Can you believe it? Four years ago, on August 30 2021, I started my journey at Google as a full-time employee, and what an incredible ride it's been. It feels like just yesterday I was navigating the sprawling campus for the first time as a vendor, fueled by excitement and a slightly terrifying amount of free snacks and, of course, Cokes. Today, I'm filled with immense gratitude – for the opportunity to impact millions of users at Google's incredible scale, and most importantly, for the amazing colleagues I've had the privilege to work alongside. Your dedication, your passion, and the connections we've built over these years are truly inspiring. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.
"Do You Have an Assistant?" – My Independence, Not Your Concern (Mostly)
Now, onto this week's topic, which hits pretty close to home for me. It’s about independence, and specifically, the subtle (and sometimes not-so-subtle) ways it's eroded by an inaccessible world.
Let's talk about a common scenario: I'm out, living my life, and someone, often with the best intentions, asks me, "Do you have an assistant?" My internal monologue immediately launches into a full-scale Broadway musical of exasperation. An assistant? For what, exactly? To help me order a coffee? To point out the obvious "push" sign on a door that clearly needs to be pulled?
While I appreciate the thought behind it (usually), this question, and others like it, often stem from a fundamental misunderstanding: that people with disabilities are inherently less capable or constantly in need of supervision. Newsflash: I'm an adult. I have a job. I pay my taxes (mostly on time). I can generally navigate the world just fine, thank you very much. The frustration isn't about the question itself; it's about the underlying assumption that my independence is somehow less valid, less natural, or less deserved.
The Battle of the Lamps and the Oil Diffusers: A Tiny War for Accessibility
This brings me to why I write these blog posts, often dissecting the bewildering inaccessibility of even the simplest devices. You know the ones – the lamps with touch controls that are a mystery to everyone, including the person who designed them, or the oil diffusers that beep like a frantic smoke alarm just to change a setting.
I've ranted about smart devices that are anything but smart when it comes to inclusive design. I've mused about the tactile nightmare of modern washing machines. It might seem trivial – a lamp, an oil diffuser – but these small, everyday frustrations accumulate. They're tiny cuts that, over time, bleed away a sense of control and autonomy.
My goal in sharing these posts isn't just to vent (though, let's be honest, that's a nice bonus). It's to shine a light on these seemingly insignificant design flaws that, for many of us, create significant barriers. I want to highlight the insidious degradation of accessibility in a world that often prioritizes sleek aesthetics over fundamental usability. I want to tell the stories of when a simple task becomes an Olympic-level challenge, not because of my limitations, but because of designers' lack of foresight.
Think about it: independent travel, independent access to appliances, independent and private access to forms and medical equipment. These aren't luxuries; they're fundamental aspects of living a full and dignified life. When these are compromised, it speaks to a deeper issue – a feeling, or rather, a lack of it, that I have a right to participate and live in this world, and that I am not part of a minority who can be suppressed. We all have a right to navigate our lives with ease and privacy.
Creating Change, One Product at a Time
So, what do I hope to accomplish by sharing these posts on this little slice of the web? I hope to describe my experiences in a way that resonates. I hope to provide an opportunity for reflection, not just for those who identify with my struggles, but for everyone who might not have considered these perspectives before. And, most importantly, I hope to do my part to create change, one product at a time. Because truly, a more accessible world benefits everyone. Who doesn't want a lamp that reliably turns on or an oil diffuser that doesn't require a deciphering ring?
I'm an optimist at heart, and I truly believe that by raising awareness, by sharing our stories, and by demanding better, we can push for a future where design is inherently inclusive. A future where "do you have an assistant?" is a question reserved for actual assistants, not for basic daily tasks.
So, I invite you to reflect, to comment, and to share if you find value in this content or have thoughts about what I post. Let's start a conversation. Feel free to reach out and ask questions – I'm always happy to chat!
Disclaimer: All content in this article represents my own views and may not represent the views of my employer. This article was written with the help of Google's Gemini, to aid with brevity, readability, and clarity; however, all thoughts are, nonetheless, my own.
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