Better Things

We treat our emotional lives like a cluttered attic. We believe that by relentlessly sorting through every box, labeling every memory, and throwing out the 'bad' ones, we can finally achieve a state of pristine mental order. This project of emotional deep-cleaning, however, is a trap. The more we rummage, the bigger the mess becomes. The act of constantly examining our feelings doesn't clarify them; it amplifies them, turning minor anxieties into roaring monsters and fleeting sadness into permanent fixtures. We’ve been taught that self-awareness is a process of excavation, but what if the real path to a better life is found by building something new in the present?

This very question is what drove Daniel Liden, a clinical psychologist, out of his practice and into a decade-long research project. He saw countless patients who were experts in their own suffering—able to articulate every nuance of their pain—yet remained stuck. Their profound self-knowledge had become a cage, not a key. In Better Things, Liden shares the framework that emerged from his work, a system built on the surprisingly simple, and often overlooked, mechanics of constructing what is whole.

Module 1: The New Foundation—Materials First, Lifecycle Always

For decades, the design process started with a sketch. A form. An idea. The material was a later consideration, a technical detail to be filled in. "Better things" argues this model is obsolete. Today, the material is the starting point. It’s the medium for storytelling, the foundation of user experience, and the primary driver of environmental impact.

This shift demands a new mindset. Your first responsibility as a creator is to master sustainable material selection. This is about understanding that every choice, from the type of plastic to the finish on a piece of wood, has a cascading effect. The book is structured around this very idea. It’s organized by material categories—plastics, textiles, metals, wood. Each is broken down into recycled and renewable options. This structure forces you to think systematically. It trains you to see the material world as a library of choices, each with its own story and consequences.

So where do you begin? The author suggests that true sustainability is context-specific and requires lifecycle thinking. There are no universally "good" or "bad" materials. Is recycled aluminum better than virgin steel? It depends. Are you designing a bicycle frame or a disposable container? What is the energy grid like where it's manufactured? What happens when the product reaches its end of life? The goal is to find the most appropriate solution for a specific product in a specific system. For example, the book details recycled aluminum not as one material, but as distinct options for extrusion, sheet applications, or casting. Each has different properties and different environmental implications. This level of detail is critical. It moves the conversation from vague ideals to concrete, functional decisions.

And here’s the thing. This field is messy. The data is often incomplete or contradictory. The solutions are imperfect and constantly evolving. This can be intimidating. It often leads to risk-aversion. Designers stick with what they know, fearing criticism for using a new material that isn't flawless. Liden’s advice is direct. He shares an anecdote from a former Nike director who told his team, "Don't kick the kitten." This means you must embrace and share imperfect, evolving solutions to foster innovation. Don't hide your early-stage ideas for sustainable materials until they are perfect. They will never be perfect. Share them. Test them. The path to better products is paved with iteration and a willingness to put developing ideas into the world. Progress requires action, not the endless pursuit of an unattainable ideal.