The Mentors I've Never Met
How remote voices shaped my UX philosophy.
I love consuming information. If the 10,000-hour rule applies here, I'd definitely consider myself an expert. I've subscribed to 100+ podcasts, listened to countless audiobooks, bookmarked hundreds of online resources, and have a stack of books (read and unread) next to my bed.
Out of those 10,000 hours, a few voices stood out. It wasn't just UX either; I found guidance from voices teaching self-improvement, purpose-finding, and becoming the person you want to be. Even though I've never met these people, I consider them mentors. When I've questioned my skills, wondered how to approach my career, or felt lost about what to do with my life, these voices offered clarity and led me to a better understanding of myself and my work.
Here's how these mentors I've never met shaped the person I am today.
Where It All Started
I know these first two will sound cliché, but Dr. Jakob Nielsen and Dr. Don Norman have significantly influenced my UX philosophy. These two reinforced what it means to be "human-centered." Between the "10 Usability Heuristics for User Interface Design" and "The Design of Everyday Things," I'm sure not a day goes by that I don't apply at least one of their principles in my projects.
Jakob Nielsen taught me that good UX isn't about gut feelings; it's about evidence. His heuristics gave me something I desperately needed in my career: ammunition. When a stakeholder wanted to add another feature that would clutter the interface, I pointed to "aesthetic and minimalist design." When someone asked to remove the confirmation dialog for deleting items because it was “too many clicks,” I had “error prevention.” Nielsen's work transformed me from someone who couldn't back up his arguments to someone who now teaches other designers and developers how to use these guidelines in their workflows.
Heuristics aren't just design rules; they're a shared language. I've used them in design reviews, presentations, and accessibility audits. They've survived 30 years because they address something fundamental: the gap between how technology works and how humans think. That gap isn't going away, whether we're designing for web, mobile, or whatever comes next.
Don Norman changed how I see the world around me and deal with failure as a designer. Before reading "The Design of Everyday Things," I fell into the same trap most designers do—thinking users who couldn't figure out our interfaces "didn't get it." Norman flipped that script entirely. That door you can't figure out how to open? That's not the user’s fault; that's a Norman door, and it's our responsibility to fix it.
This shift in thinking became crucial in my design system work. When developers started implementing their own button variations to handle edge cases our components couldn't support, I didn’t immediately jump to creating stricter usage guidelines or locking down the API. Instead, I asked: “Did we design this wrong?” Maybe our component wasn't flexible enough for real-world needs. Norman taught me that accessibility isn't about accommodating limitations; it's about recognizing that our designs often create barriers that shouldn't exist in the first place.
Both of these mentors shaped my core belief that the best UX makes technology disappear. When someone can accomplish their goal without thinking about the interface, we've done our job right. It's not about flashy animations or trendy design patterns; it's about removing friction between humans and the tools they need to use.
Learning to Design My Life, Not Just Interfaces
The second wave of mentors didn't come from design books but from the self-improvement world. At first glance, you might wonder how these productivity writers and philosophers could influence my UX work. Here's what I learned: you can't design clear systems for others if your own thinking is scattered.
Cal Newport taught me that focus is a superpower in a distracted world. "Deep Work" hit me at the perfect time. I was drowning in notifications, jumping between design and development projects, and never getting any meaningful work done. Newport's concept of deep work blocks transformed how I approach complex problems like information architecture and planning design systems.
I started protecting a couple of hours here and there for my most demanding work: user journey mapping, accessibility checks, or thinking through component APIs. No meetings, chats, or emails—just me and the problem in front of me. The quality of my design thinking improved dramatically when I stopped treating focus like a luxury and started treating it like a professional skill.
"So Good They Can't Ignore You" crushed the myth that you need to "follow your passion." Instead, Newport argues that passion follows mastery; you get passionate about what you're genuinely good at. This was freeing for someone who basically stumbled into UX from software engineering. I didn't need to have some grand calling for design; I just needed to get really good at solving user problems.
James Clear showed me that small, consistent improvements compound into transformational change. "Atomic Habits" introduced me to the 1% better concept, which became my approach to everything from implementing accessibility to communicating with stakeholders. Rather than attempting massive process changes that would inevitably fail, I focused on small, systematic improvements that actually stuck.
The habit-stacking technique was a game-changer for building accessibility into my workflow. After I finished wireframing (an existing habit), I would run through some WCAG criteria (a new habit). After I completed a component API (an existing habit), I would update our usage guidelines (a new habit). These small additions became automatic, and over time, accessibility stopped being something I had to remember; it became something I couldn't forget.
Ryan Holiday helped me put a name to a way of thinking I already had. I'd always been the person who stayed calm under pressure, who focused on what I could control rather than what I couldn't. But Stoicism gave me a framework to strengthen and articulate this mindset.
The dichotomy of control became essential when dealing with stakeholders. I can control the quality of my research, the clarity of my recommendations, and the accessibility of my designs. I can't control whether leadership prioritizes more features over simpler interfaces, or whether developers have time to implement the ideal solution. This distinction keeps me sane when projects don't go according to plan (which, let's be honest, is most projects).
Stoic thinking also reinforced my belief that accessibility isn't optional. It's not about what's convenient for the business or what stakeholders prioritize; it's about what's right. Some things aren't up for debate.
Mark Manson taught me the art of selective indifference. "The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck" sounds irreverent, but it's actually about being intentional with your emotional energy. In UX, there's always something to worry about: user complaints, technical constraints, design debt, accessibility gaps, and stakeholder requests that make no sense.
Manson's core insight is that you only have so many f*cks to give, so you need to be strategic about what deserves your attention. This helped me stop sweating the small design inconsistencies and start focusing on problems that actually impact users. Not every piece of feedback needs a response. Not every request deserves consideration. Not every trend is worth following.
The common thread here is that discipline makes creativity possible. These mentors taught me that good design isn't just about having great ideas; it's about creating the conditions for great ideas to emerge and then having the discipline to execute them well. Deep work gives you space to think. Habits ensure consistency. Stoicism provides resilience. Selective indifference protects your energy for what matters.
Personal systems aren't separate from professional craft; they're what make the craft sustainable under real-world pressure.
Finding My Voice
The final group of mentors helped me answer one of the hardest questions of all: what am I actually trying to accomplish here? It's one thing to master design principles or build personal systems. It's another to figure out why you're doing any of it in the first place.
Simon Sinek gave me the framework to articulate what I'd been feeling but couldn't express. I recently read "Start With Why" because I was in a space where I felt like I was technically competent but professionally restless. I could bust out prototypes in Figma, design pretty components, and ship accessible interfaces. But I couldn't explain why it mattered beyond "it's my job."
Sinek's core insight—that people don't buy what you do; they buy why you do it—made me dig deeper. My "what" was designing user experiences. My "how" was making sure those experiences were accessible and preferably backed by some research. But my "why” took me longer to surface.
The breakthrough came when I realized my why wasn't about making interfaces prettier or more usable; it was about removing the barriers between humans and technology. Every inaccessible navigation menu is a barrier. Every confusing form is a barrier. Every design decision that prioritizes business metrics over human dignity creates barriers that shouldn't exist.
This clarity transformed how I approached conversations with stakeholders. Instead of saying, "We need to fix X because it's what the WCAG standard recommends," I started saying, "We need to fix this because everyone deserves to access this information independently." It's the same solution, but the why makes it so powerful.
Dan Koe showed me that expertise isn't something you stumble into; it's something you deliberately build in public. I found his podcast randomly one day while out walking my dog. I searched for a random topic (I can’t remember what), and one of his episodes was at the top of the list. His content on personal branding and knowledge entrepreneurship hit me at the perfect time. I had strong opinions about design systems and accessibility, but I was keeping them locked up in team chats and meetings.
Koe's concept of "building in public" inspired me to start sharing what I've learned (and am still learning). Not because I had all the answers, but because the process of articulating your thinking in public forces you to clarify it. Writing about accessibility makes me a better advocate. It allows others to read my work, share their perspectives, and even correct me when I'm flat out wrong.
More importantly, Koe helped me realize that waiting for permission to be a thought leader is a losing strategy. No one was going to tap me on the shoulder and say, "Congrats, you're now qualified to have opinions about UX." It’s up to me to build authority through consistent, valuable contributions to the conversation.
The shift from consumer to contributor has changed everything. Instead of reading about current trends, I've started analyzing them. Instead of implementing accessibility standards, I’ve started writing about practical challenges. Instead of just watching workshops on YouTube, I’ve started thinking about what I could contribute to the online community.
The lesson is that your expertise is only valuable if others know it exists. Both Sinek and Koe taught me that having good ideas isn't enough; you need to be able to communicate why those ideas matter and build the credibility to influence their implementation.
This realization is the reason for everything I'm building now. My design work is stronger because I'm getting better at articulating the principles behind it. My relationships are more effective because I can connect design decisions to business outcomes. My career path is more straightforward because I'm not waiting for opportunities to fall into my lap—I'm creating them.
Paying It Forward
These voices didn't just teach me design principles or productivity hacks; they gave me frameworks for approaching the uncertain with confidence. Each of them taught me different parts of the whole.
But the one thing that ties them all together: none of them told me what to think. They taught me how to think.
They showed me how to question why things work the way they do, focus on problems that actually matter, and believe that individuals can influence entire industries. They showed me that the best mentors don't create followers; they create independent thinkers who can take advice from others and apply it to their unique challenges.
That's my goal for the UX community—not to be another voice telling you what to do, but to share what I've learned about accessibility, design systems, and finding your voice in this constantly shifting field.
These mentors changed my trajectory without ever knowing I existed. That's the power of sharing your thinking in public.
Whose thinking are you changing without knowing it? Start writing what you're learning. Share the insights that are obvious to you but revolutionary to someone else. Be the mentor someone else has never met.