Dream Your Own Dream

The idea came to me in a dream—clear and sharp, like moonlight cutting through a dark forest. It unfolded in three phases, a quiet narrative I couldn’t ignore, as I spent months circling the question: why was I unhappy? On paper, I had everything—a job that most architects would give anything for. A role that glittered with prestige. And yet, after 29 years, I felt hollow. Unchallenged. Unheard. I was a designer without a name, fading into the edges of my own success.

And then, one day, I let it all go. No dramatic revelations, no meticulous plans—just a simple, undeniable leap. I resigned, bet everything on myself, and stepped into the void. Strange as it sounds, I felt free. Weightless, for the first time in years. Happiness arrived quietly, like an old friend, and I embraced it.

Then something unexpected happened. The phone started ringing. And it didn’t stop. Calls from the past, from the present, from places I hadn’t even imagined. It felt as if the world had been waiting for me to make this move, waiting to pull me into something new.

The songs I’ve written are fragments of our design journey. They carry the voices of conversations we’ve had, the experiences we’ve lived, and the things we’ve learned about design, about freedom, about friendship, about growth. They are reflections of what it means to leave the known behind, to move forward with nothing but trust in your own hands. They are echoes of that dream, as luminous and quiet as the moon that first revealed it to me.