The Satisfaction of Enough

Our front yard's Norway Maple: A familiar presence that marks the years, and a reminder that change comes quietly, season by season.

When I was a youngster, I imagined a life shaped by achievement. I dreamed of becoming a prominent architect, someone whose work might appear on the cover of Architectural Record. I pictured proudly showing that issue to my parents as proof that I had arrived. My goal was to run my own firm by the time I turned thirty, and earning my license at twenty-five felt like the first step toward that objective. Yet even then, my temperament was steering the path ahead. I learned early on that much like a typical design process, ambition rarely unfolds exactly as imagined. 

The fact is I’ve never been inclined toward risk. While I always kept pace with the profession’s changes, I preferred steady progress over bold reinvention. I respected visionary thinking but favored reliable, competent solutions (such as those grounded in proven strategies and technologies) rather than novelty for its own sake. That preference came into clearer focus in my first job out of school with Bing Thom Architects in Vancouver.

Bing was a willing risk-taker, a gifted designer, and brought out the best in others. He fostered collaboration, always valuing contributions from employees and consultants. He was also a skilled statesman and raconteur, traits that served him well in professional and civic settings. 

I took note of Bing’s polish and presence and aimed to carry myself with similar poise. But public fluency wasn’t part of my makeup. As a project manager, I led meetings, gave presentations, and represented the firm to clients when needed. I handled those responsibilities with professionalism but felt more comfortable guiding teams, solving problems, and supporting the work itself. 

I eventually became a principal and shareholder with Robertson/Sherwood/ Architects. Jim Robertson and Carl Sherwood believed I had earned that role, and I accepted it with appreciation. While the title reflected the trust we had built over time more than any real change in how I approached the work, I remained cautious, still deferring to Jim and Carl on major decisions.

Risk-aversion shaped more than my career. It influenced how I live. I’ve tended to favor the known over the speculative, and the modest over the grand. In a culture that celebrates boldness, this can seem like a limitation. I’ve come to see it instead as a guide, one that has helped me build a life that feels stable and well-suited to who I am. 

My wife and I live modestly. We recently completed a renovation of our home—not a showcase project, but a long-overdue effort to address deferred maintenance. The project reflects the values we’ve come to prioritize. 

Me sitting in the tail gunner position of a WWII-era North American Aviation B-25J Mitchell bomber, high over the Willamette Valley countryside.

I still keep my bucket list and have checked off a few long-standing items: in addition to our home renovation, I've visited the Chrysler Building, the Robie House, and several National Park lodges. Fallingwater and Fonthill are coming up next. I’ve taken a ride in a WWII-era B-25 bomber and started learning Japanese. These are things I long hoped to do and now have had the time to pursue. 

In a post I wrote not long ago titled A Golden Age, I reflected on the good fortune of having practiced architecture during a halcyon time. The profession today faces challenges more significant than ever before, including climate change, economic uncertainty, cultural fragmentation, and the advent of AI. Because of these challenges, I respect and wish the best for those entering the field now, while also being thankful that my own career concluded when it did. 

At each major fork in the road, I made deliberate choices, guided more by my disposition than by external pressures. I opted for stability over striking out on my own, incremental responsibility over dramatic reinvention, and roles that kept me close to the work rather than bets that veered my career in uncharted directions.

Life now moves at a slower pace. Without deadlines or client demands, I focus on what matters: time with my wife, caring for our home, and pursuing interests I had put off for far too long. I make a deliberate effort to keep political noise at a distance. Retirement brings moments of disconnection—a recognition that professional relevance shifts once practice ends—but I continue to follow the steady approach that guided my career, shaping this phase of my life with intention and contentment in its rhythm and the satisfaction of enough.