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Hi there! I recently combined two publications into one. This newsletter is now called: A Relational Life. Everything I share here explores relationality: to self, others, and the world. ✨

If you’re coming from my community newsletter: welcome! You’ll find all those posts in the Community Adventures section. You can adjust your subscription settings here if you only want community posts.

I’m excited to see how this space continues to evolve. Thanks for being on this journey with me!

XO

Kristen

And now, onto the good stuff…

I was about 10 years old, turning our house and yard into a giant puzzle. Creating and hiding clues that would string along a gaggle of kids for maybe an hour. Always culminating in some kind of gift. These were my earliest memories of design, scavenger hunts for my siblings and family friends.

I remember the paint pens I would buy from the local toy store, the stickers, the little trinkets. The money came from chores, my vast wealth accumulated over months and spent on these intricate shenanigans.

At home, I would pull out the little folding card table and get my studio set-up. All my tools within reach, fending off my siblings as I would craft the clues, and pull together the packaging for prizes. As the oldest of 4, I took this role seriously.

Some parts are fuzzy: how did I possibly sneak around hiding the clues without my 3 siblings following me? How many of these did I design? Where on earth did I get the idea to do this?

When I reflect back on this time of my life, I had no awareness of design. I was bright eyed and excited. I felt focused, the details mattered. It was a gift to share this experience with others. I had so much pride and joy watching everyone race around, coming together playfully to solve clues together.

It’s fascinating to notice the similarities in my work now. My design practice is still largely centered on deepening relationships, to self and others, and my earliest creations were an invitation into just that.

And just like with the scavenger hunts, there’s also the part where, as the relational designer, you don’t get to participate in the same way. Everyone is having the experience I’ve designed, within the space I’m holding. And I’m in a different role, with the bird’s eye view of it all.

The scavenger hunts were just the beginning.

Some of my other early relational design creations

• One of my friends, Eve, and I became co-creators, designing an interactive Haunted House one year for Halloween. We peeled grapes (eyeballs), put wet spaghetti in a bag (brains), blacked out the windows in a detached garage, and strung up a Chucky doll poised to swing at the perfect moment. My siblings insist that we, the designers, somehow incorporated dog poop into the experience, and got in trouble for it. Somehow I’ve blocked that one out of memory. 😆

• As I got older, the basement lockdown became a babysitting strategy. I didn’t want to be dealing with the kids all the time. So I masterminded this scenario where our basement was their domain. I’d literally lock them in the basement, and we’d communicate through messages under the door and treats sent down the laundry chute.
  If you’re thinking this is child abuse, they had access to a bathroom, a fridge stocked with beverages, and an entire living room including video games. They were set, and fending for themselves actually gave them a sense of agency. This one was surprisingly fun.

• Then there were the wrestling matches. Eve and I would sell ‘tickets’ and hype up the big event, which would occur on my parents king sized bed (much to their dislike, “why is our bed a mess again??“ Just another wrestling match, sorry!). Sometimes we’d get the competitors to stuff pillows in their shirts to encourage rough play. This one was unhinged a bit, that’s what Eve and I brought out in each other.

I think about that 10-year-old at her folding card table a lot, and keep a picture of her on my desk. She didn’t know she was practicing relational design. She just knew she wanted to create something that brought people together, that made them laugh and run around and feel connected. She understood, somehow, that the best gift wasn’t the prize at the end—it was the experience of searching for it together.

Turns out, I’m still that kid. Still creating spaces for people to find each other in. Just with different tools now.