I used to think good design came from good equipment — the ergonomic chair, the 27-inch monitor, the post-it notes arranged just so. Now I know it can come just as easily from a sunlit train in northern Italy or a tiny Airbnb desk in Manila that doubles as a kitchen counter.

Hi. I’m a UI/UX designer. I don’t have a home, but I have a portfolio. I haven’t owned a couch in years, but I’ve helped redesign dashboards for billion-dollar companies — sometimes barefoot, sometimes jetlagged, always curious.

Here’s what they don’t tell you when you go nomadic:
Design becomes deeper. Not because you have more time (you don’t), or better focus (definitely not), but because you see things most people don’t. How do people in Argentina use mobile wallets differently from people in Japan? Why does a user in rural Thailand hesitate on a signup form? What does “intuitive” mean when you switch cultures every three weeks?

You start realizing that UI is the surface. UX is the soul. And empathy — the real kind, not the buzzword — can’t be faked when you’re on the road, watching real people struggle through real flows.

But let me be honest. It’s not all romantic.

Sometimes the Wi-Fi dies in the middle of a client call. Sometimes you have to explain your timezone six times before a meeting gets booked. Sometimes the café you’ve been designing in turns into a salsa club at 6 p.m. (true story).

And sometimes — in the middle of a rushed prototype or a usability test with someone who doesn’t speak your language — you wonder what you’re doing. Why you gave up stability. Why you’re designing error states with one foot in a backpack.

Then you hit “present,” show the team your work, and someone says, “Wow, that just feels right.”

And just like that, it’s worth it.

I don’t have a fixed workspace, but I’ve never felt more grounded in what I do.
Design is universal. But the way we experience it? That’s beautifully, maddeningly local.

So I keep moving. Keep learning. Keep designing.