Mentorship didn’t start as a title or a goal. It started with people just hitting me up — asking for advice, a little direction, maybe a sounding board.

Those were the first seedlings — the people I helped first. I listened, offered what I knew. Sometimes I just reminded them they already were what they sought to be.

One story sticks with me. An aspiring creative director, talented but hitting a ceiling, feeling like he might give up on design altogether. The story is richer and more complex, but I’ll keep it simple here. We talked, and I introduced him to user-centered design — a whole new way of thinking and creating. Just like my director at Gibson Guitar did for me. Today, he’s thriving as a Principal Designer at Microsoft. Watching that transformation — from doubt to purpose — is what mentorship is about.

Over time, that quiet tending grew into something bigger. Designers I mentored early on now lead design systems at TikTok, build developer tools at AWS, direct university design programs, head teams at Adobe, and serve as principals at Microsoft.

One still calls me dalao — a term from Mandarin slang meaning “big brother.” It’s not about hierarchy. It’s respect mixed with a little gratitude. A nod to someone who was there when it mattered.

Mentorship isn’t management. It’s gardening.

You don’t force growth. You clear the weeds. Loosen the soil. Protect fragile sprouts.
At Marketo, I built a team from scratch — hiring young designers full of promise, tripling the research team, even hiring my own director. But more than building org charts, I was tending people. Helping them find the sunlight they needed. All while the very director I had a hand in hiring gave me the space to grow and thrive.

Growth is theirs, not mine. And that’s the point.

They do the heavy lifting. They face the struggles, the questions, the doubt.
I’m just a gardener — steady and patient, offering support and space. Sometimes a gentle nudge or the right question. Other times, just quiet presence.

Most days, it’s slow and unseen work. But years later, a message arrives. A thank you. A recognition.

That’s the real legacy. Not the projects or pixels. The people.

I still love designing — always will.

But if you ask what I’m proudest of,
it’s the garden I’ve been lucky enough to tend.
The growth I helped nurture.

And I’d do it all again.