DtG #9: Loneliness and the importance of human connection at work.

Welcome to the ninth installment of Designing the Gap!

In this one, I’m going to be a bit vulnerable and dive into something that I struggle with quite a bit: loneliness.

In 2023, in a post-COVID world, the U.S. Surgeon General raised alarm bells when he declared loneliness an epidemic. His advisory called attention to the importance of social connection—not just for individual health but for community-wide well-being—and the significant consequences when connection is lacking.

Much of our understanding of loneliness and social isolation is grounded in non-work contexts: friendships, families, team sports. Work is “work,” and social is “not work.” But that binary thinking doesn’t paint the full picture when it comes to how isolation at work contributes to the broader issue of loneliness.

All alone, together.

I started working for Mailchimp in July 2020—a time when we were all lonely, together. Because of limited social contact in my personal life, work became my most prominent form of interaction with other human beings. I was grateful that Mailchimp created space for folks to connect outside of the day-to-day, and that it had a thriving community of practice rooted not just in craft, but in connection.

I don’t say this lightly: that space for human connection was a lifesaver for me, and I’m truly grateful for it.

Before that, I worked at an agency—Beyond—from 2012–2018, where I was surrounded by other creatives. Agencies are inherently social places; you gather around client work frequently. It reassured me that, when I went in-house—especially at Mailchimp—the social element wasn’t lost, even if it was virtual.

Moving up, growing apart.

It’s cliche to say “it’s lonely at the top” but there’s truth in the idea that, as you progress up a hierarchy (bleurgh), your network of peers becomes narrower. When you become a manger, you’re no longer just one of the team. You’re “the boss”, which means setting professional boundaries, even when you miss the camaraderie. You could turn to your peers in leadership but they’re often dealing with their own pressures, and cross-functional partners don’t always share your frame of reference.

So, at Mailchimp, as I moved “up the chain”, I found myself becoming lonelier. Actually, I should say that, in my case, a few things happened: I was promoted up to director level, Mailchimp got bought by Intuit, a re-org shifted who my peers were and finally my boss, who had placed a big emphasis on community and the people side of it all, left. In an environment that shifted from disruptive scrappy startup to sophisticated, and somewhat stiff, corporate, my feelings of isolation and loneliness grew.

An island, then a layoff.

Things came to a head when, in a move to divest from design systems in my business unit, my team was reallocated—and I was left on an island. I became a team of one, working on something with no organizational support and reporting to a disengaged manager.

My “professional loneliness” reached a worrying level. My new role was focused on community, but there wasn’t actually a community around me. And the version of community that did exist was transactional—I was a steward for users of our design system, not a leader connected around the broader craft of design.

Eventually, I was laid off. And that was that.

A new role, and lingering echoes.

Since then, I’ve been working at a new company, leading a good-sized design systems team that supports an actively engaged design and engineering community. But it’s a legacy financial services company still finding its feet digitally. The emphasis is still on getting the basics right. A design community of practice at scale just isn’t a priority right now.

And so, while the feelings of loneliness remain, they’re much, much, much less acute than before.

Despite being someone who identifies mostly as an introvert, I’m deeply driven by human connection—I just find it hard to initiate. Once I have a “way in,” though, I really thrive in environments where there’s energy and enthusiasm around a thing. I participate actively in online communities around my non-design hobbies. I cherished my time playing rugby in Brooklyn—it felt like a brotherhood. I love jumping in to talk about design with folks on LinkedIn.

A conference, a community, and a comedown.

The idea of “professional loneliness” really struck me this week when I attended Config in San Francisco. I’d never been in person before—only watched the talks online. While virtual shouldn’t be dismissed, there’s a real difference when you’re physically present, surrounded by thousands of people who give a shit about the same thing you do.

It’s why we go to concerts. It’s why we go to sporting events. It’s why we go to rallies or protests. Uniting around a shared interest or cause is deeply meaningful—and sometimes, transcendent.

Once the conference ended, though, I had a bit of an emotional comedown. I’d just spent a couple of days around other designers, stepping outside the context of my work and just talking about design.

Of course, for some, work is just work. That’s OK! But for others, me included, those 8-ish hours a day are one of the areas where I try to find at least some meaning. Creativity is a deeply human thing. And design—yes, even product design—is emotional. It’s hard for me to separate personal connection from professional connection.

And maybe that’s the point.

Finding a way back in.

This experience—riding the high of Config, then coming back to my day-to-day—has made me reflect more critically on how I can create an environment where community and connection can thrive. Not just for my team (though that matters deeply), but also for myself.

That might mean doubling down on our internal community of practice, even if I’m not always the most active participant. It might mean working harder to seek out moments of shared energy outside the walls of my company, whether that’s through events, writing, or connecting more with the broader design community.

I’ve realized that while my job is just a job, my profession means something to me. Creativity means something to me. And I want to stay connected to it.

If you’ve felt any of this, especially as a design leader, you’re not alone. And if you’ve found ways to build community and stay grounded in what makes this work meaningful, I’d love to hear about it.

Things I’ve been reading

• Becoming good at something by Filipe Nzongo. A great read on the difference between time served and true mastery. I especially appreciated the reminder to challenge your assumptions about the quality of your work—and about yourself. I might quibble with the idea that courses are useless (they’re a solid starting point for building foundations), but the core message really resonates.

• Designing better products by giving a shit by Pir Ahmed. A solid reminder that caring is still a design skill. Some of this veers a bit into the obvious, but it’s also getting harder to give a shit in an industry that rewards speed over depth. We can’t care about everything—but we should still care deeply about the things that matter.

• Design doesnt have a value problem—it has a translation problem by Kai Wong. Design often gets dismissed not because it lacks value, but because we struggle to translate that value in ways others can act on. It’s a good reminder that being a great designer also means being a great communicator.