How a camper van journey across California helped Abduzeedo’s founder overcome burnout and find a sustainable pace for growth in the age of AI.

Recently, I’ve found myself reflecting more than usual on my path as a designer and my professional career. Perhaps it’s because Abduzeedo turns 20 this year (a milestone that serves as a sobering frame of reference) but mostly, it’s because I’ve been thinking about the nature of the journey itself.

Last year was heavy. I felt a constant, underlying stress, fueled by the rapid shifts in our industry and the relentless discourse around AI and its disruptive power. Watching everyone else share their latest breakthroughs created a persistent "fear of missing out." I felt this urgent pressure to speed up, to move faster, to be the first to arrive, or risk being left behind entirely.

That pace eventually led to an inevitable breakdown. I had an anxiety attack. It was a jarring experience, but it served as a necessary wake-up call. Much like when my office was robbed years ago, the catalyst that allowed me to start Abduzeedo, this moment forced a shift in focus. I needed to disconnect, to dial back the noise of social media and digital consumption.

I’ve always loved road trips. For years, I’d contemplated getting a camper van. Every time I drove past a campground, I felt a twinge of envy seeing people sitting by a fire, enjoying life’s simpler rhythms. But every time I did the math, the pragmatic side of my brain took over. I’d tell myself that the cost of hotels for a decade wouldn’t even break even on the investment.

In a leap of faith, I finally ignored the math and followed my heart. I got a van with a singular intent: to hit the road. I wanted to disconnect, so that I could finally reconnect.

Now that I’m driving it across California with my family, visiting different campgrounds, one fundamental thing has changed. I’ve been forced to take the slow lane.

In the past, driving was always about the "get." Getting from point A to point B. In smaller, faster cars, the instinct is to stay in the fast lane, pushing to arrive as quickly as possible, fearing that every lost minute was a missed opportunity. It was always about the destination, never the drive.

In the slow lane, the rules are different. I cannot go fast. I cannot easily pass. My only option is to exist within the journey.

This constraint has opened my eyes to the surroundings I used to blur past. I see the views now. I notice the small towns and the shifting landscapes. Driving has become fun again, provided I’m not holding up a line of cars eager to reach the speeds I once did. My stress has dissipated because I’ve accepted that this is simply the way to travel. There is no reason to push: I know that if I take a corner too fast in a heavy van, the result isn’t efficiency, it’s fear.

"Taking the slow lane" has become my new philosophy for both my personal and professional life. 

"Taking the slow lane" has become my new philosophy for both my personal and professional life. There is so much to learn, especially with the evolution of AI. I am motivated to master it, and I want to reach those new frontiers, but I no longer feel the need to race there.

I’m choosing the slow lane. I’m going to appreciate the surroundings, pay closer attention to the world as it changes, and trust that I will get exactly where I need to be, right on time.

Some photography from the last trip to Arnold and Bear Valley in California

Photography