Finding My Place in the Unfamiliar
I remember my first day in Singapore well. Two suitcases beside me at the airport exit, the muggy air hit me like a wall. Around me, families navigated their arrivals with practiced chaos–children perched on stacked boxes, parents shouting seating arrangements, playing tetris with the limited trunk space. I pulled out my phone, pretending to check my ride details. Really, I was wondering if I had made the right decision. Everything familiar waited back in Seattle, while ahead lay something I'd dreamed of my whole life—living and working abroad. "Just give it a year," I told myself. "See what happens."
One thing I love about living near the equator is how the clouds swell and grow so large.
Six years have passed now. Three in Singapore, three in Sydney. Living abroad opened up my creativity in ways I never expected, like finding a door in a familiar room I'd somehow never noticed before. I feel more alive here, more myself. It's reshaped everything I thought I knew about design, leadership, and my place in the world. Asia has become home, though not without irony. I'll always be a foreigner here, no matter how much of the language or customs I learn. My friend and I have fond memories of me bawling and calling them saying I had made a terrible mistake. We laugh about it now, but in the moment, it felt like too much.
Everything was a struggle at first. Even my morning coffee ritual threw me off balance. Back home, I was a black coffee person—straightforward, no fuss. That first sip of kopi-o in Singapore, so intense and bitter. Eventually I found my way to kopi kurang manis—black coffee with just a touch of condensed milk. Small victories.
And yet, I feel even more like a foreigner back in the States. I'll never forget my first Christmas back home, visiting Seattle. My old life played out before me, familiar yet foreign. I caught myself making sweeping statements about "how things are outside the US," speaking with the unearned confidence of someone who'd seen a fraction of the world and thought they'd seen it all. Yes, many Americans might not consider perspectives outside the US, but I was judging people for being deeply invested in their immediate world—their communities, their challenges, their lives. Different experiences don't make better ones. They're just different.
Now I sit in a world in-between. A state of constant learning. A perpetual foreigner, in both old and new homes.
The Power of the Outside Perspective
Being an outsider isn't just about geography—it's a lens through which I've always viewed the world. My ADHD brain connects dots across seemingly unrelated things, finding patterns others might miss. What I once saw as a weakness has become my greatest strength in leadership and design.
I've learned to embrace this perspective, to let it guide how I approach problems and lead teams. Instead of rushing to solutions, I pause. I observe. I question assumptions that others might take for granted. This isn't about being contrarian—it's about seeing the full picture, including the parts that often go unnoticed.
The greatest shift came when I stopped trying to be right and started trying to understand. My younger self was always ready with an answer, eager to prove my expertise. Now, I find power in curiosity, in the questions that challenge our accepted ways of doing things. Why do we believe this is the best approach? Who might we be excluding? What assumptions are we making?
This outsider's lens has taught me that innovation rarely comes from following established paths. It emerges from the edges, from the spaces between disciplines and perspectives. It comes from having the courage to question not just others' assumptions, but our own.
Leading Without Assumptions
After years of trying to be the "right" kind of leader, I've learned to embrace uncertainty. Working with researchers fundamentally changed how I approach problems. These were people who questioned everything—not out of skepticism, but from a deep commitment to understanding. They'd ask, "What evidence do we have for this?" or "How do we know this is true?" about things I'd taken for granted.
That experience taught me something crucial: the rules we follow in design (and leadership) are often just stories we've agreed to believe. Now, when I catch myself saying "we should" or "that's how it's done," I pause. Who made that rule? Does it serve us here, in this context, with these people?
It's not about having no opinions—it's about holding them lightly. When I share my thoughts now, I explicitly label them as assumptions: "Here's what I think, based on my experience, but I could be missing something crucial." This small shift changes everything. It creates space for others to challenge, question, and contribute.
Breaking Free from One-Size-Fits-All
My time at Grab shattered my assumptions about "good" design. I'd arrived with my Western design education, confident in my knowledge of progressive disclosure and clean interfaces. Then I watched users in Singapore and Indonesia navigate our app. They wanted to see everything at once—prices, options, details—to make quick comparisons in busy streets and crowded spaces. What I saw as clutter was actually empowering them to make better decisions.
This lesson extends beyond design. In leading teams, I've learned that creativity and collaboration don't follow a single pattern. Some people think best out loud, others need time to process in writing. Some thrive in high-energy critique sessions, others contribute their best insights through thoughtful written feedback.
Our approach to team collaboration reflects this understanding:
Weekly design jams that balance quiet reflection with open discussion
Active team chat where design happens in real-time, building trust through constant dialogue
Flexible critique formats that adapt to each presenter's needs
This approach takes more effort than following a standard playbook. But it creates something powerful: a team where everyone can work and contribute in ways that feel natural to them.
Embracing the In-Between
Most leadership books make me cringe. They tell you there's a formula, a checklist of behaviors to follow. Be decisive. Be charismatic. Be strategic. But my experience tells me something different: the most valuable thing you can be is yourself, especially when that means being the person who sees things a bit differently.
I used to think my inability to fit neatly into one world was a weakness. Now I see it differently. Being perpetually in-between helps me spot the gaps in our thinking. When everyone's nodding, I'm wondering what am I missing? When best practices are being followed without question, I'm curious about who those practices might be leaving out.
Innovation rarely comes from the centre of things. It comes from the edges, from the people who question assumptions because they've never quite fit into them. From the ones who bring different perspectives because they've had to navigate different worlds.
Maybe you're reading this and recognising yourself. Maybe you've always felt slightly out of step, like you're watching from the observation deck rather than playing on the main stage. I'm here to tell you: stay there. That spot on the edge? It's not just a good place to observe from—it's a powerful place to lead from.
Your outsider perspective isn't something to fix or overcome. It's a lens that lets you see possibilities others might miss. Use it. Trust it. Lead with it.
I'd love to hear from others who've found themselves in these "in-between" spaces. How has being an outsider shaped your approach to leadership or creativity? What unexpected strengths have you discovered from not quite fitting in?
