A gifted storyteller communicating the role and value of architecture to a new audience, host Bob Borson uses the experiences acquired over a 25-year career to inform his podcast. A small firm owner, architect, and college design instructor, co-host Andrew Hawkins brings his insight from his 20 years in various roles within the profession. It responds to the public curiosity and common misunderstanding about what architects do and how it is relevant to people’s lives, engaging a wide demographic of people in a meaningful way without requiring an understanding of the jargon or knowledge of the history of the profession. With a creative mix of humor and practicality, Borson’s stories are informative, engaging, and approachable, using first-person narratives and anecdotes that have introduced transparency into what it really means to be a practicing architect. To learn more about Bob, Andrew, and what life is like as an architect, please visit Lifeofanarchitect.com
What started as a simple commitment to sketch more became an unexpected lesson in accountability, criticism, and staying true to the reasons we begin creative work in the first place. Bob shares how a personal sketching exercise evolved into a broader reflection on discipline, public feedback, and the importance of measuring your progress against your own standards rather than someone else's expectations. Whether you're an architect, a creative professional, or simply trying to build a better habit, this conversation explores what it really means to keep a promise to yourself.
Designing a house does not begin with floor plans, exterior styles, or deciding where the kitchen island should go. It begins with understanding the people who will live there and translating their habits, priorities, routines, and expectations into a useful design framework. In this episode, Bob and Andrew examine the residential programming process and the role a well-constructed client workbook can play before design begins. They discuss why traditional questionnaires tend to focus too heavily on what a client wants while failing to explore why those spaces matter, how they will be used, and what problems the house needs to solve. The conversation also looks at when programming should occur, how clients should complete the process, and why architects need to interpret the answers rather than simply collect them. From daily routines and entertaining preferences to storage, privacy, budget, and future flexibility, the goal is to uncover the information that actually shapes a thoughtful home. A good house begins long before anyone starts drawing. It begins with better questions, honest priorities, and a clearer understanding of the people the architecture is meant to serve.
In episode 204, “Character Development - Revisited,” we go back to the beginning and revisit the very first Life of an Architect podcast episode. Episode 001 was mostly an introduction: who we were, why the podcast existed, and what we thought it might become. At the time, the website had grown beyond the casual creative outlet it was intended to be, and the podcast seemed like a way to return to the original idea - talking honestly about architecture, practice, and the profession in a more immediate way. More than 200 episodes later, that first conversation feels different. The show has changed, the co-host dynamic has changed, and we have changed. What started as an experiment has become a long-running record of how our thinking has evolved over time. In this episode, we talk about what the podcast was trying to do at the beginning, what Andrew thought the show was before he joined, what changed once the conversation became the two of us, and what we misunderstood about podcasting, audience, editing, preparation, rhythm, and chemistry. We also look at why the podcast still feels worth recording after all this time. The title still fits, probably better now than it did then. Character is not established in the introduction. It gets revealed through the work.
Episode 203 explores ten museums worth seeing not for the collections alone, but for the buildings themselves. From quiet rooms shaped by light to dramatic structures carved from old industrial spaces, this episode looks at museums where architecture changes the way we move, look, and remember the visit.
So you are thinking about teaching architecture. You’ve got some years of experience under your belt and you want to share your knowledge with the next generation. Or you’ve always felt a calling to teach the next generation of the profession? Maybe you just want to try something different and it seems like an easy transition? Well today Bob and I are breaking this topic wide open and revealing some of the elements involved in going from working in a firm to teaching in academia.
Middle management is not usually the part of a career anyone dreams about, which is probably fair since most dreams do not involve inheriting more responsibility while time and authority stand nearby pretending they were not invited. Still, there is something important that happens in that space if you are paying attention. You start to see how decisions move through a firm, how unclear expectations become someone else’s burden, and how much leadership depends on remembering what pressure felt like before you had the ability to pass it along.
Ep 200: Hate to Love You looks back at favorite episodes, hard lessons, great guests, and the conversations that made this podcast worth your time from day one.
Ep197: The Knowledge Gap: As veteran architects retire, the profession risks losing hard-won knowledge, mentorship, and judgment no handbook can replace.
Ep 196: Do Architects Retire explores why architects work longer, what comes next, identity shifts, and how money choices that shape retirement options.
Designing Your Own House explores why architects hesitate to design their own homes: pressure, endless choices, ego vs livability, money, and what it reveals.
Being your own boss isn’t about starting a firm. It’s about control, momentum, money, and owning the tradeoffs shaping your career long before you noticed.
Discover the ultimate Holiday Gift Guide for Architects – curated picks, tools, and books that every designer will actually want to unwrap this season.
At some point in every career, the path ahead stops looking like the one behind it. The work that once defined you begins to shift, not because it lost value but because you start to see yourself differently within it. For architects, that realization can be complicated because we build our identities around what we design, who we work with, and the roles we play in the process. Change has a way of testing all of that, forcing us to ask what parts of our career still fit and which ones need to evolve. Today, Andrew and I are talking about what happens when you change course, the challenges and rewards of starting fresh in familiar territory, and how to recognize when it is time to head in a new direction. Welcome to Episode 188: Changing Paths. [Note: If you are reading this via email, click here to access the on-site audio player] Change is something both Andrew and I have lived through, and in this episode we wanted to take a closer look at what that really means. Each of us has reached a point where our careers needed to evolve, and the decisions that came next reshaped how we think about design, leadership, and purpose. This conversation isn’t about following a formula or finding the perfect next step; it’s about the reality of letting go of what feels safe and learning from what comes after. We talk about the adjustments, the uncertainty, and the satisfaction that can come from realizing you are still capable of growing no matter how long you have been doing this. Our hope is that anyone listening who might be facing a similar decision can find something here that helps them recognize that change, when you allow it, can be the most constructive part of your career. When the Path Starts to Bend (Recognition) jump to 3:21 Bob's Perspective: There comes a point in most careers where the work you are doing and the person you are becoming start to drift just far enough apart that you can feel the gap forming. For me, it wasn’t about dissatisfaction or failure, but about balance. I began to recognize that not every professional decision I made was about me anymore. I had a family to provide for, and whether I liked it or not, that reality had to shape how I evaluated opportunity. The irony, of course, is that architecture doesn’t exactly offer financial guarantees no matter where you go, but I started to realize that what I was looking for had begun to shift. I wasn’t just thinking about projects anymore; I was thinking about impact. Much of that realization came through the writing I was doing for the blog. Storytelling forced me to look at the profession differently and to think about how architects explain what they do and why it matters. Over time, I began to see that my influence didn’t have to come solely from drawing lines. I still think of myself as an above-average designer, but I started to value other skills that had developed along the way: communication, teaching, and helping people think differently about architecture. Those areas began to feel like ways to make a broader difference, and that awareness started to change what I wanted from my career. When the opportunity came to move from a small, residentially focused practice to a larger commercial firm, the attraction wasn’t about leaving one thing behind for another; it was about growth. I wanted to see what would happen if I stepped into an environment that operated at a completely different scale. More people meant more challenges, more opportunities for leadership, and more potential to help shape culture. Change has never scared me. I have always seen it as a chance to redefine myself and fix a few flaws that I know I have. Every new chapter is an opportunity to rethink how I communicate, to see how others experience me, and to test whether I am living up to the expectations I set for myself. The conversation that started the transition wasn’t strategic, and it wasn’t planned. I asked Andrew Bennett, one of the owners at BOKA Powell, a simple question: “Do you think my skill set would translate to a larger office?” That was it. No job hunt, no sales pitch, just curiosity. But in hindsight, that question planted a seed for both of us. Over time, my goals evolved dramatically. I used to want to be known as an exceptional designer, then I wanted to be a better communicator, then a collaborator, and now I think of myself as a thought leader, though it is hard to be a shepherd without any sheep. Writing made me aware of that evolution. It reminded me that what I wanted most was to make things better for others. Andrew Hawkins likes to joke that I have a savior complex, but he’s not wrong. Most of my career decisions over the last twenty years have been attempts to align my work with that impulse, to do work that helps people rather than just impressing them. Andrew's Perspective: The realization that I might want to change directions came slowly, long before I admitted it to myself or even identified its occurrence. For years, I had been running my own firm, managing every detail, balancing design, business, and people. Even at the peak of twelve or fourteen people, it always felt like I was carrying the entire weight. Of course, this was because I was doing most of the heavy lifting tasks. I realize now that a major turning point may have started when I hired someone of a similar level and experience in the profession, hoping they would eventually take on some of the responsibility that had become overwhelming. But they passed away suddenly, and it caught me off guard, leaving an impact I didn’t recognize at first. In hindsight, it was probably a moment that quietly shifted how I viewed my role, my firm, and the limits of what I could sustain. At that time, the daily effort began to feel repetitive and draining. I felt as though I was pushing the same rock uphill only to have it roll back down, and at times, crush me with its weight. The creative energy that once defined the practice had become secondary to the grind of management and business operations. However, due to the fact that my office was mainly comprised of young employees and student interns, I was consistently providing guidance to them. This is common for almost anyone who reaches a certain level of experience in our profession, so it wasn’t extraordinary. But I realized that I enjoyed that process as a significant part of my role. So this renewed a semi-forgotten notion; I had always wanted to teach. When I was in college and graduate school, my original plan was to go straight into teaching, never really considering practice as part of the picture. So when the chance came to teach part-time, it felt invigorating and exciting in a way that practice and the firm work no longer did. Even then, while teaching part-time, I didn’t imagine making the move to teaching full-time. It was simply a side commitment that helped me reconnect with something meaningful. But over time, both internal and external factors continued to nudge me further in that direction. What made the idea difficult was the feeling that leaving practice would mean abandoning what I had built: a firm, a name, and twenty years of work. It felt like betraying a version of myself. I had devoted and sacrificed so much of myself and my life into establishing something independent that the thought of walking away from it, even for something with potential, felt like a loss. It felt like giving up, like abandoning a child. It was not easy, and I am still not sure I am over it after several years. I am still working on letting go and not seeing it as failure. I am simply moving into another phase of my career and life and learning how that works. Trading Places (Transition) jump to 14:06 Bob's Perspective: The biggest adjustment I had to make when I joined a larger firm was learning how defined the roles were. In my previous offices, I did everything from concept design to field coordination, and while that breadth came with its challenges, it also gave me control and continuity. If I wasn’t there, things waited on me, which at the time felt like both a burden and a compliment. At BOKA Powell, the structure was completely different. Project Designers, Project Architects, and Project Managers all had distinct responsibilities, and understanding who handled what took time. The process wasn’t less collaborative, but it was more specialized. That specialization made the machine efficient, but it also meant I had to learn to trust people to do the work I had always done myself. It was harder than I expected. The pace was another shock. I probably shouldn’t have been surprised by the difference between an office of eight and one with a hundred, but it still caught me off guard. I had to figure out which decisions required collaboration and which I could make on my own. Even as a principal, there was an invisible line between what was mine to solve and what needed higher approval. That took patience to learn. The larger the organization, the more the success of one person depends on everyone else being aligned, and that coordination takes time. Once I began to understand the rhythm of how information moved through the office, I started to see how scale itself can become a design constraint - not just a logistical one, but a creative one too. Adapting to that new rhythm meant rethinking how I approached design. The team dynamic was different, the process was different, and even the codes were different. At times I felt like I had the practical value of someone five years out of school. I had plenty of experience as a leader and communicator, but the act of being an architect was distinct at this scale. The confidence I once had in high-end residential work didn’t automatically transfer to commercial projects. It took more time, more collaboration, and more humility. The details I used to solve instinctively now required layers of coordination across disciplines....
Architects explore the stories behind objects of design that remind us why design matters — revealing creativity, purpose, and meaning in everyday things.
