when the ground tilts: designing for dizziness at w.v.

brandon sanderson once wrote “journey before destination”. i’ve been holding on to that line, especially when I think about mountains, about my personal relationships… and when I think of working at winded.vertigo.

mountains have a way of tricking us. from far away, all we see is a beautiful peak, sharp against the sky. but climbing is never just about the summit. it’s the rhythm of footsteps, the patience of repetition and the surrender of control that sometimes, no matter how much you prepare – the mountain has the final word.

it’s dizzying.

the tilt between ground and sky,

the not knowing if the weather will turn,

if we’ll need to retreat,

if this is the moment the mountain asks us to adapt.

that vertigo.

not weakness, but wonder.

a reminder that you’re alive,

tethered to others,

moving together.

the incline of La Malinche is sharp and humbling- the kind that demands you keep your eyes on your feet and your head in the present moment. from here, Orizaba Peak, or Citlaltépetl by its indigenous name and the highest point in Mexico, rises far away: a quiet giant watching over the plateau.

just like mountains strip you down to your essentials, so does designing learning experiences in w.v - where vulnerability is not a liability but a threshold into possibility. vertigo here means we are playing with edges, leaning into uncertainty, and trusting that our rope will hold.

sometimes you stare up at the peak

but most of the time

you’re staring at boots

at snow crushed into powder

at rhythm made invisible

the rope team climbing the “knee” of Iztaccíhuatl (sleeping woman in náhuatl) volcano. from here, you can’t see her full silhouette, stretching across the horizon. behind her, Popocatépetl exhales a slow plume: the faithful lover who, according to legend, still keeps watch over her after centuries. the gods turned them into mountains so they could stay together forever.

speed is not what matters most. the single most important thing is connection. the rope that ties you to your team ensures that the fastest climber does not rush too far ahead, and that anyone struggling comes to the front. in that way, a rope team redefines how we think of progress. it’s more about syncing than it is about individual achievements. it reminds me that in life –and at winded.vertigo- the way forward is shaped by attunement to each other and to the humans we serve.

i feel the rope’s gentle tugging forward

we’re many but we’re moving as one

the slowest step sets the rhythm

and we breathe, crunch, pause.

a rope team is not about reaching the summit

it’s about the in-between.

the trust that if one slips,

the other will hold.

between the stomach and the breast (summit) of Iztaccíhuatl, somewhere along the curve of the sleeping woman. from a distance, her body is unmistakable: head, chest, knees, and feet stretched across the horizon. but once you’re on the slopes, the silhouette disappears. you can’t see her anymore: you’ve become part of her landscape.

trust here is not abstract. it’s not a concept you talk about in strategy sessions or paste into a slide deck. it’s literal, visceral. you feel it in your bones when somebody steadies you, when they hold your end of the rope tight. trust here is obvious: your team keeps you alive. at w.v, it looks different… but the sensation is the same. it’s the safety to experiment, to stumble, to risk a new idea or to utterly fail. our rope becomes the promise to catch each other when the ground shifts.

this is where i feel winded.vertigo most.

not in the finish line,

not in the polished summit photo,

but in the rope.

descending Cotopaxi (Ecuador) on our honeymoon, the wind softer now. sometimes we see summits as moments of triumph, but as our teachers used to say “the real summit is coming back home safe”.

garrett often talks about how w.v is also about building the life of our dreams. that phrase also lingers with me. because dreams are not built at the summit, they’re built in the journey: the daily tying in, the trust, the willingness to move together even when we don’t know what the mountain has in store. it’s not only about conquering peaks. it’s about discovering how we want to feel alive as we climb.

this is also how we design for others in winded.vertigo.

our experiences aren’t meant to be straight lines or quick summits.

we want people to walk the arc that we ourselves live in:

• uncertainty - stepping into something they can’t fully predict.

• disorientation - feeling that dizzy edge where the ground tilts.

• connection - realizing they’re not alone, they’re tied into others.

• threshold reveal -the sudden clarity, the shift in perspective, the “aha” that changes how they see the world.

• anchor - something they can hold onto, carry forward, that steadies them once they step back into their own terrain.

in a way, we’re giving others the rope too.

the chance to feel the vertigo of learning, the safety of being entwined, and the wonder of realizing we are part of something bigger.

high between the Ilinizas (Ecuador) stands a shelter and its keeper: El Gato. he’s the one who makes you soup when you can’t feel your hands, who wakes before dawn to light the stove, and turns stories into warmth.

- m