided, or that people you love will leave. Those thoughts were painful for me to hold onto, but they also kept me safe in a repeating pattern that I could predict.I saw this experience as my dad offering me an opportunity to grow and deepen my understanding of him and myself. My commitment to honouring growth in relationship and in the unknown outweighed all of the fear I was experiencing. I also had been doing a lot of work on myself, and something told me that not only did this feel different, but I was different. I didn’t want to act out of fear or old narratives; I was open to something new.Why include my personal life in my professional life?None of the challenges my dad and I experienced were exclusive to our relationship alone. People navigate interpersonal conflicts in every facet of their lives, whether or not they want to address them as such. Our survival instincts don’t discriminate between our relationships. These modes show up with work colleagues with whom we don’t get along, our boss who doesn’t listen to us, the reaction we have to the passive-aggressive stranger at the grocery store, our inability to have conversations with those who disagree with us without it erupting into an argument, and the list goes on. We write off these relationships, claiming to know that they “just won’t work” or we “just don’t vibe.” We fill in the blanks of the stories that haven’t yet happened because “we know what’s going to happen.” Sometimes, we’re right, but what about the times we’re wrong? What if things could go differently? When do our predictions or assumptions not protect but actually prevent change?Zooming in on the process of co-creating futures through storyMy dad and I’s relationship was ripe with opposition, politically, professionally, and personally. I could have clung to the idea that I knew this journey would end the same way all my previous experiences with him had. However, we had one vital ingredient that propelled our relationship forward that had never been present before: we were both open to being vulnerable together and letting that vulnerability and honesty guide our direction into an unknown place. We had a mutual desire to be seen by the other, and in turn, whether we knew it or not at the time, we were open to seeing ourselves in a new way, too. We both let go of control to the extent we needed to, and this dance project gave us a blueprint for moving forward.The beginner mindsetDance allowed us to confront our differences and vulnerabilities through movement, a kind we were not specialized in, making us both beginners. House Dance was also my dad’s idea. He had been repeatedly listening to some songs during his morning workouts, the time he admittedly ruminated about the past, and felt a connection with a couple of house tracks. He wanted to explore a response, a feeling that came up in him. We were both willing to be seen making mistakes and exposing our amateur selves.The willingness to try something new in an unknown area translates into relationships just the same. This is another vital ingredient to foster new future possibilities. When we are exposed as beginners to something, we have no choice but to surrender to only the possibility of progress with active practice. You don’t know if you’ll be “good” at something when you first start. We have to let go of the fear of being perceived a certain way, a way we can control. For better or worse, when we feel confident and comfortable in our environment, we tend to live self-fulfilling prophecies and relive what we already know. Feeling unsure, insecure, and fearful is all human. What’s beautiful about this process in a relationship is when we witness someone else in those vulnerable feelings that mirror our own. We have the opportunity to say “me too” and courageously move through fear and transform it into something else. We create possible futures in these moments versus remaining stuck in the same place.A dance reflection from myself, included in my final report of Maybe We’re Creative.Trust and futures literacyThis brings me to the futures literacy workshop with Miller from last month. About 20 of uswere separated into smaller groups and asked to discuss the future of trust in 2100, the probable future and our desired future. We were then asked to consider a scenario in which, by 2100, every time a person lied, their nose would grow longer, and everyone would have telepathy. How does trust function if everyone is exposed in one way or another? How does truth function? We built sculptures in our groups to represent what we considered, and presented them to the room. Miller encouraged a beginner mindset here, as none of us could know what 2100 will be like. We were equally, collectively, looking into the unknown.Miller noted that when we collectively discuss and contemplate designing the future, we’re confronting a process intertwined with something deep: people’s hopes and fears. Our assumptions are brought to the surface in these collective exercises, our survival mechanisms, and, if we’re willing, our imaginations. Building capacity for futures literacy can be emotionally charged for those open to being moved by it. This realization reshaped how I saw my work, not just as a designer, but as someone making space for others to feel, imagine, and respond in real time.What is the imaginary, and why is it useful?We discussed ‘futures literacy’ as a practice of the imaginary in relation to the world around us. Miller noted that the imaginary does not exist. I don’t imagine a 5% increase in wealth over the next x number of years when I imagine a future. What exists are our images of the future and what those images allow, or do not allow, us to perceive in the present. I found this identification useful as I began to see and understand my relationship with the imaginary not as a fantasy, but as a perceptual frame, a way to hold what hasn’t yet materialized but is shaping our actions in the present. When my dad and I expanded our perception and imagination of what was possible between us by reframing our past, our relationship, in the present, changed, which meant our relationship in the future could inevitably be different, too, if we kept imagining or believing it could.When I envision the future, I generally feel hopeful that what we do matters, and this hope expands when I’m in the presence of others. However, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t concerned and scared about the many people I know who are unhappy and struggling in their day-to-day lives. I feel concerned about the lack of trust people have in themselves to navigate difficult times. I’m seeing people shut down and push others away, being unkind, isolating, and saying “it’s fine” when truthfully, it isn't.These feelings, hopes and fears are not inherent to me, and futures literacy, specifically this workshop, helped me uncover where my mind pulls from when they reach the surface. Through the collective and in contrast to group members, I uncovered how I’ve been managing fear or anticipation, specifically regarding uncertainty and complexity. I’ve come to understand that futures literacy, like creativity, begins not with certainty but with the courage to enter unfamiliar terrain together. It isn’t as simple as “being courageous”, of course. Getting to that place of courage isn’t easy, especially in a capitalist society based on a collective acceptance of scarcity.Still from Maybe We’re Creative. Partial quote from interview participant, Chris Wilson.Ancestry and designIn the interviews I conducted for my research, trauma came up multiple times, as well as the tension between wanting to be creative but living in a structure that doesn’t support creation, but rather consumption. This is another space where I found Miller’s framing of the imaginary particularly useful. When we feel limited, like we can’t make anything new, or that what we make isn’t valued, we tend to surrender or outsource our imagination and creation to others. In our society, creation is increasingly outsourced to those with power, wealth, or at the top of the hierarchy. Creation and imagination in the hands of only a few limit collective future possibilities.When my dad came to me in earnest, I felt the hierarchy between us dissolve. Again, I find it important to note that nothing had to change about the past events we lived through physically, and my dad didn’t know how things could have been different, but just that they could have been. He imagined previously unimagined possibilities, which were not easy. This came with regret, sadness, and shame he never fully confronted, but, instead of being in his own, isolated narrative, the narrative we both knew quite well, it opened a complex, relational reality.A dance reflection from my Dad, included in my final report of Maybe We’re CreativeI never wanted my dad to be perfect, but I sometimes wished he would change, be different. By shifting his perceptual framing of the past and courageously wondering, “what if”, he may not have changed the past or himself, but he confronted the past and the spectrum of experiences that existed there, not only his own. As a result of this reframing, what I, in turn, valued in our relationship changed. I wasn’t fixated on my dad changing as a person, but refocused on how our relationship functioned and how it could change moving forward, thus healing and shaping each of us as individuals. I could accept and love my dad in a new way because he, just like me, was exposing himself as an imperfect, changing human being trying his best in a world that, despite us wanting it to, doesn’t have any instructions.Complexity is a state, not a variableI don’t think, as designers, we fully grasp how complex things are, and I don’t say this to suggest we can or should. But perhaps accepting complexity as a state, that we can’t funnel into something simpler, is our true starting point, befriending humility and a desire to build capacity for complexity, not simplicity. For example, if health is being able to experience the spectrum of emotions, not just one emotion, maybe a desirable future could be designed with the capacity to welcome the same. I read the other day that the opposite of depression is not joy or happiness, which one might assume, but the opposite of depression is expression. I want a future that is not focused on chasing singular emotions or goals but one where we all feel capable of moving through our expressions, even when those expressions are at odds with others, perhaps especially then. A designer-as-human can be with complexity instead of a human-centred design, simplifying or solving complexity.I think what we’re witnessing and experiencing in society is the downfall of simplifying for speed or “productivity,” and what I keep asking myself about this process, in the simplest way, is, what are we racing towards? I wonder how varied our answers would be. I’m also wondering how much of our imagination we are losing by continuously speeding up.I wanted a relationship so badly with my dad so many times before this experience, but each time he came to me, I knew in my heart that nothing had changed. I knew this because when I shared my experiences with him, he couldn’t incorporate them into his version of our story. If I had tried a relationship in those moments, we would have forced his narrative on something far more complex. If I had rushed it, we would have replayed the same future we were already playing. I’ve heard this pattern referred to as remembering the future just as we remember the past. When we act in a way that is so intertwined with what we already know, we aren’t creating something new; we are reinforcing something old.Miller shared that complexity is a state, not a variable. This phrase keeps echoing throughout my thinking, not as a metaphor, but as a reframing of how we live, relate, and design. It resonated particularly strongly as I reflected on my experience with my dad, my interviews on creativity, and the corresponding conceptual model I began last year, trying to map out what the complexity of lived experiences looks like in groups.Seeing possibility in the complexity of the pastAs the problems we’re facing, locally and globally, arguably, continue to worsen, I wonder if we might consider pausing to adjust how our previous approaches to problems might not be creating new results and instead reinforcing the problems themselves. If we pause to ask ourselves where these approaches are rooted, we might unravel a new way of seeing and approaching problems altogether. We might not even see previous problems as problems; perhaps they were just evidence of complexity, and perhaps the problem has more to do with our capacity to be present in them. Miller added that when we uncover that the universe can continually surprise us, for better or worse, complexity might become something we welcome.I’ve been exploring the space of creation and complexity through building a tool called Lived Experience Cartography. This dialogic framework maps stories, emotions, and relationships to help groups make meaning together. It doesn’t seek immediate convergence or simplicity. Instead, it asks: What becomes possible when we deepen our awareness of ourselves and others and linger in complexity together?The current state of co-design: static story sharingCo-design is often celebrated for its ability to include many voices. But we know from experience that inclusion alone isn’t enough. The complexity of individual designers multiplies when co-designing, and this reality of difference demands more than the idea of inclusion or a check-box approach in our work. It calls for a deliberate practice. As I previously mentioned, when my dad came to me before, I could feel there still wasn’t room for him to incorporate my story into his lived reality. If I took him up on his previous offers, I was afraid I would be living his reality, not a shared reality. I also didn’t want to force my reality onto him or erase his experiences. I wanted us both to acknowledge that we co-existed, that our actions and expressions were interconnected, and that we had impacted each other’s experiences. In his previous state, his offers meant my voice might have been present in our relationship, but not included.Static and dynamic story sharingIdeas remain static when group work focuses on ideas stacking up without interaction and engagement. Bartels et al.compare this to a kaleidoscope with many colours, but the cylinder doesn’t turn. Technically, the pieces are there, but the magic of seeing interwoven colours change as they move together never happens. Complexity is the magic. Engagement with complexity is the magic. When more people are present, more information might be present, but if it can’t be meaningfully engaged with, it will not mean change or new possibilities.We can feel the contrasts between static and dynamic group work in society today. Baharak Yousefi in the essay, “On the Disparity Between What We Say And What We Do In Libraries,” described this beautifullywhen she wrote about the growing disconnect between professional value statements and what is being done or not done in our public institutions. She cites academic Keller Easterling’s spatial analysis of object and active forms to aid the differentiation. To be able to examine both our words and actions/character is derived from taking stock of the interconnections and totality of our activities, both the influential buildings, strategic plans, and value statementsand undeclared movements, rules, and activitiesthat create our societal infrastructure.On the surface, many people are involved in changing laws, value statements, and policies for the public good; however, as we know, just because society appears to apply those changes in writing, it does not mean that our underlying beliefs also change throughout that process. This is sadly understood when a law changes back, and we revert to old patterns, or when a new value statement is plastered on every document in an institution, but it results in few meaningful cultural shifts. Despite this disconnect, we still highly believe in and value the object form. This back-and-forth begs a question: Does the appearance of new information stacking on top of old information effectively disguise and eradicate the fact that there is more work to be done beneath the surface? Are some of us genuinely satisfied with appearing one way and acting another? Or perhaps more worrisome, do some not even recognize the disconnect? Our increasing ability to dissociate ourselves personally and professionally, individually and collectively, is, as Yousefi describes, disconcerting.With Lived Experience Cartography and creativity, I want to explore how we can build a capacity to merge stories and lived experiences, to better articulate an interconnection in groups while preserving individuals’ sense of self. Could we develop our listening skills to be present with others’ experiences while still being connected to our own? Or further, could we allow our relationship to our own experiences to change through engagement with another, and vice versa? If this is a mutual understanding, meaningful co-design becomes more possible, as well as closing the gap between what we say and do, combining our object and active forms.A curriculum of conversation and listeningA way forward, I believe, lies in embedding active conversational engagement at the heart of design processes. In my current work, I use conversation-activated reflection as a powerful mode of learning, unlearning and engagement.Similarly, Alia Weston and Miguel Imas describe a “dialogical imagination” in Communities of Art-Spaces, Imaginations and Resistances, as a kind of exploration where people construct meaning together in an in-between space, a conversation. Easterling also notes that talking is a tool for decentering power and creating alternative narratives. In my work, creativity acts as another form of dialogue. It's practice is about deep, meaningful sharing, getting as close as possible to complexity and remaining open to an unknown path forward.Still from Maybe We’re Creative. Partial quote from interview participant, Cami Boyko.This need for dialogue and a curriculum of conversation extends beyond design and into every area of society. Rising polarity and binaries in the media are shaping our opinions and social circles, making conversation and maintaining deep social interactions feel more difficult now than ever before. One participant in my thesis research, Cami Boyko, an elementary school teacher, captured this beautifully:“You really have to look at this idea of extremism, and talk to kids about how it’s their role to take a step towards the centre, at least far enough to hear what’s going on. I think I’m convincing myself that we need this sort of curriculum of conversation and listening. Because it’s been interesting how thatshut down some things in the classroom where it should be about being able to talk.”To echo Cami’s insight, design schools and workplaces alike have an opportunity to become sites of openness, play, and collective sensemaking. The cost of ignoring the complexity of thoughts and opinions and our lived experiences is not just creative disconnection; it’s social fragmentation and power imbalances. As Audre Lorde wrote,“Unacknowledged difference robs all of us of each other’s energy and creative insight, and creates a false hierarchy.”Not only are we increasing the distance between one another when we resist interacting with differences, but we unknowingly reinforce a hierarchical system. This, perhaps subconscious, moral superiority further disconnects our relationships, making it harder to step towards the centre.Conversation as a tool to move beyond survivalObviously, dialogue as a tool for learning is not new. Throughout history, the act of asking sincere, open-ended questions has been viewed as liberatory and, as such, dangerous to some leadership. In May 2024, researcher Dr. Julie Schwartz Gottman shared that the United Nations had recently reached out to her and her husband, Dr. John Gottman, desperate, begging for a simple way for their organization to discuss and navigate problems. She reminded us of the power of dialogue and its historical roots, citing the 300 BC philosopher, Socrates, who introduced dialogue to the youth to encourage critical thinking. Authorities saw the power it wielded when people were thinking for themselves, and they threatened to condemn him to death if he didn’t stop teaching.Emily Wood, a Toronto organizer and poet, and another participant in my thesis research, reflected on how our culture resists creativity, in conversation or otherwise:“I just don’t think that we live in a culture currently that wants people to even be creative… It’s challenging for people to be around unconventional thinkers… that’s uncomfortable and challenging to the status quo. If you are creative and you’re trying to see things differently and you imagine a way something could be versus like what it currently is, then that’s kind of bad to more powerful entities.”Remembering that elites have suppressed the power of dialogue since 300 BC helps explain why today’s monopolies sell every new tool, technological or otherwise, as somewhat of a substitute for conversation. Today, in AI and the age of the internet, algorithms create a world where our surroundings are affirmed and validated. Contrary to the plurality of human differences outside, the world we make online can coincide with the singular world in our head. This isn’t just about efficiency, it’s about control. When conversation is inconvenient or unpredictable, it threatens centralized systems of power that prefer scripted interactions and outcomes. Algorithms in the hands of big tech encourage our longing for comfort, convenience and control. The more we battle the complexities of life outside algorithms, the more we’re tempted to rely on and trust institutions that promise to simplify and solve the complexity.Why do we resist difference?Algorithms and corporations only emphasize a pre-existing trait of the human psyche. The Gottmans describe a biological tendency toward a ‘symbiotic consciousness’, the deep, often unconscious desire to feel seen and understood by others in the exact way we see ourselves. Confronted with difference, we grow anxious, defensive, and frequently default to survival instincts. They describe this as a tragic dimension to human consciousness: we struggle to fully accept the reality that others may experience the world in radically different ways. Ancestral trauma and the absence of healing only deepen this resistance.This would be fine and dandy if connection were something we did, but undoubtedly, connection makes us who we are. Without interrupting this symbiotic reflex or doomscrolling, we miss the gifts that connection offers: wonder, growth and the ability to embrace and create life rather than passively react through it with isolation and control mechanisms. This internal conflict or tension often emerges in group settings or relationships where we long for connection but resist what makes it real, turning to comfort in the face of discomfort and disconnection on the brink of unconditional love. In many professional settings, moments ripe for deeper conversation are dismissed. We rush past uncertainty, clinging to agendas, outcomes, and the often invisible guest, fear.Still from Maybe We’re Creative. Partial quote from inverview participant, Dr. Bhandari.Designing for differences is designing capacity for discomfortTo design for true inclusion, we must understand how to manage conflict, not erase it. Examples lie in co-op housing initiatives or public senior housing. Individuals might not get along or align politically in either structure. Still, everyone’s basic needs are met, allowing them to disagree and co-exist as one individual does not wield power over another. Everyone has their own space in the collective structure. These systems remind us that it isn’t the absence of conflict that enables safety, but the security of all participants’ basic needs.As Lorde reminds us,“there is no separate survival.”We cannot begin to live differently, beyond theory, without being in relationship with the individuals and communities around us. The Gottmans say that we are born into relationships, are wounded in relationships, and heal in relationships. None of this happens in isolation. It’s in relationships, in creating safety and in regulating our fears and anxiety, where possibility dissolves the limiting narratives of the past and allows us the freedom to create something new with each other. Again, this is an active practice of working together.Lived Experience Cartography in practiceLived Experience Cartography is not a linear tool or checklist, but a conversation starter that helps designers and communities explore how their memories, identities, perceptions, translations, etc. inform their ideas, needs, and fears, how they remember and frame their lived experiences and, in turn, what they can remember or create in the future. This Cartography can be explored individually as self-exploration work or in collectives. In groups, the outside categories of lived experiences stack on top of each other to emphasize our need to preserve individual experiences and our sense of self. These individual parts merge in the centre area of collective expression.Conceptual model: Lived Experience CartographyThe idea is not to solve but to explore and acknowledge the existence of differences. This sounds simpler than it is, but it is not the number of outside experiences or the fact that experiences are constantly changing that pose the main challenge for group work. It is in the denial of the existence of parts that disconnects groups. Designers need to acknowledge their full selves and others if they want to collaborate in productive, holistic ways and design systems that express the same.UX designer and researcher, Florence Okoye, asks a powerful question:“How can one envision the needs of the other when one doesn’t even realize the other exists?”The model encourages a shift from extraction to exploration, from gathering data to building shared meaning. It slows down the process so a group’s social, dynamic, embodied presence can emerge. If designers recognize that each person in a co-design effort comes with various lived experiences that are in relationship with how they express themselves, groups might be able to start co-creation projects from a more open place of understanding. It won’t form a perfect equation, but mapping experience and expression systems enable designers to make the invisible more visible, and this process alone is worthwhile. Nikki Giovanni nodded towards this when she said everyone’s imagination changes as they grow. Those changes remain unknown when we don’t engage in ongoing awareness of those changes, and in turn, share them.Giovanni had a deep knowing of the importance of sharing her changing imagination with us. Through sharing, poems, speeches, or otherwise, she facilitates experiences that invite individuals to share parts of themselves they have not acknowledged for whatever reason, fear or otherwise. Modelling vulnerability with the invitation to join in is a courageous, powerful way of showing the rest of the world that being human is okay. Most importantly, Giovanni exemplified that there is no other way for us to be.Embracing our imperfect humannessInvesting in ways of conversing and developing our capacity for dialogue in practice is one way to remind us of the generative potential that fumbling through the unknown with another can bring about. Starting the conversational process, knowing it might be imperfect and expecting it to be, softens the expectations and pressure we place on ourselves. When navigating conversations, we might start to feel uncomfortable, but it isn’t a sign we’re going in the wrong direction; it can be a sign we’re getting at something real.As researcher Legacy Russell so powerfully describes in Glitch Feminism, when we feel discomfort in a society that works very hard to disguise the disturbances it houses, it’s a sign of us returning to ourselves. Discomfort is our body attempting to correct the underlying error: our inherited, not chosen, default programming. Through curiosity, we begin to see more. Through listening, we begin to know more. Through conversation, we can grow and change in ways we might not yet know exist.Some conversation offeringsBelow are possible considerations for each outer experience of Lived Experience Cartography, in the form of questions. There are no strict definitions of each category, so not every question might make exact “sense” to the reader.If the sentiment doesn’t make sense in the part identified, explore why, and ask where the question makes more sense. Compare and converse with others.Lived Experience Cartography category breakdownDesigners can break down these questions by asking themselves about the different facets of their lives and the parts of their experiences explored above. Lived experiences are powerful knowledge. Through reflective work, Professor Natalie Loveless writes,“we seriously attend to and recognize the constitutive power of the stories through which we come to understand the world.”When designers become more aware of their lived experiences and all of the parts of themselves, we can start to map how parts change over time, in different contexts, and in relationship to others. Further, through developing this self-knowledge, designers can explore what is limiting them or what they want to adjust when working alongside others with different experiences.The purpose of this Cartography is not to have an answer to every question or share every question’s answers. It was built by my acknowledgement of the reality that there is so much that we don’t know about the people and places that we design with and for, and there is much we don’t know about ourselves as designers. It emphasizes some glitches and discomfort necessary to explore if we want the future to be different from our past. It emphasizes the abundance of newness and unanswered questions that are right below the surface of most of us.Quote from Interview Participant, Chris Wilson. Included in my final report of Maybe We’re CreativeLearning to listen to create a new futureI now know that my previous choice to disengage with my dad wasn’t just about him. It was about all the things I had absorbed and survived and how those things had narrowed what felt imaginable to me. To my knowledge, no amount of positive thinking or design thinking could change my dad, so I stopped thinking about change. I effectively controlled my future by setting a boundary. I still believe this boundary was necessary for a time, but equally necessary was my willingness to acknowledge when holding onto control was no longer protecting me but rather preventing change and growth. I stopped focusing on a singular outcome of my dad changing, instead building a relationship around noticing, naming, and existing in real-time space together. Our future shifted from being about a solution to strengthening, building, and feeling through a relationship. This relationship is ongoing and ever-changing.This whole experience caused me to ask, what if we saw failure, slowness, and discomfort not as risks to avoid, but as signals that we are in the presence of a departure from what we already know? What if these are signs of life, or, as Russell notes, a positive departure?Dr. Bhandari, Chair of Surgery at McMaster University, and another participant in my thesis research, described the energy of conversation like this:“Talking, like we’re doing now, energizes you, it does…That has to happen every day. And we don’t do that. I think … we don’t allow ourselves tobecause we feel that’s not a productive use of our time. And that is really where I think the shift has to happen.”In this moment of fragmentation, what we design will inevitably reflect how well we relate. What do your relationships say about our designs? And what do our designs say about our relationships? Are we engaged in processes creating new relationships and futures, or are we remembering and re-living old patterns in real time?Conversation, imagination and complexity are not entities outside ourselves that need to be managed; they are survival tools for collective transformation. Once we recognize them as such, we can see the possibilities of how we might use them differently.This, I’ve come to understand, is the heart of co-creation and futures literacy: not predicting what comes next but learning to stay present with what is, truly present, so that the path ahead disappears, and something new can then emerge.Designing in and for a world we don’t yet know was originally published in UX Collective on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.
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