Why I Left My Dream Job

The world doesn’t need more noise. It needs more truth.

It needs stories that cut through assumptions and show us what’s possible—especially in places shaped by challenge, change, and quiet resilience.

For many years, I designed buildings around the world—schools in Rwanda, houses in the Philippines, refuges after disaster. As an architect working with nonprofits, my job was to create spaces of safety and dignity where they were needed most.

I had my dream job. And for about a decade, I lived that dream fully.

But then something shifted.

Finding Purpose Through Place

I never wanted the corporate life. As a young, restless architecture student, I yearned and searched for a more human-centered path. That search took an unexpected turn when a stroke of luck introduced me to a nonprofit called Journeyman International. They were sending designers into the field to work alongside vulnerable communities—and I took the leap.

Soon after, I moved to Rwanda. What was supposed to be a short project turned into six life-defining years. I quickly rose to a role that required me to start up and build a local architectural company in a nation rebuilding itself from the inside out. During that time I witnessed what it truly means to adapt, to transform, and to truly pay attention.

My role was architectural, but my purpose was relational. I learned to build with empathy, listen before acting, and immerse fully into many different contexts across the African region. Later, I moved to Indonesia to continue the work. A new culture, new lessons, same mission: design with humanity at the center.

From East Africa to Southeast Asia, my work gave me rare insight into how people build and live in the face of hardship—and how place, design, and community resilience are deeply connected.

The Burnout

Leading a humanitarian architecture nonprofit was both exhilarating and exhausting. For almost a decade, I poured myself into the work. But slowly, the thing that once lit me up began to drain me. I didn’t just feel tired—I felt erased. Like there was no room left in my life for anything but my work.

So, after a long road of deconstructing my distorted sense of self, I quit. No backup plan. Just a whisper of instinct telling me it was time to reset.

I called it a sabbatical. But really, it was a transition. One that forced me to reckon with burnout, identity, and the question I’d been quietly asking all along:

What if I’m meant to tell these stories, not just help build them?

From Architect to Storyteller

Throughout my career, I was always the one with the notebook, the questions, the camera phone capturing moments between milestones. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I had already become a documentarian.

What began as side content—snippets from project sites, interviews with local youth, candid photos of everyday life—began to feel like the most important part of my work. I was bearing witness to transformation, and I was determined to share it.

One turning point came in Rwanda. I had helped design a school in a rural village and was tasked with telling its story to attract more support. My team and I shared videos, interviews, and posts across every platform we could—but the reach was limited.

In that instance I realized: these stories deserved more. They deserved wider eyes, bigger platforms, and deeper care. There was a gap. And maybe I could help fill it.

So I made the leap.

I traded blueprints for a camera and stepped into the unknown. I launched a new chapter of my life—this time as a documentary photographer and storyteller focused on community resilience, indigenous wisdom, environmental design, and local adaptation.

I spent months traveling through Latin America, a new frontier of unknown, photographing the intersections of people and place—how culture, land, architecture, and adversity shape identity. I sought out stories of regeneration, recovery, and quiet brilliance. Stories that challenge stereotypes and amplify voices that have long been overlooked.

It’s a new chapter, and I’m just getting started.

Why This Blog Exists:

This space is where I’ll share what I find—stories of adaptation, beauty, and everyday defiance in the face of challenge. Stories that bring nuance, optimism, and truth to a world that desperately needs it.

Whether you're a nonprofit leader, editor, fellow traveler, or someone searching for deeper stories—this is for you. Thanks for being here.

Let’s see where this goes!