The most difficult thing about being a designer seems to be writing the bio of your LinkedIn profile, “about” pages for websites, and cover letters; the process of explaining what you do to anyone is a giant pain in the ass. It’s ironic that the services we tell our client we’re experts in (like branding and clearly communicated messaging) are ones we can’t seem to figure out for ourselves.I frequently defer to the label of “problem solver;” you probably do it, too. Not a week of my life passes in which I don’t get a brief presented as a problem, or see a case study presenting a solution, or read a newspaper article discussing the virtues of putting designers at the heart of business in order improve… “things.” That makes me feel good. It’s right-on. The world is full of problems, so let’s get solving, right?But recently, for one reason or another, I’ve become interested in changing the way I go about the act of designing; not the things I design, but the way I design. I’d planned this piece to advocate for a roomier working process, one that allows for experimentation and critique rather than sticking to set briefs. But in exploring how to present that, it became apparent that output (the things) and process (the way) are not mutually exclusive; in fact, they’re inseparably bound by the bow that neatly wraps up the definition of your role. For me this had become “problem solver,” but weary of that catch-all term and wary of lumping myself in with the masses, I wanted to find out what that really, truly meant.